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quickened the hopes of the many who lived in uncertainty.
    When my aunt and I first came to the marketplace the only goods we saw came either from the Soviet army’s supply stores or from scavengers who spent their time sifting through the ruins. Then the peasants began to arrive and everything changed. They brought with them not only their farm produce but also a rich variety of luxury items, hidden or left in their safekeeping by some of Dobryd’s wealthiest citizens.
    Most of these objects were strange to me. I had no idea what function they had once performed. I approached them as displays in a museum, all the more mysterious since they lay there without any form of identification. I wandered among them, fascinated and intrigued. I vaguely sensed that I had come upon the remains of a civilization which, although quite foreign to me now, had once been a part of my life.
    In the weeks following the German retreat, the peasants realized that there was little chance that rightful owners would return to retrieve possessions stored in haste before fleeing. The few who had survived and did manage to return usually lacked the strength to assert their claim to any of their former possessions. The peasants became more and more daring. Precious, luxurious objects filled their stalls. Very quickly we all became accustomed to seeing these items displayed side by side with the more familiar vegetables and sacks of grain.
    When my aunt had sold the few things she brought with her in the morning, she would take my hand and we would wander in the alleys of the marketplace, this time as potential buyers or spectators.
    On our way we would pass stacks of fine linen, handmade lace tablecloths and samplers of intricate embroidery. All this, my aunt would explain as she identified the objects for me, might have belonged to a bride’s trousseau, started in childhood. Elsewhere, we would come upon displays of silverware with the monograms or seals of their former owners blatantly exposed. Stocky peasant women, their hair tied up in flowered scarves, sat in the midst of shops filled with the loot of war. Casually, as they chatted with each other, their hands would stray to the nearby objects, settling for a moment on some delicate silver or gold combs, picking up some small box, inlaid and encrusted with jewels, passing with indifference over the beautifully carved hair brushes, the matching hand mirrors, the gold chains weighted by pocket watches that no one bothered to wind.
    I could have remained before these objects for hours if my aunt hadn’t prodded me on. She, who had grown up in luxury and comfort, walked impassively past these riches, or so it seemed to me.
    â€œLook over there!” I would shout, pulling at her hand to direct her attention at something that had caught my eye. “Yes, yes, I see,” she would answer in a tone of voice that told me that she could not possibly have seen what I meant. I would become more insistent, demanding that her excitement match my own. Finally, growing impatient, she would take hold of my hand and firmly pull me in another direction.
    I could not understand her lack of interest. Yet other shoppers ignored them as well. I noticed that many people looked away when they came close to these luxuries. For the most part they were the playthings of the farmers’ children. I became certain that there was a mysterious story attached to these objects, some secret that the grown-ups did not want to talk about. It was hard not to pester my aunt with questions, even though I sensed that they made her uncomfortable. There was so much to see, however, that my attention never stayed fixed on one object for long.
    When we had finished our purchases, we usually walked over to the section of the market where prepared foods were sold. Throughout the day, the odours of cooking that came from this area pervaded the entire market. Since everyone was usually hungry, the effect of these smells