They met in front of the swimming pool at three o'clock. Márk and Paul had already left on the morning train to the capital.
In the morning, Eva wrote her letters. She would mail them tomorrow. During the ten o'clock break, she would go to the post office instead of sitting down for chicory coffee with her colleagues.
Olga was waiting for Eva in front of the building. She must have arrived by bus about ten minutes earlier. It hadn't rained that day. Only a few clouds drifted across the sky.
On Sundays, many people went to the swimming pool. The ticket was valid for two hours, which was enough time for swimming. Of course, those who wanted to stay longer could do so by buying a ticket for the next two-hour slot.
It was warm inside the building.
Eva took off her gloves. She had obtained them under the counter as well. The factory that produced them worked almost exclusively for export; Yugoslavia imported the goods.
Olga knew someone who knew someone else. That person had managed to get the gloves out of the factory despite strict inspections. No one asked who that person was.
Eva placed the brown leather gloves into her small handbag with a tender, smoothing motion. These were her Sunday gloves. In time, they would become everyday gloves. For now, they were still shiny, soft, and smooth. She hated the thought of carrying soda water and groceries home from the shop in her red canvas bag while wearing these gloves.
At three o'clock, no one was standing in line at the ticket counter. They bought their tickets quickly.
The tickets were valid from two o'clock. They could swim until four.
The cashier flipped open her book again and sank back into reading, holding her breath, eyes wide open.
It must have been an exciting chapter.
Eva didn't see the cover of the book.
Tomorrow, she would go to the bookshop and buy a few new books.
They left their coats and handbags in the cloakroom.
Three adolescent boys were loitering in the changing room. Perhaps they had come swimming with their classmates and were waiting for the girls, hoping to steal glances while they were changing.
Eva carefully checked whether there were any gaps between the wooden boards of her changing cubicle before putting on her swimsuit. If the teenage boys found a gap through which they could see into the neighboring cubicle, they would occupy that cubicle together and spy silently.
Eva hoped Olga had brought her hairdryer. A hairdryer wouldn't fit into Eva's small bag.
Standing in front of the mirror, she tucked her hair under her swim cap.
"We can go," Olga smiled at her.
She had brought the hairdryer. She hadn't put on a swim cap.
Eva enjoyed the swim.
Forty-five minutes was enough in the longer, deeper pool.
In the small pool, children splashed and shrieked freely. Their parents occasionally scolded them, but mostly talked among themselves. The water was warmer there too.
They got out of the pool. As always, Eva carefully stepped over the trench surrounding it, where water trickled slowly. Slipping once and falling had been enough—since then, she never put her foot in there, neither on arrival nor on departure. She had seen others slip and fall there as well.
Olga hurried ahead to the cloakroom. By the time Eva had changed back into her outdoor clothes, Olga returned with the hairdryer.
Eva's hair hadn't gotten wet.
It was four o'clock. The next swimming period was beginning. Eva heard the whistles by the pools, signaling that the ticket time had expired.
Soon, the changing cubicles would fill with those leaving and those arriving.
They were already dressed.
Olga lent the hairdryer to the mother of a freckled little girl. The girl's hair had gotten damp under her swim cap, and she couldn't go out into the cold like that.
"I know you from somewhere," the girl's mother said to Eva.
After some friendly guessing, they introduced themselves. Now they knew each other by name.
The mother had seen Eva several times at the pharmacy, when Eva and Elisa carried the boxes prepared in the laboratory into the public area—where Elvira dispensed the medication according to prescriptions.
Eva didn't tell Olga about the bug. It wasn't a topic.
She didn't think about the bug that afternoon.
Her husband was a journalist.
They walked together as far as the main square.
They passed by the concrete blocks under construction. It was Sunday; work had stopped in the workers' district. Two more floors were missing, along with the final touches, and then more workers could move in. It would be finished before the first snowfall.
Construction was also going on at the other end of the town. For a different kind of people. No one spoke about it, yet everyone knew what kind of people they were.
That area was close to Eva's home.
They parted at the bus stop.
Olga handed back the porcelain plate and pressed a small, mysterious package into Eva's hand.
"Take care of yourself, Eva," Olga said in farewell.
By the time Eva got home, dusk was setting in.