Trafika Europe 11 - Swiss Delights
A Wider Sea
factory instead of using the proper gate. She planted her own vegetable garden on the bank of the Rima and she urged the coachman to drive faster. She took pictures with an old box camera, wrote poetry, drew, and would not let anyone else get the butter and sour cream from lame Zsuzsó Roth in her small, dark, ‘alchemist ’s’ room. Mother read Jules Verne, Mother dressed up as an Indian, Mother sat on the swing until she was exhausted. She had chronic angina and was given castor oil for every upset stomach. But that did not take away any happiness from her small town childhood. Cheerful? Her? Me? Veils of clouds, cold creeps along the ground. And always time to move on, and another farewell with nowhere to go. Reb Mendel lamented: Now people drive along the highway day and night, there is no silence anymore. Pani K. embraced me, she smelled of pastries. Boris stood squinting in the light, waving. . . .
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