Time does not pay attention to people. It is people who pay attention to time — trying to see how much is left, whether it’s enough to fulfil your plans. I used to pay a lot of attention to time, using it as effectively as possible. But that has changed. Now I pay attention to the war that has been going on for 100 days and one week. I cannot see when or how it will end.
Soon it will be two months since we started living in someone else’s apartment. The place has become almost like home to us. I know where to find a medium-sized pot or pilaf spices in the kitchen. I know where the iron is and where the ironing board is hidden. I know where the hostess has clean bath towels. I am also already on nodding terms with several vendors at the local market, and I know a man who sells bad potatoes. I asked him twice: “Are your potatoes OK?” And he assured me both times that his potatoes were excellent. But then half had to be thrown away — inside they were black, rotten. He sells them already packaged in 2kg bags. That’s what all the merchants do. You buy potatoes like a pig in a poke. I don’t buy potatoes from him any more, but I greet him when I walk through the bazaar.