Free Things Could Be Worse by Lily Brett

Nothing else existed. He read after work, and he read in the evening before bed. He read all day when he was on holidays. He belonged to three libraries in different areas, and there were never fewer than half a dozen unread detective novels in the house.
    When Lola was fourteen and beginning to read serious fiction, she had asked Josl why he read such rubbish.
    â€˜It keeps my mind off things,’ he had answered.
    Lola had asked her mother the same question. ‘Why does Dad read such garbage?’ she had asked.
    â€˜It keeps his mind off things,’ Renia had replied.
    Lola had a very vague idea of what it was that Josl was keeping his mind off, and she was too frightened to enquire further. She was already frightened enough about her parents’ past. She had grown up with all kinds of phrases spinning around in her head, like ‘you don’t know what it means to suffer’ and ‘you don’t know the meaning of trouble’ and ‘you think this is trouble?’ and ‘you think this is a tragedy?’ Lola didn’t want to ask any more questions. She didn’t want to know what real trouble was.
    â€˜If it takes your mind off things, then go and dance, and dance in good health,’ Josl had said to Genia.
    With the phone off the hook, Genia practised and practised. She was learning the part of Odile in Swan Lake. She was rehearsing the ballroom scene in the third act.
    She had mastered the mime and the movements when Odile tries to force the prince to marry her. Her arabesques were balancing nicely, but she was having trouble with her fouettes. Her teacher, Marilyn Warner, had told her that she was too old to attempt fouettes. Genia had felt depressed when Miss Warner said this. Genia told Esther, who always rang her after her classes.
    â€˜Look, Mum, maybe you could learn another role, or maybe Miss Warner could choreograph the part differently for you,’ Esther had suggested.
    â€˜I’m only having trouble with my spotting,’ Genia had said to her daughter. ‘When you do fouettes, you are spinning around and around on one leg, and you have to spot while you are spinning. Spotting stops you from being dizzy when you turn. Your eyes should be the last thing to leave the front of the stage, and the first part of your body to return. You have to turn your body first, then move your head quickly around so that it gets to the front again before the rest of your body,’ Genia had explained to Esther.
    Now Genia wasn’t spotting properly, and she was feeling dizzy. Her back hurt and her feet ached. She could hardly move her shoulders. She felt nauseous. She sat down.
    She closed her eyes to stem the dizziness. She saw her mother’s face. Mania Buchbinder’s face was full of pride. ‘Remember, Genia darling, when Olga Ramanova said you would be a beautiful Giselle?’
    â€˜Yes, Mama,’ said Genia. ‘I remember.’
    Genia stood up and took a deep breath. She threw herself into a fouette. She spun around and around and around. She had known that she could do it.

Every Death
    Renia Bensky read the obituary columns of the Age and the Herald every day. The death notices were the first thing she turned to in the Jewish News when it arrived on Fridays.
    She read every death. She knew who had died and who they had left behind. She could guess the age of the deceased. She knew if the dead were good or bad people, and whether they had many friends. She knew when they were dearly loved, or when their death notice was only a formal acknowledgement.
    Renia could feel the levels of grief behind the announcements. She could detect the pain or anguish or anger behind these public notices.
    Every day there were families left without a mother, and families who had lost a father. Every day there were small children left fatherless and motherless. Every day a child died. Many times Renia would see that a husband had given up and died a few months