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Milena’s bed, the one above hers, would be empty. She undressed, put on her nightgown, and disappeared under the covers, head and all. Less than ten seconds later, she heard Vera Plasil, in the next bed, whispering.
    “Where’s Milena?”
    Helen timidly emerged. “She hasn’t come back.”
    “Will she be coming?”
    “I don’t think so.”
    Vera groaned. “Oh, no! I don’t believe it! So who was picked for punishment?”
    “Catharina Pancek.”
    “Oh, my God!”
    The dormitory where the fifth-year and sixth-year girls slept was on the other side of a partition. One of the other supervisors suddenly burst through the door and marched straight toward Miss Zesch’s cubicle. Helen quickly recognized Miss Merlute, a tall, round-shouldered woman whose huge noselooked like a false one. People said she was the Tank’s lapdog, ready to do anything for her, obeying her orders without a moment’s hesitation. There was a low-voiced conversation, then both supervisors came out of the cubicle and made straight for the part of the dormitory where the fourth-year girls slept.
    “PANCEK!” thundered Miss Zesch. “CATHARINA PANCEK!”
    The girls started and sat up in bed.
    “Catharina Pancek, get up, get dressed, and come with me!” ordered Miss Merlute.
    “And the rest of you lie down again and stop talking!” shouted Miss Zesch.
    In the next row, little Catharina sat up, unable to believe it. But a glance at Milena’s bed, impeccably made and empty, immediately told her what was in store for her. She looked at Helen, but Helen turned her head away.
    “Hurry up!” said Miss Merlute impatiently.
    Catharina put on her glasses, which she kept hooked over the metal bedhead, opened her locker, dressed, put on her shoes, and went out with her coat under her arm. As she passed close — the supervisors were waiting farther off — Helen called in a low voice, “Catharina!”
    “What is it?”
    “Milena asks you to forgive her.”
    “What?”
    “Milena asks you to forgive her,” repeated Helen, and her voice broke.
    Catharina didn’t answer. She made her way past the rows of beds, while a chorus of voices rose as she went by.
    “Good luck, Catharina! You can do it, Catharina! We’ll be thinking of you.”
    One girl ran over to her and kissed her cheek. Helen thought she saw her slip something into Catharina’s hand.
    Miss Merlute, impatient, seized the girl by the arm and led her away almost at a run. They both disappeared through the doorway.
    “Bitches!” said one girl savagely.
    “Bloody cows!” agreed another.
    “Stop talking, I said!” shouted Miss Zesch, and the voices died down.
    Once peace and quiet were restored, Helen hid under her sheet and blankets and curled up into a ball. In the darkness she tried to persuade herself that this was only a nightmare and best forgotten, and she did her best to distract her mind by thinking up male and female couples, like Octavo: husband and wife; wizard and witch; fox and vixen; boy and girl. And she trembled as she whispered, very quietly, “Milos and Helen.”

T he next day was Friday, the day the Skunk came. Helen would have to get a move on if she was going to write her letter to Milos and leave it in the laundry cart before the old man arrived. She took advantage of Miss Mersch’s math lesson, which was from nine to ten. The math teacher was confined to a wheelchair and wouldn’t rush at her to snatch away her half-written letter shouting, “And what, young lady, is this?” She might have an eagle eye, but Helen, like the rest of her friends, was good at covering up.
    For a moment she wondered how to begin.
Dear Milos?
They hardly knew each other. . . .
Hi, Milos?
You might say that to anyone. She decided on just
Milos.
He could take it any way he liked. She told him how she had found the library empty, about her return to the boarding school without Milena, and above all about how miserable she felt when she saw little Catharina Pancek taken away to