April 25, 1919

I listen greedily, craning my neck. Now it is no longer a sickening feeling against father that arises in me, but a painful one. Heavens, how hunger has distorted him! Since 1918 — hunger, hunger, nothing but hunger! It is a stroke of good luck that the factory is again at work, otherwise it would be altogether bad. Even from his letters to the country one could see that papa had changed. He wrote that we were to come, but one could read between the lines that he did not want it to happen. Mama, too, is coming soon. How will we all be able to live with him?

The bell rings.

Tonka jumps up. I feel my heart beating quickly. It beats with fear. This is papa.

I run after Tonka to the kitchen. She is already opening the door. I stare with wide open eyes and my heart is beating, beating, beating …

He enters.

An expression of kindliness seems to pass over his thin, tired face.

“Ah, you’ve come? And how is mother?”

“Yes, papa. Good evening.”

Strange, why did I not kiss him? This has never happened before. Even as he shook my hand my heart stirred with a sense of loathing. He has lice, lice. But he appears kind. Only, his left eyebrow is twitching. And it twitches in such an unpleasant way. Yes, yes, I do not trust your kindly face. It is all put on, false, on purpose. You are stingy. You starve Alexander. And you will starve me. And you have lice.

Yes, I was not mistaken, and Tonka was right. Papa continues, without stopping:

“And our Shura is still without a job; that’s how we live. Oh, Lord!”

I was hurt by this tone and by these words. Of course, he is ashamed to say it point-blank to his own daughter, so he warns me in a roundabout way. Very well, I shall not eat your bread. I wish I had work right now.

“Papa, come have tea with us.”

It is Tonka’s invitation.