She would never be able to talk to a Swede of the fear that drove people out of their houses at night, some still in their underwear, others with coats slung over their shoulders, all with children in their arms, and the older children carrying the little ones. She could hear it now, the sound of bare feet running over the shaking ground. And she could remember the laughter when it was all over and they were walking back to their houses. Laughing at old Juan, who had emerged naked and ghostly white from his house, and at the mother who had been carrying her child by the feet, head down. Dios mio, how that child had howled.