Stephie sinks down onto the bed. Her head is pounding from exhaustion. She longs to sleep, and finds herself unable to get up off the bed until Aunt Märta returns to open each of the dresser drawers and scrutinize the contents. Aunt Märta takes out one or two garments and refolds them even more neatly.

When Stephie stands up, Aunt Märta smoothes out the bedspread, removing every wrinkle and crease. She signals to Stephie to follow her and goes back downstairs. Stephie walks slowly behind her, feeling as if she is entering unknown territory.

The table in the kitchen is set for two. Aunt Märta puts out their dinner: a steaming bowl of boiled potatoes and a serving platter with two fried fish on it. Whole fish, with the heads still on.

When they are seated, Aunt Märta clasps her hands and says a few soft words. After placing one of the fish on Stephie’s plate, she passes her the potatoes.

Stephie stares at the fish, and it stares right back at her with its dead, white eye. Aunt Märta cuts the head off hers and uses her knife to remove the skin. Stephie watches and imitates. The fish head is parted from the body with a horrid crack.

Aunt Märta pours two glasses of milk and hands Stephie a bowl of red preserves. Back home, they had jam with their pancakes, and sometimes raspberry jam in their tea. Papa always said his mother, who was born in Russia, drank her tea with a spoonful of jam in it. But jam with fish? Stephie takes a spoonful and puts it on her plate. To her relief, she sees Aunt Märta do so as well.

She pokes at the fish with her fork, then puts a tiny bite in her mouth and takes a deep drink of milk, swallowing as fast as she can. The milk masks the fishy taste.