Blawat and I had a good long laugh at this droll tale, when suddenly I saw that black-haired singer who more than a month ago had been running out like a chicken with its head cut off from the ASSENTIERUNG.

  She was leaving the coffee room to the left of the coat check.

  She looked much better.

  Her thin mustache had been waxed or cut off, her legs were shaved, she had lost a little bit of weight and was dressed somewhat better.

  She gave B?awat her ticket, took her coat, which I handed her charmingly, thanked us with a smile and paid for her coat check.

  Presently the pianist ran out after her, and despite the giant sign, COAT CHECK REQUIRED, he had obligatorily kept on his rubber coat.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  The singer smiled at us one more time.

  When she was at the door, B?awat and I both took one more look at her, and mainly at her legs.

  And again B?awat, as was his way, began his train of philosophical thought.

  -You know, before the war, I traveled the whole world. I was in both Americas, Canada, Australia, Southern Africa, Egypt, India, Palestine, Russia and Europe, which I know like my own hand.

  -And imagine, he continued, everywhere, and I mean everywhere, a certain group of women, maybe four, maybe seven percent, irrespective of the fashion, climate, weather or time of year, unknown for what reason, had to wear cork shoes. They maintain diffidently that it wasn’t a matter of feminine footwear, but a matter of feminine character.

  I glanced at B?awat and suddenly, in a split second, I had an epiphany.

  -Thank you Daniel, thank you for everything, you can’t even imagine how much you’ve helped me.

  Finally I had an idea about the hundred thousand.