Half way up Gradiziol, the main street in Motovun, stretching from the cemetery to the fortified gate of the town, there is a small factory. Actually, it is a sweatshop. Nestled on the ground floor of several old houses, it is difficult to spot from the street. Some twenty women work there. Years ago, they used to assemble calculators and other electronic devices. The firm that produced these gadgets, with headquarters in another Istrian hill-town and small factories all over the region, collapsed at the beginning of the last war. When the war was over, the factory in Motovun was acquired by Benetton. Besides the hotel, it is now the main employer in town, but the great fashion firm’s logo is nowhere to be seen. Not a sign of the united colors of Benetton, either. The women working there sew together all kinds of clothing that goes directly to Italy. Exactly at ten-thirty every working day, most of them rush up to the small grocery store several houses further up Gradiziol. They have half-an-hour for their snack, and most of them want a freshly cut sandwich and a drink. If you come to the store at this time, you will see them lined up in a long, winding queue. This is the worst time to come to the store, both because of the wait, which can stretch to fifteen minutes, and because most of the women are quiet. Dead quiet. Like fish, they are all eyes. They open their mouths only to say what they want, and then they rush back to their sewing machines. Every working day.