Mariya looks out every morning at maple tree branches leafing out, at the slate-tiled rooftops of her neighbors across the street. She moved last year, to a house she never envisioned for herself but which is delighting her in new ways every day. The solid, plaster walls that keep some things secret and muffled but not others. The Bakelite-and-brass doorknobs. The deep enameled bathtub. The rectangles of light on the kitchen floor. The wood-burning fireplace. The concrete balcony whose rough pebbled surface chafes her soles when she steps outside barefoot. And it is really hers,