She took me by the hand. Simply and gracefully. I looked at her. Marika was still dressed in black, amber-colored eyes, gracious, fragile and strong all at the same time. I know, it all sounds banal but I can do nothing about it since that's the truth. We climbed a rather steep staircase.  "Here we are" she said, opening the door of a tiny apartment. Its musty smell suffocated me. A simple folding bedstead filled up almost the whole room. I felt oppressed. The window was open wide. "I try however to let as much air in as possible," Marika tells me as if excusing herself, "but..."