One evening, grandfather, before sitting down in the dilapidated armchair near the window on the light well, went and got his pipe from his evacuee’s suitcase, took out of his pocket a pouch of tobacco he had just bought, and began to smoke, for the first time since that May of 1943. Grandmother brought over her chair and sat looking at him.
“That’s how you smoke a pipe. I’ve never seen anyone smoke a pipe.”
And they sat in silence the whole time. When grandfather finished she said to him, “You shouldn’t spend any more money on the women in the brothel. You should spend that money to buy tobacco, and relax and have your smoke. Explain to me what you do with those women and I’ll do the same.”