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I now remembered my mother saying it was in the perfect shape of a fish. She had joked that it was God’s way of seeing to it that I would never drown. Now Frau Anna saw it for a part of the Miracle of the Gloria . I remained silent, too preoccupied with the cold, and besides, I saw no reason to tell her that I had been born with the mark upon my skin .
    â€˜There! I told you so!’ Frau Anna, somewhat recovered from her initial shock, declared triumphantly. ‘This is yet another confirmation that the Lord Jesus has personally blessed the child.’ Not wishing to miss an opportunity to scold them she turned scornfully to her two companions. ‘And you two see fit to mock God’s special child! Shame on you both. I hope you will declare this sinful behaviour before next you accept the bread and the wine of redemption?’
    Frau Anna’s admonishment silenced them and somewhat resentfully they set about me with soap and wet rags, splashing me with jugs of freezing water until I gasped and turned blue from the cold, my teeth chattered furiously and I was unable to cease from trembling. They soaped my hair and then made me immerse my head in the freezing stream, Frau Anna’s huge hand at the back of my neck forced my head below the water while one of the women rinsed my hair. At last, fussing and clucking, they dried me in the pale sunlight and dressed me in a woollen gown that fitted well enough and was clean and carefully patched. The wimple was almost new and wrapped snugly about my head, and though the shoes were too big and the wooden soles well worn they remained on my feet with only a little difficulty and were tolerably comfortable. One of the women produced a cloak to wrap around my shoulders.
    And so we set off for the meeting with Father Pietrus, the three women excited by the further addition of a sacred fish, which added to my growing mystique. As we approached the village church Frau Anna turned to me. ‘I will do the talking, Sylvia. You will be silent until the priest asks you to sing the Gloria . Say nothing, you hear? Nothing! Do you understand, child?’
    I nodded, happy to comply with her request. I was anxious and frightened for I had never spoken to a priest and couldn’t imagine ever doing so. Father Pietrus was busy and caused us to wait for some time before we were ushered into a draughty vestry by the old hausfrau who swept the church interior and cooked and cleaned for him. She bade us all to be seated in a pew too small to contain three fat women and myself, so I found myself squashed between the enormous buttocks of Frogface and Gooseneck.
    The priest arrived and sat in a chair facing us; he seemed not to notice our discomfort, his hands spread on his lap and his head bowed as if he was about to pronounce a blessing, but no word came from his mouth. We waited for what seemed like ages until at last he sighed, raised his head and asked somewhat wearily, ‘So, tell me about this so-called miracle I hear so much about?’
    Frau Anna started to open her mouth when the priest’s hand shot up. ‘The child will speak of it first.’ Shocked at this sudden command to speak I remained silent and terrified. ‘Speak up, child!’ Father Pietrus demanded impatiently. ‘I do not have all day to listen to the prattle of three old women and a child.’ He sighed again and then said in a mocking voice, ‘It seems a month for miracles – last week an old crone visited me to say she’d seen the face of the Blessed Virgin appear on a piece of linen as the wind blew her washing on the line. She brought the rag to me and asked that I declare it sacred and pronounce it a relic!’ He sighed and ran his hand over his bald pate. ‘“Use it to wipe the dishes, old frau, that way your food will be blessed,” I advised her. She left well pleased.’ He sighed. ‘Is there no end to this nonsense of signs and