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swollen lip. On days like this, Sabina would give Hanka a ballpoint pen. “Write, I’ll dictate. My hands need to wake up.” She would give Hanka a blank sheet, her hands trembling as if she had a fever. But that was the vodka.
    Hanka wrote:
Please excuse my daughter, Hanka, from classes today.
Hanka pressed a wet towel to her cut brow ridge.
She must be away on account of important family matters.
The towel slowly became soaked with blood.
    “Will you sign it, Mum?”
    “No. My hands aren’t working,” Sabina grunted, and Hanka signed for her.
    Sabina was just like that. From time to time she simply had to harass Hanka and the girl had to bear it somehow. To bear the pinching. Survive the spanks and jerks. Eventually, each time, it would end. And she was hardly the only one who was beaten by her parents. Every child on the housing estate could tell a story about being beaten. With a cable, with a lead. Hanka’s mother was the same as other mothers, right?
    Hanka once talked to her best friend, Agata, about it. Agata was red like a fox. They sat on the roof of the garage and ate wild cherries. They were still a little green, but it was better to eat them than to leave them for the other kids.
    “They fight, and then Mom beats me up,” Hanka said.
    “Normal stuff,” Agata replied. “She’ll be better when they make up. My parents are always better after sex, you know? Once I went into their bedroom. They were jumping on each other like kangaroos. Yuck!” The girls started giggling, and Hanka felt a little better.
    After a few days, Hanka’s parents made up. Janusz brought flowers and red wine. They drank it politely in silence. Then they got up and disappeared into the bedroom. Hanka rubbed her hands together, silently congratulated Agata on being so acute, and also went to bed.



7
    Sabina—The Bottom Of The Bottle
    By September, Sabina and Janusz had had two more rows, with several quiet days, sleepless nights, and teary apologies. Stupid Janusz. He was always resentful, he always wanted something. Sabina was irritated—everything got on her nerves.
    On top of this, she hadn’t menstruated for a while. At first she thought she’d made a mistake counting the days. She looked through the calendar. As usual, she had forgotten to write down when it had happened. She thought it must be just a mistake. But another month passed and Sabina had to face the fact that she’d have to go to the doctor and to see what was going on. After all, she was too young for menopause!
    “You’re pregnant,” the gynaecologist said, and Sabina tried hard to smile as if she had never heard better news.
    She almost ran on her way out of the clinic. She spotted a free bench and dropped onto it. She felt breathless. She lowered her head between her knees. Something roared inside her.
A baby
. Anything but that! Sabina straightened up and pulled her blouse up. Her belly was still flat. A normal belly with such an unpleasant surprise inside. She reached for her purse and turned it upside down. An old lipstick fell onto the grass where it had been flattened by people’s feet. The sun glinted on its golden rims. Handkerchiefs.
Here they are!
Cigarettes. She lit one, but had it the wrong way around and held the flame to the filter.
    “Fuck!” She threw it away and lit another one.
    She inhaled deeply and the roar in her head went silent. She leaned backwards and blew smoke toward the sky. Clouds were moving west. And she was stuck on this hard bench, thinking. Now what? Abortion was out of question. It was too expensive, though it would be the perfect solution. Perhaps she could convince Janusz? No. He’ll want to keep the baby. Old fool. Should she try to improvise on her own? She wouldn’t be able to put a clothes hanger inside herself. Maybe she could throw herself down the stairs. Would that work? Nope. Shit. Sabina finished her cigarette and started toward home. On the way she stopped at the shop.
    “Half a litre of