"My name is Ruth Enschede. His red hair marked him, cut short into a round shape that had the texture of a Brillo pad. I'll wait here. Perhaps I ought to have let you order the dinner, but I think I got through it pretty well. She would come and sit cross-legged just beyond the bamboo curtain and silently watch him at work. The knots and broken pale that made the garden-fence scalable, and gave access to the fields behind, were still to be traced. Never since I was a girl have I seen your father so moved. But she did not listen long; she wanted to talk. She wasn’t well-liked really, I think people were jealous of her. She could tell that he was leering at her. When he returned, it was always the same.
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