When I was five years old, we were very poor. One pale yellow bulb hung through the dusty spider webs, scattered with fly carcasses, like Christhmas decorations. Whitwashed walls were painted in yellow strips by the rainwater that oozed through broken shingles.

I slept on a piece rattan covered by a gray blanket and a sheet, under a broken window mended with brown paper.Wind rattled the ill-fit door, day and night.

Herr Kraut, the landlord shouted,

"Gratchen! Were bist du Gratchen?"

"In die Latrine meine Bube."

Sprinkled with well wather my face came alive. I sneaked into Herr Kraut's chicken empire, and under a ruster Singer sewing machine, found my daily egg.

Herr Kraut had three expecting hens.