The surviving Lescovecs never returned to the apartment, and we never discovered where they went. After seven respectful days, I moved from my alcove into the maid’s room. I covered the bed with my remaining sheets, put my increasingly tattered clothing on the shelves. I hid the pearl necklace in the space between the bed and the floor. Finally, I hung Gela’s watercolor on a wall away from the sun. Despite my caution, however, the paint started to fade, and within days the painting was little more than a series of smudges on white paper, a faded wheel of color where a wedding had been.
