A baby girl is born into an unwelcoming world. The cries of the woman in labor are more about anger than pain. This is how things remain between Mother and Daughter, and that is why they remain nameless. Their life together constitutes Mother's constant flights into the arms of men whom she leads into the one room in the house, where the grandmother at least provides the child with a minimum of care. Daughter soon understands who Mother is, and although she condemns her, she can't live without her. The vicious cycle of their wasted lives is reminiscent of a spinning top--the one toy in Daughter's life is the one thing which connects her to Mother.