The Saturday morning.
A woman who has fallen into religion in the living room kneels and reads her long prayers.
Hungry from yesterday's evening, the poppy flies from the kitchen to the living room and back, trying to draw attention to his problem. Convinced of the futility of the efforts made, he flew to my bedroom, sat next to the pillow and also began to pray. But he reduced the prayer to two lines:
Father, give us the bread.
was polished.
He got up, went to the kitchen and fed the bird.