Lesson Ten
Text
The Washwoman
I. B . Singer
Our home had little contact with Gentiles.
But there were the Gentile washwomen who came to the house to fetch our laundry
My story is about one of these.
She was a small woman,old and wrinkled.
When she started washing for us,she was already past seventy.
Most Jewish women of her age were sickly, weak, broken in body.
But this washwoman,small and thin as she was,
possessed a strengththat came from generations of peasant ancestors.
Mother would count out to her a bag of laundry
that had accumulated over several weeks.
She would lift the heavy bag, load it on her narrow shoulders,
and carry it the long way home.
It must have been a walk of an hour and a half.
She would bring the laundry back about two weeks later.
My mother had never been so pleased with any washwoman.
Every piece of laundry was as clean as polished silver.
Every piece was neatly ironed.Yet she charged no more than the others.
She was a real find.
Mother always had her money ready
because it was too far for the old woman to come a second time.
Washing clothes was not easy in those days
The old woman had no tap where she lived,
but had to bring in the water from a pump.
For the clothes and bedclothes to come out so clean,
they had to be scrubbed thoroughly in a washtub,
rinsed with washing soda,soaked,boiled in an enormous pot,starched,then ironed
Every piece was handled ten times or more.
And the drying!It had to be hung in the attic.
She could have begged at the church door or entered a home for the poor and aged
But there was in her a certain pride
and love of labor with which many Gentiles have been blessed.
The old woman did not want to become a burden, and so bore her burden.
The woman had a son who was rich.
I no longer remember what sort of business he had.
He was ashamed of his mother, the washwoman,and never came to see her.
Nor did he ever give her any money. The old woman told this without bitterness
One day the son was married.It seemed that he had made a good match.
The wedding took place in a church.
The son had not invited the old mother to his wedding,
but she went to the churchand
waited at the steps to see her son lead the "young lady" to the altar...
The story of the faithless son left a deep impression on my mother.
She talked about it for weeks and months.
Mother would argue,"Does it pay to make sacrifices for children?
The mother uses up her last strength,
and he does not even know the meaning of loyalty.
"That winter was a harsh one. The streets were icy.
No matter how much we heated our stove,the windows were covered with frost.
The newspapers reported that people were dying of the cold Coal became dear.
The winter had become so severe that parents stopped sending children to school
On one such day the washwoman, now nearly eighty years old, came to our house
A good deal of laundry had accumulated during the past weeks.
Mother gave her a pot of tea to warm herself as well as some bread.
The old woman sat on a kitchen chair trembling and shaking,
and warmed her hands against the teapot.
Her fingers were rough from work,and perhaps from arthritis, too.
Her fingernails were strangely white.
These hands spoke of the stubbornness of mankind,of the will to work
not only as one's strength permitsbut beyond the limits of one's power.
The bag was big,bigger than usual.
When the woman placed it on her shoulders,it covered her completely.
At first she stayed,as though she were about to fall under the load.
But an inner stubbornness seemed to call out: No, you may not fall.
A donkey may permit himself to fall under his burden,
but not a human being,the best of creation.
She disappeared, and mother sighed and prayed for her.
More than two months passed.
The frost had gone,and then a new frost had come, a new wave of cold.
One evening, while Mother was sitting near the oil lamp mending a shirt,
the door opened and a small puff of steam,
followed by a gigantic bag, entered the room.
I ran toward the old woman and helped her unload her bag.
She was even thinner now, more bent.
Her head shook from side to side as though she were saying no.
She could not utter a clear word,
but mumbled something with her sunken mouth and pale lips.
After the old woman had recovered somewhat she told us that she had been ill.
Just what her illness was,I cannot remember.
she had been so sick that called a doctor,and the doctor had sent for a priset
Some had informed the son,
and he had contributed money for a coffin and for the funeral.
But God had not yet wanted to take this soul full of pain to himself.
She began to feel better ,she became well,
and as soon as she was able to stand on her feet onee more,she began her washing
Not just ours, but the wash of several other families, too.
"I could not rest easy in my bed because of the wash,
" the old woman explained."The wash would not let me die."
"With the help of God you will live to be a hundred and twenty,
"said my mother,as a blessing."God forbid!
What good would such a long life be?
The work becomes harder and harder...
my strength is leaving me...
I do not want to be a burden on anyone!
" The old woman crossed herself,and raised her eyes toward heaven.
Fortunately there was some money in the house
and Mother counted out what she owed.
Then she left, promising to return in a few weeks for a new load.
But she never came back.
The wash she had returned was her last effort on this earth.
She had been driven
by an indomitable will to return the property to its rightful owners,
to fulfill the task she had undertaken.
And now at last her body,
which had long been supported only by the force of honesty and duty, had fallen
Her soul passed into those spheres where all holy souls meet,
regardless of the roles they played on this earth,
in whatever tongue, of whatever religion.
I cannot imagine paradise without this Gentile washwoman.
I cannot even imagine a world where there is no reward for such effort.
用户评论