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were tire tracks, fresh tracks, still damp. It had to be the Zil.
    Jana ran down the alley, and kept on running over to the next street. Then arbitrarily, because she had no other leads, she ran through the nameless maze of corridors that made up that section of Bratislava, scouring the alleys trying to search. One street radiated into another. She forced herself to keep on until she was exhausted, and still she kept going.
    She did not find the car.
    An hour and a half later, she found Sofia.
    She was at another street corner, sitting on a curb, feet in the gutter, her clothes disheveled, her hair hanging down, looking like just another Gypsy child to the people who passed by without really looking at her, without realizing that she was in distress. Maybe they didn’t want to notice. Jana hesitated, wondering what to do, how to act. She finally settled down on the curb next to Sofia, murmuring “hello.” Sofia continued to stare vacantly at the ground without acknowledging Jana.
    After five minutes of silence, Jana moved closer, just close enough to angle her body so she could look out of the corners of her eyes at Sofia. There was a small scratch on Sofia’s nose, running almost parallel to the tracks tears were leaving on her cheeks. Her blouse was torn on the side closest to Jana; the blouse itself was buttoned askew. When Jana faced Sofia, she saw that one of her friend’s shoes was missing, that blood stained Sofia’s once-white sock. A very thin trail of blood ran up the length of Sofia’s calf, up to a smudge of blood half revealed on her thigh, the rest concealed by her skirt.
    Jana thought it over.
    Even a twelve-year-old girl in Bratislava knew enough about men and women to be aware of what these signs indicated. The mothers of Slovakia, where so many girls become pregnant before they marry young, told their daughters the facts of life early and frequently in the hope that they would be able to avoid the worst. Sofia had listened, but not heard. Jana had been more receptive.
    They sat quietly for another half hour. Eventually, Jana put her arm around her friend. Sofia, still silent, leaned on Jana’s shoulder. Then, judging the time was right, Jana attempted to straighten her friend’s blouse.
    “I want to clean up,” Sofia whispered.
    “I know,” Jana whispered back.
    “I can’t go home this way.”
    “We can go to my house,” Jana assured her, kissing her on the ear. “My parents aren’t home.”
    Sofia nodded.
    “Now, let’s go.” Jana urged Sofia to her feet, supporting her to make sure she did not fall, then smoothed her friend’s hair into a semblance of order.
    “Thank you,” whispered Sofia. “I’m a mess. Everything is a mess, just a big mess.”
    “I’m your friend. As long as we’re friends it will be okay. We’re friends for life, right, Sofia?”
    Sofia nodded.
    “That’s a good thing for both of us to remember.”
    Sofia nodded again. She held up what looked like the handle from the inside of a door. “I grabbed it trying to get out. It broke off in my hand. I hit him with it.”
    “You did the right thing.” Jana’s heart went out to her friend. She managed to hold her tears back. “I’m proud of you, Sofia.”
    They began to walk. Sofia was stiff, moaning softly from pain as she moved. Jana put her arm around her friend’s waist, trying to ease her distress.
    “Friends for life,” Sofia got out.
    “Yes,” said Jana. “Forever.”
    They reached Jana’s house twenty-five minutes later. Immediately, Jana drew a hot bath for Sofia, helped her into the water and watched her friend try to recover from her ordeal. Sofia sat in the bath until the water was cold. Then Jana helped a dispirited Sofia dry herself, at the same time supporting her to make sure she didn’t fall. She walked Sofia into her own bedroom and found a fresh pair of panties and a clean blouse to take the place of Sofia’s torn ones. After a few minutes, Jana managed to comb Sofia’s hair,