Tears dripped down on the bare, stained tabletop. Grete bit her knuckles and tried to think about Karneval. About the ‘Queen of the Night’ in a flood of lights and with all the other cupids and dancers and Carmens like graceful shadows around her. A shiny parquet floor and the melancholy quivering of violins. The ‘Queen of the Night’ glides dreamily across the floor with a soft, faraway look in her eyes. Sequins like moonlight sprinkle in her wake. She takes Grete by the hand and leads her into the light –

The front door slammed shut, and quick steps retreated down the stairs.

Grete cautiously turned her head to see her father sitting on the sofa staring vacantly into the room. She stood up and started to clean up after her mother. There wasn’t anything to be afraid of anymore. There never was when she was alone with her father. Sometimes he tried to entertain her a little, but of course he knew nothing about dresses, lipstick, or dancing. He wanted her to read Grimm’s Fairy Tales, but they were too boring and only for little kids. She liked the novel series in Family Journal a lot better. It was about a young girl who didn’t know if the young men were attracted to her for her money. And then one of them apparently put poison in her food, but that would be explained in the next issue. Her mother read it too. It was completely different from reading about fairies and trolls, which didn’t even exist!

In the shelter of the mirror, Grete let the orange-colored lipstick glide over her lips, and she lifted her eyebrows and smiled coyly at her reflection, with her head at a slight angle. She teased out her hair, wondering how it would look if she got a perm. Her mother had promised her one the next first of the month, when she would get a pay rise, but her father mustn’t know about it. She put her hand over her mouth and giggled at the thought. Then she cast a sidelong glance at her father. He was still sitting in the same position, bent forward with his big hands clasped together as if he were greeting himself.

Grete got up from the chair and walked over to him.

‘Daddy,’ she said hesitantly.

He looked at her. Strangely. Almost as if he couldn’t remember who she was. His eyes were kind of sad. But he could just stop being so mean to her mother. And not say that she was an old scarecrow!

Her heart felt tight because of his eyes. She turned away and started collecting pieces of cloth and sequins from the floor. She picked up one of them. It was just a piece of bent metal.

Her father stood up and looked at the clock. He cleared his throat.