A Meal in Winter by Hubert Mingarelli

squeezed it and sniffed it.
    â€˜It’s fine,’ he said. ‘What shall we do?’
    â€˜Why don’t we put it in the soup as well?’ Emmerich said.
    â€˜All of it?’ Bauer asked.
    â€˜Why not?’ said Emmerich.
    But I was sick of waiting. I needed to eat something now. So I said, ‘Or we could cut it. Eat a bit now, and put the rest in the soup.’
    It was Bauer’s decision. He had brought the salami. We would all eat an equal share, that was certain, but it was up to him to decide the way in which we ate it.
    â€˜All right,’ he shouted suddenly.
    We jumped. But we didn’t know what he was agreeing with. He took his knife out and, on the bench, cut the salami into twelve thin slices, so perfectly equal that we could have chosen one with our eyes closed. He dropped six slices into the soup and we helped ourselves to the others.
    There was nothing left to discuss now. Each of us had two slices, and we could do what we liked with them. Would we eat them straight away? Would we keep themto eat with our bread when it was warm enough? Or did we have enough will power to wait for the soup to cook, so we could eat it all at the same time?
    I didn’t even have time to think about it. One of the slices was already in my mouth, and the second followed it soon afterwards. Emmerich and Bauer had scoffed theirs too. And if we’d followed our instincts, we’d have fished the other slices out of the saucepan and eaten those too. The taste of it that remained in our mouths felt so good, yet at the same time it was torture. We couldn’t stop drooling, and wanting more.
    Before he sat down with us on the bench, Bauer dipped a finger in the soup and said, ‘Lukewarm.’
    I couldn’t believe it. ‘Only lukewarm?’
    â€˜Yeah.’
    I glanced at what remained of the trapdoor: barely half of it.
    â€˜If it’s only lukewarm now, we’re going to have to burn everything, including this,’ I said, tapping the bench.
    â€˜Never mind,’ said Bauer. ‘We’ll burn everything, then. I’m hungry. The table, too. Who cares?’
    He sat down between us. That is the difference between wood and coal. Wood burns fast.
    We smoked another cigarette because there was nothingelse to do, apart from watching the fire in the stove. The window had quickly frosted over and no longer let much light through. The flames behind the mica window lit us up like an electric bulb.
    And, because there was nothing to do now but wait for the soup, I sensed that Emmerich was quietly withdrawing into himself, and I knew what he was thinking about, which problem he was once again struggling with in his mind. Bauer knew too, and he nodded to me discreetly, just between the two of us. I replied in the same way. We were sorry for Emmerich, but what could we do?
    The three of us were silent. We smoked without speaking. But Emmerich’s silence was different to ours, and Bauer and I could feel it. His silence grew ever thicker. But only from the outside, because inside his head, his son was making so much noise – knocking hard on the door of his conscience – that Bauer and I could hear him. So how loud the din must have been inside Emmerich’s head. I remembered that the three of us were supposed to think about his problem together. I’d promised him that as we stood by the frozen pond. He probably didn’t dare remind me of this. He was probably waiting for me to say something. But I wanted to smoke first.
    The Jew started coughing again. I turned round tolook. He was sitting with his legs folded under him. The temperature had risen inside the storeroom too: he had opened his coat. Underneath he was wearing a thick quilted jacket. And even though, from here, I could not see the snowflake embroidered on his hat, I thought about it anyway, though distantly and not for long.
    Yes, I felt like finishing my cigarette before helping Emmerich. It was