Her ecstasy lasted most of the day. She didn’t think about her mother, she didn’t clean, she didn’t even dust the furniture. She didn’t think about Egon either.

When he returned, unexpectedly, straight from work, she was sitting in the window at her usual spot, with the darning basket, which was empty, in front of her. She smiled at him and stood up.

‘I haven’t made any dinner,’ she said offhandedly, adding as a provocation, which was unlike her, ‘I thought maybe you would be eating out.’

He didn’t answer, and she ascertained that he was sober, and that he was trying to avoid her eyes. Why? She wanted to tell him about the umbrella and her little swindle. She needed to share her joy with someone. But he looked so terribly ceremonious as he sat himself at the table and cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry about yesterday,’ he said awkwardly. ‘It wasn’t true. I was just drunk.’

‘I see,’ she said flatly. All day she hadn’t given one thought to what had happened the day before. Even now it was strangely difficult for her to think about anything other than the umbrella, but the situation demanded that she say something. She felt embarrassed, as he did, and she stared down at her hands.

‘That’s all right,’ she said truthfully. ‘I’ve forgotten all about it.’

She didn’t notice the shadow darkening his face, and she didn’t register how despairingly he tensed his whole body toward her. She was a person who didn’t come when she was called. She was the one who called when she needed something, in a thin voice, which was easily drowned out by the storm. Besides, it is very rare that two people call at the same time and both get responses. She was content in herself – she even had a bit extra to share – but her husband had pursued her for a long time like a big clumsy animal, while she, agile and light as a scared gazelle, had run from him into a bright, hidden clearing in the woods.

She sat down across from him, small and erect, and again seemed to him both secretive and alluring. As he had a long time ago, he asked jealously and fearfully: ‘What are you thinking about?’ And, just like back then, her clear, dreamy eyes glided over him as she responded, ‘An umbrella.’ And then, with sudden animation, ‘I bought it, Egon. Do you want to see it?’ She was already skipping to the entryway, breathless with excitement.

But he followed behind her and suddenly, angrily, pulled the fine object from her hands and broke it in half over his strong knee.

‘There’s your umbrella!’ he shouted, and she stood for a second in shock, staring at the pieces, at the cleverly formed ribs, and the torn silk.