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noses, we managed to get him to lower that arm.
    â€˜The present! Give us the present!’ Maria jumped down from the table.
    Papa picked up a cardboard box full of crumpled-up newspaper. Inside was the present.
    â€˜A boat!’ I said.
    â€˜It’s not a boat, it’s a gondola,’ papa explained.
    â€˜What’s a gondola?’
    â€˜Gondolas are Venetian boats. And they only use one oar.’
    â€˜What’s an oar?’ my sister asked.
    â€˜A stick to move a boat with.’
    It was really beautiful. Made of black plastic. With little silvery pieces and at the end a little figure in a red-and-white striped shirt and a straw hat.
    But we discovered that we weren’t allowed to handle it. It was made to be put on the television. And between the television and the gondola there would have to be a white lace doily. Like a little lake. It wasn’t a toy. It was something precious. An ornament.
    â€˜Whose turn is it to fetch the water? It’ll be suppertime soon,’ mama asked us.
    Papa was in front of the television watching the news.
    I was laying the table. I said: ‘It’s Maria’s turn. I went yesterday.’
    Maria was sitting in the armchair with her dolls. ‘I don’t feel like it, you go.’
    Neither of us liked going to the drinking fountain so we took turns, one day each. But papa had come home and to my sister this meant the rules no longer applied.
    I gestured no with my finger. ‘It’s your turn.’
    Maria folded her arms. ‘I’m not going.’
    â€˜Why not?’
    â€˜I’ve got a headache.’
    Whenever she didn’t want to do something she said she had a headache. It was her favourite excuse.
    â€˜It’s not true, you haven’t got a headache, liar.’
    â€˜Yes I have!’ And she started massaging her forehead with a pained expression on her face.
    I felt like throttling her. ‘It’s her turn! She’s got to go!’
    Mama, exasperated, put the jug in my hands. ‘You go, Michele, you’re the eldest. Don’t make such a fuss.’ She said it as if it was a trivial matter, something quite unimportant.
    A smile of triumph spread on my sister’s lips. ‘See?’
    â€˜It’s not fair. I went yesterday. I’m not going.’
    Mama said to me with that harsh tone that came into her voice a moment before she lost her temper: ‘Do as you’re told, Michele.’
    â€˜No.’ I went over to papa to complain. ‘Papa, it’s not my turn. I went yesterday.’
    He took his eyes off the television and looked at me as if it was the first time he had ever seen me, stroked his mouth and said: ‘Do you know the soldier’s draw?’
    â€˜No. What is it?’
    â€˜Do you know what the soldiers did during the war to decide who went on the dangerous missions?’ He took a box of matches out of his pocket and showed it to me.
    â€˜No, I don’t know.’
    â€˜You take three matches,’ – he took them out of the box – ‘one for you, one for me and one for Maria. You remove the head from one of them.’ He took one and broke it, then he gripped them all in his fist and made the ends stick out. ‘Whoever draws the headless match goes to get the water. Pick one, come on.’
    I pulled out a whole one. I jumped for joy.
    â€˜Maria, it’s your turn. Come on.’
    My sister took a whole one too and clapped her hands.
    â€˜Looks like it’s me.’ Papa drew out the broken one.
    Maria and I started laughing and shouting: ‘You go! You go! You’ve lost! You’ve lost! Go and get the water!’
    Papa got up, rather crestfallen. ‘When I get back you must be washed. Do you hear me?’
    â€˜Would you like me to go? You’re tired,’ said mama.
    â€˜You can’t. It’s a dangerous mission. Besides, I’ve got to get my cigarettes from the truck.’ And he went