And we do not ask what happened after. But we can tell the story over, we can tell the story till we get it right.

"My daughter's on the Committee of the Student Action Council," said Stefan Fabbre to his neighbor Florens Aske as they stood in a line outside the bakery on Pradinestrade. His tone of voice was complicated. I know. Erreskar saw her on the television," Aske said.

"She says they've decided that bringing Rege here is the only way to provide an immediate, credible transition. They think the army will accept him."

They shuffled forward a step.

Aske, an old man with a hard brown face and narrow eyes, stuck his lips out, thinking it over.

"You were in the Rege government," Fabbre said. Aske nodded. "Minister of education for a week," he said, and gave a bark like a sea lion—owp!—a cough or a laugh.

"Do you think he can pull it off ?" Aske pulled his grubby muffler closer round his neck and said, "Well, Rege is not stupid. But he's old. What about that scientist, that physicist fellow?"

"Rochoy. She says their idea is that Rege's brought in first, for the transition, for the symbolism, the link to Fifty-six. And if he survives, Rochoy would be the one they'd run in an election."

"The dream of the election... ." They shuffled forward again. They were now in front of the bakery window, only eight or ten people from the door.

"Why do they put up the old man?" asked the old man. "These boys and girls , these young people. What the devil do they want us for again?" I don't know," Fabbre said. "I keep thinking they know what they're doing. She had me down there, ),on know, made me come to one of their meetings. She came to the lab—Come on, leave that I follow me! I did. No questions. She's in charge. All of them, twenty-two, twenty-three, they're in charge. In power. Seeking structure, order. but very definite: Violence is defeat, to them, violence is the loss of options. They're absolutely certain and Completely ignorant. Like spring-like the lambs in spring. They have never done anything and they know exactly what to do "

"Stefan," said his wife, Bruna, who had been standing at his elbow for several sentences, "you're lecturing. Hello, dear. Hello, Florens, I just saw Margarita at the market, we were queuing for cabbages. I'm on my way downtown. Stefan. I'll be back, I don't know, sometime after seven, maybe."

"Again?" he said.

And Aske said, "Downtown?

"It's Thursday," Bruna said. and bringing up the keys from her handbag, the two apartment keys and the desk key, she shook them in the air before the men's faces, making a silvery jingle and she smiled.

"I'll come," said Stefan Fabbre.

"Owp! Owp!" went Aske. "Oh, hell, I'll come too. Does man live by bread alone?"

"Will Margarita worry where you are?" Bruna asked as they left the bakery line and set off toward the bus stop.

"That's the problem with the women, you see, said the old man. "They worry that she'll worry. Yes. She will. Ad you worry about your daughter, eh?"

"Yes," Stefan said, "I do."

"No," Bruna said, "I don't. I fear her, I fear for her, I honor her. She gave me the keys." She clutched her imitation-leather handbag tight between her arm and side as they walked.

This is the truth. They stood on the stones in the lightly falling snow and listened to the silvery, trembling sound of thousands of keys being shaken, unlocking the air, once upon a time.