Chapter 26Each day, the non-arrival of a letter from Helga was a major event. Christmas came and went, with all the decorum and kitsch the holiday commanded in the village, but still no letter. Snow fell in masses, 27 centimeters, 85 centimeters, a hundred and forty-five centimeters. Snow measured in centimeters was so much more than in measly inches. Snow as high as Aunt Frieda was tall. Nevertheless there was no letter. Snow ploughs and snow blowers scraped and rattled and hummed. Weeks went by while the village lay asleep under a white coat glistening in the sun. Every day, hope of the crisp, hurting kind was dashed within the span of seconds when the mailman arrived (a skimpy heap of mail without promise! Why did he even botherto stop by! Those disappointing domestic stamps! The pedant
