Old hags are the death of me! Early in the morning, I grab my communion bag and go to mammy Zoița, a forlorn old woman, half paralyzed, but whose mouth whirrs enough to make up for the disability of her limbs. Providence, it seems, spared Zoița precisely what she holds most precious. She lived alone in an isolated shack in the village valley. There were still a few houses around but are all derelict since their owners had passed away. Oncel Zoe was the last survivor in this forsaken corner of the world that died before I could redeem or, at least, bury it. From time to time, Zoița was visited by Cocuța, a robust girl with a short neck and a similar mind, who supposedly “administered” her pension. It was Cocuța who called me, every forty days, to come by and give the old lady the Eucharist.