Almonds and Raisins
Page 36
Miriam sat clutching Sarah’s hand. “You’ve been wonderful, Ma. I’ll never forget it.”
Sarah brushed the dishevelled black locks from the lined forehead which used to be smooth as silk. She had never before felt tenderness for Miriam, but it warmed her now. Was a death required to enable people to bury the past also? The coolness between herself and the girl who had loved one of her sons and married another had been mutual, as if they had never trusted each other. She put her arms around her daughter-in-law and let the new feeling merge between them, asking herself no more questions, content that it was there.
After the evening prayers, when only the family remained, Lizzie brought the younger generation to pay their respects, and consolation entered the house with them. The six children filed past the low stools, uttering the traditional greeting, “I wish you long life,” to each of the mourners in turn, as though the hands they were solemnly shaking belonged to strangers, not pillars of their own lives. Bessie’s maid, by now well primed in Judaism, had instructed them in what they must do and followed behind them to do so herself.
Martin and Marianne stayed beside Sigmund, who they sensed was the most in need of comfort.
“We’ll always remember her, won’t we, Marianne?” Martin promised him.
“And we’ve got something lovely to tell you, Zaidie Sigmund,” Marianne said nudging her cousin.
Martin put his lips to his grandfather’s ear and whispered the dream about Heaven to him, whilst Marianne looked on approvingly.
Sarah reflected on the closeness of these two grandchildren, the one resembling her dead friend, the other so like herself. Who needs a memorial light to be kindled for them once a year after they’ve gone? she thought feelingly. People lived on through those who sprang from their seed.
The children were quiet as mice and her youngest grandchild Ronald, who was the image of his Uncle Nat, came to nestle on her lap as the room grew still. Her fingers strayed to her brooch in the pensive silence and found a tiny dent in the delicate filigree which had worn thin with age. Tonight was Life’s bitterness, but the sweetness would come again and then more sorrow, repeating the pattern relentlessly. Whatever the future held they would survive as they always had, strong, because they were together.
“What are you thinking about, Bobbie?” Marianne asked her softly.
How could she put it into words for this child who wanted to know everything? She glanced around at the faces she loved. A seed could take root anywhere, hadn’t the Sandbergs and Moritzes proved it? And flourish anew, multiply itself, nurture its growth in alien soil yet still retain the God-given specialness which made it uniquely of one tree. “The way it is with a Jewish family,” she replied.
Copyright
Copyright © 1979 Maisie Mosco
Copyright © 2018 Classica Libris
All rights reserved.