Bela did not want a polished marker.
She told the carpenter this twice, because the first time he thought she was apologizing for what she could afford. He had brought a narrow plank with one clean face and a knot near the bottom. Anja’s name was drawn in pencil across it, waiting for Bela to approve the letters.
“She’d want to see what it was,” Bela said.
The carpenter turned the plank. Saw marks ran along the back.
“Like that?”
“Not quite so rough as to catch your hand.”
“I can do that.”
He put it across his knees and began taking the sharp edges off with a small plane. Bela stood beside him and watched the shavings fall.
