Letter 09: Weekend in the Capital
September 2002 Thursday night I went to Esfira's home in Bangladesh. Her door was coming off the hinges so I tried to fix it with longer screws, like I did 24 years ago to our front door. On the way, walking at night to look for screws, she asked: Aren't you going to ask me why I moved here. I responded to the effect, if she wanted to tell me I'd listen: She said two weeks ago, her husband's sister showed-up and said to her: this is our house, please move-out. Her husband kept silent, so she called a taxi, packed-up her stuff and moved-out with her sister and daughter to their Bangladesh apartment (10th floor, relatively clean). So they wanted to talk about a loan to her sister's shop-owner, a dentist not finding a job, running a pharmacy, on the back of which he gave her a room for a beauty salon. I took Rhoda there (haircut 1500, pedicure 3500). But it was impossible to tell from the street there is a beauty salon. So that's when I suggested they should hav