My husband works at the shoe factory. He's usually making soles, and sometimes he fills crates with shoestrings. My older kids go to school. I stay at home and look after the younger ones, and after the house. There is always something to clean, or wash, or mend, or buy. In the afternoon, I often ask Mrs Jenka, from the second floor, whether she wants to go to the market with me. She usually agrees, except when she knows that her husband will return early, because then she has to take care of him. I do not have much spare time. When I have, I read almanacs, or I look out of the window. I always wonder about the purpose of these large wheels. They are so large that they can be seen from everywhere in town, even from the market place, though it is surrounded by buildings higher than ours. When we moved in here I asked my husband about the wheels and he did not reply. I asked Mrs. Jenka, and she told me that she also had raised the question with her husband and that he had not answered her either. She thinks that he does not know and does not want to acknowledge it. I think that they know the answer but that they are not allowed to tell it. The wheels turn all day long, and the chains make a terrible noise. In the beginning, I believed I'd soon become insane. The children cried, and I