It was a long time ago. Life was much harder then it is now, or at least we had to fight every day for basic things like food or shelter. It was a warm night and I could no fall asleep. I left my bedroom and went down the stairs, straight into the living room. My father was still there, reading a book. He smiled at me and wanted to say something, but suddenly there was a knock at the back door. Father stood up and looked through the window. Then he opened the door. A young man in a dirty jacket entered the hall. He was holding something in his hand. He showed it to my father. It was some scrap gold: a broken bracelet, some rings, an old brooch. The man looked a bit embarrassed. He said he did not have any money. He also repeated several times that it was genuine gold. My father took something from the kitchen table. It was a large parcel. I believe there was some food inside. He whispered something to the man and gave him the parcel. He asked about the man"s wife. They were talking quietly for a minute or two. Then the man left, and my dad faced me. He showed me the scrap gold that he was holding in his hand. Now I could see clearly. It was old, beautiful, and to me it looked authentic, although I was only a kid at the time. Father took a small ring and gave it to me.
