April 25, 1919

Before sitting down to tea, father pulls his bread from his pocket. And to me it seems that he is drawing something out of my heart. It aches because he is cutting off such careful, thin slices. He cuts one

for himself, one for Shura. And for me? What does it mean?

And he suddenly says:

“You’re not hungry, I guess, fresh from the country? You didn’t travel without eating, of course?” The blood rushes to my head. I feel that my eyes are sparkling with hatred, and I hide them.

“No, I’m not hungry.”

“That’s good. And here, we are starving.”

After cutting off the slices, he wraps the bread in a newspaper. Then he returns it to his pocket.

I watch from under my eyelashes how he moves his gaunt fingers, and I feel hurt, and I am sorry for him, and I hate him. How terribly he has changed! With what miserly movements he wraps the bread in the paper. How disagreeably he stuffs it into his pocket.

“Well, let’s go to sleep.”

Again, he looks at me in a kindly way, and I am suddenly seized with fear. Sleep with him in one room? God, but I am afraid of him now! And those lice! …

“And where do you sleep, dad?”

“In my room. Haven’t you been there yet? Come, I’ll show you.”

I look at him in surprise. Another new trait: he is insincere with me. Has he forgotten that the room is locked?

We enter.

With a feeling of horror, I place my feet on the floor. There must be lice all about. There are two beds in the corners. Yes, there is no room for me.

“Papa, there is no room here. I will not put you to trouble; I’d better sleep at Tonya’s.”

“Don’t be a fool; she has no room either.”

“Well, I’ll put up on the floor there.”

“I tell you to stop talking nonsense. Sleep where you are told to.”

A threatening tone. He is truly angry. He might even order me out. One can expect anything now.

They vacated one of the beds for me, and went to sleep together.