(no subject)
What a strange need this is - to record despair and convert it into a heap of disjointed words that exist only for the sake of their existence. Nevertheless the need exists, and there is little sense in ignoring it.
I need to remember that today I spoke to two very old, very broken women.
With the one I connected, naturally as though we were related. My accidental interest in her mother-tongue opened that door for us, and from there on out there was no end to the things I could discuss with her: born in Brazil, she moved to a Kibbutz at the age of sixteen; she had traveled the world, had spoken eight different languages. She taught me how to ask someone if they spoke Portuguese, and how to answer properly if someone is asking me: Eu não, I don't. She was fascinating, a veritable fountain of knowledge and experience. Once her daughter arrived ("How are you, mother?" -"Better now that I see you") her attention was, obviously, diverted; even so, she found time to ask me to come see her again.
Once this Clarice was busy interacting with her daughter, I was left to try and communicate with the other woman they had given my company to - Ruthy. Having complemented her pretty red nail-polish, I found I had nothing left to talk about. It was not only that her speech was slurred due to some invalidity; even if it hadn't been, we would have had precious little to share with each other. She had done very little travelling, had raised her 10 siblings, had taught geography in middle-school. Once these subjects were exhausted, I was sitting there, staring at her, blinking, helpless, speechless. She was staring at something over my shoulder, a man or a house or a past. When she shivered I sprang up, mumbling that she was cold and it was probably time to get the caretaker to wheel her back indoors.
I need to remember to travel the world and live in a Kibbutz and learn as many languages as I possibly can, so that I am able to entertain the volunteers who'll come round once in a while to pay me their charitable dues.
I need to remember that today I spoke to two very old, very broken women.
With the one I connected, naturally as though we were related. My accidental interest in her mother-tongue opened that door for us, and from there on out there was no end to the things I could discuss with her: born in Brazil, she moved to a Kibbutz at the age of sixteen; she had traveled the world, had spoken eight different languages. She taught me how to ask someone if they spoke Portuguese, and how to answer properly if someone is asking me: Eu não, I don't. She was fascinating, a veritable fountain of knowledge and experience. Once her daughter arrived ("How are you, mother?" -"Better now that I see you") her attention was, obviously, diverted; even so, she found time to ask me to come see her again.
Once this Clarice was busy interacting with her daughter, I was left to try and communicate with the other woman they had given my company to - Ruthy. Having complemented her pretty red nail-polish, I found I had nothing left to talk about. It was not only that her speech was slurred due to some invalidity; even if it hadn't been, we would have had precious little to share with each other. She had done very little travelling, had raised her 10 siblings, had taught geography in middle-school. Once these subjects were exhausted, I was sitting there, staring at her, blinking, helpless, speechless. She was staring at something over my shoulder, a man or a house or a past. When she shivered I sprang up, mumbling that she was cold and it was probably time to get the caretaker to wheel her back indoors.
I need to remember to travel the world and live in a Kibbutz and learn as many languages as I possibly can, so that I am able to entertain the volunteers who'll come round once in a while to pay me their charitable dues.