If only she didn’t have that sickening fish head on her plate! She tries not to look at it. But pretending it isn’t there only earns her a mouthful of bones in her next bite. The bones stick in her throat.

She’s nearly emptied her glass. Does she dare ask for more milk? And what should she say?

She drinks up the last drop and points to the pitcher.

“Bitte,” she says. The German word for “please.”

Aunt Märta nods and pours her another glass. Stephie chews and swallows, chews and swallows. She hides as much of the fish as she can under the pile of skin and bones on her plate. Once again her milk glass is empty. She can’t possibly ask for even more, and can just barely get the last bite of fish to go down.

Aunt Märta’s finished eating. She gets up from the table, takes a pot of hot water from the stove, and pours it into the sink. Then she points to the plates and to the sink filled with water.

In the days when they lived in their own large apartment, Stephie’s family had a cook, a housemaid, and a cleaning lady who came once a week. After they moved, Mamma did all the housework herself. Papa thought Stephie and Nellie should help with simpler tasks like the dishes and dusting. But Mamma refused.

“My daughters are never going to be household slaves,” she told him.

Well, she should see Stephie now, awkwardly scraping the remains of the fish from the plates down into the slop pail. One at a time, Stephie slides the plates into the hot water. Finding the dishcloth, she washes away the fatty remains; then she rinses each plate in fresh water.

By the time Stephie has cleaned up after the meal, her hands are swollen and red. She wipes the table and rinses the dishcloth under the cold-water tap. The dishcloth has a sour smell.

Aunt Märta sweeps the floor and wipes the stove. She inspects each plate and, pointing with one finger, shows Stephie where she hasn’t done a good job on one of them.