The village square is rectangular, bordering on the houses gathered around it; streets and lanes flow into it; other than the well in the center, in which the paving stone patterns seek their source and from which they spread out like rays, there is nothing in the village square.
A figure, suddenly appearing in the square, approaches the well and draws water, making the winch creak; it turns from the well, a jug on its head, vanishes into a narrow side street. Or, perhaps, at the edges, along the four lines of house facades, morning visits are being exchanged, quickly hiding behind doors, hair and shawls disappearing into door cracks.
Then at noon a few bustle about; the children leave the schoolhouse, tossing caps and satchels above the roofs, the teacher goes to the inn, the priest closes the window.
—We can walk across the village square.
—Yes, let’s walk across the village square.
—Other than the well in the center, the village square is empty.

No, that’s not true, because there are   b e n c h e s   set up along the edges, their backs turned toward the walls.
We had hidden in the blacksmith’s workshop, cheeks pressed up against the walls; no one saw us, and you said
—let’s walk across the village square.
—No, let’s not walk across the village square,
I retorted, because all at once I saw   p e o p l e   sitting on the   b e n c h e s   as if suddenly put there, two on each bench.
We couldn’t walk across the village square b e c a u s e   w e   w e r e n ’ t   s u p p o s e d   t o   b e   s e e n.
—Let’s walk across the village square anyhow.
—We can’t walk across the village square,
I said once more;
meanwhile, the first figure on the first bench nearest us had risen, while the figure sitting on the bench opposite the first bench had also risen;
then they walked toward each other, met each other on the center line dividing the village square, raised their right hands, thrust their palms toward each other, clasped, shook them up and down, released then, turned away from each other, went back to their benches, sat down again;
at the same time, the second figure sitting on the first bench nearest us had risen, while the second figure sitting on the bench opposite the first bench had also risen; then they walked toward each other . . .
                                                                                                                 . . . until all
figures sitting opposite each other on opposite benches had risen, walked toward each other, shaken hands, walked back to their respective benches, and sat down again.
We couldn’t walk across the village square because we weren’t supposed to be seen by the figures sitting on the benches, rising, walking toward each other, shaking hands, turning away from each other, sitting down again; we had hidden in the blacksmith’s workshop, cheeks pressed up against the walls; no one saw us,
and that’s the way   w e   observed how the people sitting on the benches   c o u l d n ’ t   see us because we didn’t walk across the village square;
yes, we saw
how they   d i d n ’ t   see us.