Winter's End Read Free Page A

away from him even if he’d hardly opened his mouth. The poor man tried to keep this misfortune at bay by drinking cheap rotgut that could be bought for him in the town.
    “We’ve never tried it before,” said the taller boy, the one his friend had called Bartolomeo. “But the older guys say it works.”
    His voice was both deep and soft, almost a man’s voice.
    “Let’s write our names down,” said Milena. She was already tearing a piece of paper into four.
    They all searched their pockets for a pencil or a pen, and then each of the four carefully wrote his or her name. Standing close together in their long overcoats, they formed a little island of warmth in the cold. The boys had their collars turned up, the girls had pulled their hoods over their heads, and there was almost nothing of them to be seen except their hands and faces. Helen finishedwriting
Helen Dormann, the girls’ school, 4th year,
then handed the paper to Milos without hesitating. He handed his note to her at the same time, and their fingers touched. They smiled and put the two scraps of paper in their pockets unread. Milena and Bartolomeo had already exchanged theirs.
    “We don’t want our letters to cross each other,” said Milena, always practical. “Helen and I will write first.”
    “Fine,” said the two boys.
    “Right.” Helen shook herself and took Milena’s arm. “We’re going on up. I don’t have much time left.”
    “We’d better get a move on too,” said Milos. “Or we’re going to be late. I don’t fancy sending a friend to the detention cell.”
    And they rushed on downhill.
    “You’ll write first, then?” the taller boy confirmed, turning back for a moment.
    “Is that a promise?” asked Milos, forefinger raised as if to threaten them.
    “It’s a promise!” said the two girls at the same time, laughing.

A s Helen and Milena walked into the consolers’ village, the chilly drizzle surrounded them like liquid dust, its tiny droplets glittering in any light from the street lamps or windows. The brick houses, crowding close to each other all along the road, looked like miniatures. You went down a few steps to reach most of them, and you almost had to bend to get through the doorway.
    Milena stopped at the first house. “I’ll wait for you here. And don’t forget me if your consoler’s cooked something nice. I’m starving.”
    “Don’t worry, I’ll remember. I just hope it’s warm for you in the library.”
    To make sure, Helen followed her friend into the tiny, low-ceilinged room. A flame was flickering behind the glass door of the wood-burning stove, and it was indeed warm.
    “They never forget, do they?” said Milena.
    A lighted lamp on the table welcomed visitors, and halfway up the wall were two shelves with a hundred or so well-worn books on them. As Milena took her coat off, she was already looking at them, deciding which to choose.
    “I’m off, then,” said Helen. “See you soon. Have a nice read!”
    She herself had been here several times as companion to Milena or one of the other girls. She loved the library, a place cut off from the rest of the world where no one ever disturbed you and you could read and dream in peace. It was like a nest or a cradle, she thought — somewhere warm, in any case, where no one ever wished you harm. And no one else would come in except, from time to time, a quiet man who must be married to one of the consolers, coming to add a log to the stove on the hearth. He would ask kindly, “Enjoying your book?” You assured him that you were, and he went away again. She had only once had to share the room with another companion, a boy who read for a few minutes but then sat huddled up in a corner with his head on his knees and went to sleep.
    All the girls loved being chosen as companions and having the chance of two hours in this library. Sometimes, of course, they would rather have visited their own consolers, but Rule 22 was quite clear: Girls acting as