Elsa looked at the clock on the rough wooden chest of drawers. It was 6:20 and had grown dark a long time ago. She frowned slightly, worried because Hans should have been home twenty minutes ago. He said he was quickly walking to the bakery to collect a letter. His colleague had knocked on their apartment door on his way up to the fifth floor just after lunch. Elsa had overheard Walter say there was a letter for Hans with a South African postmark. Throughout the afternoon she and Hans had hardly spoken. He was lost in his thoughts and she was anxious as they dusted, swept and wiped the small apartment. She was grateful to Hans for his help with chores, something she had to get used to, since her mother had taught her that it was the wife’s sole responsibility. But he insisted that since she was working to supplement their income, it should be shared, and they did it together on a Saturday afternoon when the bakery closed early. She had washed the clothes by hand, wrung them out as tightly as she could and then hung them up in the small bathroom. Hans had swept, moving the furniture away from the corners. The apartment shouldn’t get so dirty, but with building repairs happening all around their building, it did.
Sitting in the chair with knitting needles clicking quickly as she knitted socks was a good way to rest after all day activity. She had about ten minutes before the stew would be ready. Every so often, she got up and walked a few paces to the stove to lift the lid and check that the pot was still slowly simmering and that the tiny pieces of meat were not burning. The potatoes and cabbage were softening well. A meagre meal, but it would taste good with the sprinkle of salt and fresh herbs. Since rationing was easing, meals were less starchy and more tasty.