‘Well, I guess I’ve got to get going,’ he said in a completely normal voice, and Grete breathed a bit easier, regretting the marl pit. But why did he always scare them so much? You couldn’t ask him about anything or talk with him the same way as her mother, who told Grete everything.

He started putting on his boots.

‘Aren’t you afraid to sleep alone?’ he asked, with the strange, shy voice he used when he was trying to be nice to her, even though he was mad at her mother.

Grete pushed her hair back and smiled bravely at him. She was still a little scared, even though it was silly to feel that way.

‘No,’ she said intrepidly. ‘When you’re asleep, you can’t be afraid.’

Her father laughed hoarsely, and something bright arose inside Grete: Just imagine if he could always be nice and in a good mood.

Then he put his packed sandwich in his pocket and awkwardly stroked the girl’s hair.

‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’ he asked.

‘Queen of the Night,’ she shouted with excitement, but bowed her head as if from a blow when she saw her father’s expression change. But he didn’t hit her; he just turned away and walked out the door without saying goodbye.

She stood there, staring in confusion at the closed door. Then she felt cold, and went and peeked in the lukewarm stove. There was a pile of ashes in front of it from the morning. She should probably go to bed, but there was still straightening up to do. Why did her father get angry so suddenly? Hopefully her mother would come home soon.

She bent down and pushed the costume scraps into a pile with one hand. She could get a broom from the kitchen and sweep them up, but she never liked making a noise when she was home alone. She added the pile to the ashes, then she crouched down and looked at it. She reached out her hand, picked up a curl that had been cut off the wig, and pressed it between her fingers. It stung like nettle but she grasped it even tighter.

This must be made of glass, she thought, feeling something warm running down her cheeks. It was silly to cry over something like that.

She knew beforehand it would hurt.

One Morning in a Residential Neighborhood

It was fall, but the little girl insisted it was winter because she was cold, and she was wearing her new brown winter coat for the first time. Early that morning she had been woken by Hansen, even though her older brother was still sleeping. There was something unusual and exciting in the air, but she was so sleepy, she couldn’t remember just then what was in store for her.