The woman took his hand in her dry, rough hand and said:
“Get ready, darling. Your mother… isn’t coming.”
At the funeral, Alona stood in horror. The coffin was ugly, covered with a cheap red cloth. Inside lay her mother, with a strange, waxy face and strangely pursed lips. Aunt Nina was crying so hard that her shoulders were shaking, and she held a wet handkerchief to her face.
“My poor little orphan,” he wailed. “How could this happen, Galka, you fool, you fool! Why did you follow him? You were such a beautiful girl, such a craftsman…”
Alona didn’t cry. She felt like if she did, something terrible would happen, like the earth would open up or the sky would fall in. But the sky was gray and plain, and the rain was drizzling, and one of the strangers
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