Abigail

by Magda Szabó

Life undoubtedly calls for dignity and self-discipline, and for a person to be able to react to things in an adult way it was necessary to distinguish between what was merely unpleasant and what was truly bad, especially in wartime, when all over the world people were dying in their tens and hundreds of thousands. A badly cut lock of hair was an utterly trivial matter.

advise you not to cry,” said Susanna. “If you must cry, let it be for something other than your hair. To cry for that would be quite unworthy.”

What sort of person can you be, she wondered about the Deaconess, if you can’t see how terrified I am? Say something, if only to show me that you feel sorry for me, or at least that you understand. Show me that, for all your strange customs here, you are still a human being. Say something, so that this won’t be so terribly hard!

All my life I have been a wild thing, Gina reflected. I am impatient and impulsive, and I have never learned to love people who annoy me or try to hurt me. Now I shall try to learn these virtues, and I shall do so for the sake of my father: for him I shall seek to be gentle and patient.

and of her father, who had given her a wider perspective on life and made her understand things that, as a fifteen-year-old girl who was not in danger herself, she had never thought about or would have been able to grasp without his help.

“Don’t say anything,” Mitsi Horn said, with a shake of her head. “Not everything has to be put into words. Try to get some sleep.” As soon as she was alone, Gina turned the light out and opened the window a crack.