N. leans against the door-frame, while I argue with someone on the phone. She looks down at her feet. Another ten minutes pass by till she comes over and whispers nearly voiceless in my ear: „Read On, Can I talk to you for a moment?“ „Of course you can“, say I and make space for her on the stool next to me, where a piles of notes are stacked. Firstly, she asks if I enjoy the tea she made me this morning. I praise the tea and hope Mrs Rajasthani may never find out that I drink someone else’s tea. Secondly, she wants to know, if I think she is good at what she is doing. I assure her that she is brilliant and nothing of what we do, would be possible without her. Then she blushes and remains silent and begins again: „us, women“, she says and interrupts herself, I nod encouraging and then I have to lean forward to understand her silent whispers and after ten minutes I believe I caught her point. „You want a tampon?, I ask, smiling happily ,because I am a big fan. Tampons are great, you can stop nosebleed, put pressure on a wound and probably would be able to fix a car engine with them, I say, while I search in my bag and finally produce a handful of them. „Take as many as you want.“ But N. looks at me in sheer horror. She stammers that her husband would not approve of such things. I swallow hardly, because I find it so very hard to understand, what a husband could not approve of the usage of a tampon. But little I know of husbands. Little I know,why a husband, who sleeps with his wife and lives with his wife does not want his wife feeling safe during her period. Little I know, why a husband tells his wife that she is unclean. Little I know, why a husband, who shares a table and a bed, a cat and a balcony, a closet and a glass of water in the bathroom pretends not to know that his wife is menstruating. Little, so little I know. N. leans forward again and tells me that she is ashamed to go to the pharmacy asking for sanitary pads. The men selling them would give her awkward looks and make comments. N. starts to cry. Listen, I say, I go and buy them. Fifteen minutes later I enter the first pharmacy. The man behind the corner claims not to sell „these things.“ The men gathering in the shop are giggling. I slam the door while leaving. In the second pharmacy I am luckier. The man behind the cashier grabs a package of sanitary pads with two of his fingers and looks at me. „I need more, say I, and while he tries to avoid my look I sternly look at him. He comes up with two more packs. „More, repeat I, I need more.“ Now the man begins to sweat. He speaks quickly with the shop assistant and the assistant blushes. He brings more packs. More, say I bring me more. I need plenty more. Both men and all the men gathered in the shop are looking at me. It is absolutely silent in the pharmacy. Only the shop assistant is to be heard, he wraps the packets into brown paper. Finally, I leave the shop with twenty-seven packages of sanitary pads. The men in the shop stare at me with sheer horror in their eyes. I close the door silently behind me. Back, I put the six bags full of sanitary pads in the middle of a table. Ten minutes later, all packages have disappeared. Before I leave, N. leans against the door-frame. „No, I say, don’t you dare to say thank you.“ „But, N. I say, when you don’t go into the pharmacy and don’t use tampons, what are you doing?“ N. looks at her feet and comes to my desk again. Nearly voiceless, she says: Newspaper or old rugs. N. is a woman of 35 years, she has a profession of her own and she is married. Little I know of husbands, not to say nothing at all, but I can’t believe that a man lying next to a woman, who has old rugs or newspaper between her legs, who is afraid to move or to change sides, can sleep safe and sound. Impossible it is to imagine that a man, who brushes his teeth in the morning can leave with a smile on his face, knowing that his wife puts newspaper into her underpants and goes to work as he does. Little I know and nothing of this I am able to understand.