The sun is rising. Oi weh, how can the sun rise and he not here?
Mein Gott! He ain’t coming!
I sit myself down on the floor by the window with my head on the sill.
Everybody is sleeping. I can’t sleep. And I’m so tired.
Next day I go, like pushed on, to the shop, glad to be swallowed up by my work.
The noise of the knocking machines is like a sleeping-medicine to the cryings inside of me. All day I watched my hands push the waists up and down the machine. I wasn’t with my hands. It was like my breathing stopped and I was sitting inside of myself, waiting for David.
The six o’clock whistle blowed. I go out from the shop.
I can’t help it—I look for him.
“Oi, Gott! Do something for me once! Send him only!”
I hold on to the iron fence of the shop, because I feel my heart bleeding away.