A Tale of Love and Darkness

MY MOTHER was thirty-eight when she died. At the age I am today, I could be her father.

After her funeral, my father and I stayed at home for several days. He did not go to work, and I did not go to school. The door ofthe apartment was open all day long. We received a constant flow of neighbors, acquaintances, and relations. Kind neighbors volunteered to make sure there were soft drinks for all the visitors, and coffee, cakes, and tea. From time to time I was invited to their homes for a while, for a hot meal. I politely sipped a spoonful of soup and downed half a rissole, then hurried back to Father. I did not want him to be there alone. Not that he was alone. From morning until ten or ten-thirty in the evening our apartment was packed with comforters. The neighbors rustled up some chairs and arranged them in a circle around the walls of the book room. Strange coats were piled on my parents' bed all day long.