Before the family history went to print, Ksenija received just one request: the dedication to their late grandmother must have a page of its own. Her grandson Bruno had paid for the entire project. The book would accompany the ceremonial reopening of a restored reading room that his family had long described as their gift to the town. Ksenija had accepted the work because the fee would cover repairs to her small publishing house's roof.
While choosing photographs, she found a page covered in tiny handwriting inside an old envelope. It was the grandmother's note about the money for the reading room. In one place she had crossed out "ours" and written "collected." Below were the names of women from the old factory, with small amounts and notes about extra shifts. The family's contribution appeared at the bottom, in the same ink as everyone else's.
Bruno did not deny that the note was authentic. He asked Ksenija to leave it out because explaining the history would take too long. "Television crews will be at the opening," he said, as though that resolved the editorial question. He also offered her another commission, a book about the restoration. She put down the telephone and looked at the damp patch above her bookshelf.
One of the women on the list still visited the reading room. Her name was Darinka. When Ksenija showed her a copy, she did not ask for public thanks. She asked for the surname of her late colleague to be corrected; people had been writing the final letter incorrectly for years. From her bag she took a photograph of the factory choir. Half its members had worked Saturdays to pay for the first chairs. She pointed to her younger hand resting on the back of one.
Ksenija sent Bruno a new page. Before the dedication she had placed an account of how the reading room began, with the names and photograph. She did not alter his text without telling him. She offered him the choice of approving an accurate version or taking his materials to another publisher. For three days he did not reply. Meanwhile, the printer offered their scheduled slot to another customer.
Eventually he agreed, but discarded the speech he had already written. At the opening he read the names from the new page and stumbled over the very surname Darinka had corrected. She quietly pronounced it from the front row. Bruno repeated it after her. Ksenija stood near the door, without the promised second commission. When it began to rain, she hurried home to move the buckets, carrying a copy of the book beneath her coat.