I slept badly. Nightmares. It’s dark in here, only the moon shining in a little. But that way at least there’s some light in the room. I can just make out the shapes of the furniture. Yesterday there were still paraffin lamps here. Where’s the picture? I was holding it when I went to sleep. I know that perfectly well, I’m not stupid. He covered me up, like yesterday. That’s weird. I’m shivering in spite of the quilt. No one in the room apart from me. I can’t understand what he wants me for. At first I thought he just wanted the money, but not another word about the money or the keys, not since we’ve been here. Odd. My thoughts are going round in circles. After a while I go to sleep again.

It’s twilight. All of a sudden I’m wide awake. I need to go to the toilet. I haven’t been all day. I can hardly hold it in any longer. I knock, I lie on the floor and call through the crack around the trapdoor: ‘Hello, I need the toilet, I have to go, it’s urgent!’ Nothing, he doesn’t stir. ‘I’ll go in this room if you don’t open the door!’

Nothing, not a sound, all’s quiet. The pressure in my bladder is getting worse and worse. If I don’t get to a toilet right away I’ll wet my knickers like a little kid. ‘Hey, you down there, open up! Don’t you hear me? I need the toilet!’

That bastard isn’t listening. I hop from leg to leg, it doesn’t help. I cross my legs, bend double. ‘Can’t you hear me? I need a toilet. Or a bucket!’ I search the place for something to go in. Nothing. Wait, the plastic bag! The plastic bag in the chest of drawers comes to my rescue. I pick up the bag and go to the farthest corner of the room. Would it be a good idea to undress completely? There’s no clean underwear to put on. No time now. I pull my skirt up, take my panties right down and squat, holding the bag under me. No, this isn’t going to work. If anyone could see me now they’d die laughing. I feel more like crying. I’m going to pee any moment now, and then it’ll all be in the room, no rag to wipe it up, no bucket of water. I fold the top edge of the bag over until it will stand on the floor by itself. That’s better. Squat low, and there we are. Sudden relief, oh, that feels good. To think something so simple can make you feel happy. Now, tie the top of the bag together, push it under the chest of drawers, done it.

Exhausted, I lie down on the bed.

How did that picture of Joachim and me get here? What does this guy want? Why did he bring me here? I don’t understand any of it. I rack my brains. There’s no sense in it, none at all. Think. Right. This weird character must have stolen it and brought it here, can’t be anyone else. He must have broken into my apartment. But why? He didn’t take anything but the picture. Or at least I didn’t notice anything missing. I can’t remember finding money or anything valuable gone.

But why that picture? Why would anyone go to the trouble of breaking in and stealing just a single object, a picture of me and my little brother? Any reasonable person would steal something more valuable. My stereo system, my colour TV, money, jewellery, how should I know what? If it was a bit of me he wanted he’d have taken something else. Like underclothes. I once read how Japanese like that sort of thing, they steal used underwear. Of course if he’d taken only one or two items I wouldn’t have noticed. Clean or dirty underwear, whatever. I don’t spend my time counting my pairs of knickers, after all.

But why a picture with Joachim in it? I had my new jeans on in that photo, my first really tight jeans. I got into a hot bath in those jeans, on purpose, to shrink them so they’d be a skin-tight fit. After that I always had to lie on the floor to get the zip done up. Wow, was I proud of them! Hair in a ponytail, dark glasses and a pouting mouth. Just like Brigitte Bardot. All her films were on TV at the time. In black and white. No colour TV then, or at least we didn’t have it at home. My girlfriends stared at me, open-mouthed in envy when they saw my new look. The boys too, of course. The really cool characters had bikes with ape-hanger handlebars, banana saddles and a fox-tail blowing in the wind. The height of fashion at the time. Our contact with boys consisted of hair-pulling, spraying each other with water and teasing, but all the same we all knew what the others were doing. The others were the boys from the village school. They were always out and about on their bikes from morning to evening. The photo with Joachim was taken on a cycling trip. One of my girlfriends had a camera from a branch of Photo Porst. I remember it very well. The camera cost ten marks at the time, a cheap one, but to us that was a lot of money. And as usual I had Joachim tagging along with me. I had to take the silly little brat everywhere, he was a real pain in the neck. I was never on my own, he was always hanging on. Clinging like a burr. He used to eavesdrop on the rest of us and tell tales at home. How that little snoop got on my nerves! In the photo he was wearing those nasty pale blue canvas shoes with the striped laces. I’ll never forget them! And the way he whined. ‘Can’t go any further!’ ‘Want a rest!’ ‘Want a drink!’ Then, when I gave in to him and we went into the café on the allotments – what did it call itself? The Sunlit Land or something like that – I’d found there were only fifteen pfennigs in my purse. And that little horror pretending he didn’t know anything about it. He squirmed and screeched like mad. Everyone was looking at us. A man got up from the next table and came over to tell me off. Until I took Joachim’s purse out of his trouser pocket and found my five marks fifty in it! That little thief! It wasn’t the first time he’d done it, but this time I’d caught him in the act.

So why the picture? Does this guy know me from the past, from my childhood? Or Joachim? I’ve no idea.

I lie here, far away in my thoughts. I’m thinking of the village, the meadows in summer. Lush grass, knee-high. I can remember the warm wind, and how I ran over the fields with my dress blowing in the breeze and my plaits dancing. If I close my eyes I can still feel the warm sunlight on my face. I run and dance over the soft green until I’m out of breath. Hands propped on my bare knees, I breathe deeply in and out. I have the smell of the newly mown grass in my nostrils. Its aroma is green and earthy. I’d like to stay in that lovely meadow.

I’m brought abruptly out of my memories by the creaking of the floorboards. I keep my eyes closed and pretend to be asleep. Even a daydream is better than the reality. I hear steps in the room, and the trapdoor falling into place with a thud. Only now do I open my eyes and sit up in bed. There’s food and drink on the table. Oh, how thoughtful, he’s taken away the plastic bag full of my pee and left a new one on the chest of drawers!

After I’ve eaten I’m bored again. I’m slowly losing any sense of time. I haven’t washed for ages. My teeth feel coated when I run my tongue over them. I expect I’m beginning to get smelly. How long have I been here? I sleep, wake up, eat, doze gently, go to sleep again. The sky is cloudy, it never gets really light in this room. The paraffin lamps are still here, but he hasn’t lit them again, and there are no matches to be found. I’ve looked everywhere. He probably doesn’t trust me with fire. Any more than he trusts me with soap and water. But at least he’s leaving me alone.