Free The Fox Was Ever the Hunter by Herta Müller

bourgeois-aristocratic regime, the director said. Back then the only people who had newsprint were the estate owners. Now everyone has a newspaper at home. But all of a sudden newsprint’s too rough for such sophisticated gentlemen and ladies. The director tore off a corner of newspaper the size of his palm, rubbed the piece between his hands, it’s as easy as washing your hands, he said, nobody can tell me he doesn’t know how to wash his hands. Anyone who hasn’t mastered that by the age of thirty really ought to learn how. His eyebrows drew together above his nose, thin and gray, like a mouse’s tail on his forehead.
    The cleaning lady wiggled on her chair and smiled. She stood up and the director looked down at the floor. It’s true that these days everyone has a newspaper at home, but Comrade Director you must have forgotten that beet leaves were too soft, the fingers used to tear right through, she said. Ivy leaves were better. That’s enough, said the director, or there’ll be no end to it.
    The servant’s daughter tapped Adina with her foot, the cleaning lady can get away with anything, she said, the director’s sleeping with her. Her husband’s an electrician, yesterday he came to school and spat on the director’s table and tore two buttons off his suit. The buttons rolled under the wardrobe. After the electrician had gone, the director interrupted the physics teacher in the middle of class and made him move the wardrobe away from the wall and then go to the tailor’s for needle and thread. But he wasn’t allowed to take the suit. The director said, the cleaning lady has to sew those buttons back on herself.
    *   *   *
    The cleaning lady is only allowed to cut up the last pages of the paper—news reports, the sports section and the TV programs. She has to give the first pages with the party news and the pictures of the dictator to the director, they’re for the collection of the party secretary.
    *   *   *
    Adina flushes the toilet. In front of the bathroom mirror her hair is threaded with light, she turns the faucet. The door to the neighboring stall is unlatched and out steps the director. He stands next to Adina in the mirror. He opens his mouth, I think I have a toothache, he says to the mirror. Yes Mr. Director, she says, his molars have gold fillings, COMRADE DIRECTOR, he says, his molars glistening a yellowish orange, like a pumpkin. The days of the melons are for men days of pumpkins, thinks Adina. The director takes his creased and pointed handkerchief and wipes his mouth. Come to my office after your last class, he says, plucking a hair from Adina’s shoulder. Yes, Comrade Director, she says.
    *   *   *
    The forelock shines above the blackboard, and the black of the eye shines, catching the strand of light that falls through the window. The children move their elbows as they write, the composition is called THE TOMATO HARVEST. Adina stands by the window next to the string of light. Inside the notebooks the tomato field is growing once again, made of warts and letters.
    *   *   *
    The girl with the frog reads:
    For two weeks the pupils of our school have been helping the farmers in the agriculture. Our class is helping with the tomato harvest. It is beautiful to work in the fields of our fatherland. It is helpful and healthy.
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    In front of the school is a square of yellow grass, beyond the square are housing blocks, and in between the housing blocks is one freestanding house. Adina looks at the houseleeks growing on the roof. The housing blocks have pushed the garden up against the wall. The grapevines wrap around the window and stop it from moving.
    *   *   *
    In the morning, when I get up, reads the girl with the frog, I put on my work clothes instead of my uniform. I don’t take any notebooks or books, just a bottle of water, a butter sandwich, and an apple.
    *   *   *
    One of the twins shouts BUTTER and drums on his seat with his