As if there were no end to misfortunes, my father lost his job shortly after my aunt’s admittance to the hospital. My mother found out that my brother’s wife had run off, and began basing our entire future around his moving back in with us. I didn’t really listen when she told me about her plan, and she asked me to talk him into it. I was always waiting for the chance to see Kurt at his home, where everything was happy and normal. But at the same time I had sent some poems to a magazine, because I wasn’t planning to package tin boxes for the rest of my life. I felt I simply could not continue living two lives, and deep in my heart I was starting to doubt if a mechanic was a suitable husband for a writer. In any case I became less excited about having Kurt visit my family. It became more difficult anyway, since now my father always sat on my divan reading an old encyclopedia, and I only had my room to myself at night. We didn’t have enough money to heat more than one room, and we had to have our coats on just to stay warm. My father’s unemployment check and my weekly twenty kroner were only enough to keep the worst misery from our door. I would turn eighteen in a few months, and gradually I realized that the only salvation for me would be if my brother moved back home. But he never visited us, and when I thought about our plan, I felt bad for him. It was the only generous feeling I preserved in the conscious iciness I was building up against my family. That was why I kept postponing my visit to his rented room.