LEFTOVERS EVERYONE ATE
By Year Ten, we had our tricks off pat. Of course, from a technical point of view, our linguaphone cabinet was well below par, but we became quite proficient, nevertheless. We could detect the moment when the connection was switched on by barely audible rustles and distant crackles. Vital skills in those times. Our times. Once these were detected, the one being monitored would begin broadcasting inspiration while the others would fall into rather lax mutterings. We began as ever, keeping close to the text. Irka’s voice, deadened by the headphones, chimed in on cue. The voices withered as they fell onto the membrane. Only the clock on the wall in front of me was alive. F. didn’t look at me, not even once. She looked ahead, above our desks, as though there were nothin
