Jorzy fetches Papa’s viola from the shelf. Babet bursts out laughing as the first notes squawk from the instrument. She jumps up, dragging Marina along with her. Jorzy, his face screwed up, croaks out the lyrics. “Oh, I’m a goose, a silly, silly goose. I sing all day and I prance all night–”

Babet and Marina do the goose dance, hands tucked under their arms, necks stretched out. Even Nanna, with folded arms, is grinning. I tap my foot along with the viola and start to clap. Therei appears in the doorway and Marina grabs her hand, pulling her into the dance.

“Yes, I’m a goose, a silly, silly goose. Let me loose, and hear me braaay–”

And the viola yaws and brays like a wild goose. Like magic, children from other parts of the building materialise, so that the kitchen is soon full of people doing the goose dance. I’m laughing my head off.

Jorzy goes up an octave, making his voice into a falsetto. “Oh, I’m a goose, a silly, silly goose. I’ve got my neck caught in the farmer’s noose – eeeeeee!”As the viola teeters on the single rasping note, everybody falls down, shaking their feet in the air and laughing.

“Play it again, Jorzy,” cries Babet.

Putting the viola back up on the shelf, he ruffles Babet’s thatch of dark hair. “Maybe tomorrow, little goose.”

Marina disappears then with Therei, their heads together. Talking about the baby, probably, and it makes me feel sober again. I fetch in a bucket of water for Nanna, helping her to wash and dry the tin plates. With so little food, at least there isn’t much washing up to do.

“You’re a good boy, Leho,” Nanna says. My face goes hot; it’s not like Nanna to dole out unexpected praise. She puts the pile of clean plates up on the shelf above the bench. “Will you put Babet to bed tonight? Give Marina a night off.”

In the sleeping area, Babet is tucking her soft dolly and herself into bed, muttering some kind of nonsense under her breath to the doll. Crouching beside the mattress, I pull the covers up to her chin. My little sister’s eyes are large in the dim light as she looks up at me expectantly.

“Marina always tells us a story,” she declares. It’s funny seeing the two faces lying neatly on the pillow, my sister and her doll.

“I know, but she’s busy tonight.” I sit cross-legged on Marina’s mattress.

“Then you must tell us a story, Leho.”

“Oh, all right,” I huff, “but it’s going to be a short one.”

Babet wriggles under the covers. Shadows from the room’s burning candle play across the walls.

“There was this boy–”

“You’ve got to start with once upon a time,” she tells me.