Small, dirty hands skillfully tied a bow around the neck of a soft toy. After a couple of months, she had already grown used to the darkness and no longer cried.

  She did not ask why they treated her this way. Adults’ decisions were not to be questioned. And if she was here, then it had to be so. They had locked her in here before, too — but then they had let her out, and everything had returned to normal. Yes, this time the punishment had dragged on, but her faith had not left her. From early childhood she had been told that God could do anything, and that one must pray to Him day and night to atone for every sin; and also kiss the Bible, thus proving one’s love.

  “When they let us out, Toby, I swear I’ll never neglect God again. Before bed, I’ll read one chapter from the Gospel, and then I’ll pray for a long, long time — for every person on Earth. I’ll ask God to soften the stone hearts of sinners and never, ever allow believers to suffer. I’m not yet a true believer… and neither are you, Toby. That’s why they locked us in here.”

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  She sighed, hugged the toy, and lay down on the dirty, worn-out mattress. Somewhere in the corner, mice rustled. Today she hadn’t left them any crumbs. God would be angry with her again, because mice were our smaller brothers.

  “When I grow up,” she began again, dreaming naively, “I’ll create a shelter for all the animals in the world. And you, Toby, will be the director.”

  She laughed softly. Then she turned onto her side, closer to the small opening through which fresh air seeped in, placed her little bear on the pillow, and began to sing:

  Sonya, close your eyes,

  Mama is right beside you.

  I will protect you from evil,

  You will wake up in my arms.

  Guardian angels are near,

  So sleep, without fear…

  This simple lullaby was repeated night after night, month after month, year after year.

  On the very same mattress.

  For the very same teddy bear.