The potatoes were still too raw to cut the day he found out she survived the famine. Six years without any word. A letter each week with no answer. When he had business north of her town, he would sneak off the train and avoid the check point guards by climbing over the storage depot’s fence, his coat thrown over the concertina wire.

Her family apartment had seemed so much smaller empty of people. The dining table where the sun would drift across the top to mark the passage of time. He hadn’t stayed very long. Why get in trouble with the Ispalscom when she wasn’t even here?

He couldn’t make direct enquiries at work. He hadn’t told his friends about the girl in the coal town.

He stared out through the window at the barren backyard of his landlords. The couple were too old now to keep the furniture and garden they once had, when their son had been alive to help tend it.

The first time he saw her she was trying to push into buy a ticket for the state film on opening night. He had taken the day off work and had his tickets early. Now he was sitting along the low wall across the street, watching the throng. She had ridden up in a rush, stopping short of the line. Everything about her was short: her hair tucked behind her ears. You could see her neck where a mole was on the curve of it. Maybe he should offer her the ticket. His brother wouldn’t mind too much. Across the way, he watched her try to push between people until she disappeared from view. He didn’t remember the rest of the night, not his brother eating popcorn or the name of the movie.

The next time he saw her was the Quarter Fall Festival. Though, this time she had tickets and waited in line to the concession stand.

In the movie theatre, once the lights dimmed, he liked sometimes to glimpse the light on the faces around him. He couldn’t find her in the big dark room.

It ended up being easy finding out her name. It seems an unusual girl like her gets noticed by others.