The optician was measuring his field of vision. In front of him he saw nothing other than light gray with a friendly red spot in the center of a limited area the shape of a half sphere. At the edge of his field of vision were smaller, flashing dots, which the optician indicated he had seen. Sticking his head in the hemisphere and confirming that the flashing dots were there reassured him.

Selma passed Elsbeth’s house. Elsbeth, also still in black, stood in her garden with a leaf blower. She held the blower up to the apple tree. It was April and the leaves were accordingly young.

“What are you doing?” Selma shouted over the roar of the leaf blower.

Elsbeth did not turn to face her. “I want time to pass,” she shouted. “I want it to be autumn already. The autumn after the autumn after this one.”

It didn’t occur to the leaves to let themselves be blown off their branches. They were young and strong. They didn’t understand what Elsbeth had in mind and didn’t feel in the least bit threatened; in fact, they felt like they were getting a blow-dry.

“Put it on turbo,” Selma suggested. Elsbeth didn’t hear her.

“And what are you doing?” she called loudly without turning around.

“I’m carrying Luisa,” Selma shouted back, and Elsbeth answered, “That’s good, too.”

Selma nodded at Elsbeth’s back and continued on to Palm’s house.

Selma had briefly considered letting the dogs starve. Palm had not fed them for days. Since Martin’s death he had not left his house, not even for the funeral. Selma had wanted to bring him to the funeral since she suspected he would not come. She went to his house. Famished, the dogs bayed even louder than usual. She had slipped past them, knocked, and rung the bell, but Palm had not answered the door.

“Palm, you have to come,” she had finally yelled up from under his kitchen window. Then she had cleared her throat and added, “You have to carry his coffin.” As she shouted this last sentence, she had squeezed her eyes shut. Such a sentence should never be shouted; even in a whisper it would be too loud. “There’s no other way, Palm,” Selma had shouted then, twice.

Palm had not opened the door and so there was another way.

Now, standing before Palm’s house, Selma briefly thought of going back to Elsbeth, back to the optician, so they could help her with the bologna slices. She decided it was too much trouble.