I drink coffee and then I put the kettle on to make herbal tea. Then I go for a walk and talk to the grocer’s wife. I run some errands and have lunch with the priest. I dust the bookshelves and text with T. I sort out the books I want to take back to Berlin tomorrow and I look out of the window. I pat Queen Cat’s back and put a record on. I try to sleep for twenty minutes and begin to knit a Yoda hat for my niece. I wash my hair and water the plants. I sit on the stairs and throw out newspapers. Then I wait for the vet, who wants to come by later. An ordinary sunday. But again and again, I get back to my notebook and look at the scenes unfolding in in New-Delhi. I think of all the women I know and all the children I care for and I remember how I walked down an empty road not late at night.
My heart is heavy.