Your Mother is ILL

I couldn’t believe my father could do anything like that. No, it was pure schadenfreude, malicious joy. .I would say. A young lady came to our house early in the morning before breakfast. She looked serious and pale. She faced my mother and said: Your mother’s ill. She asked for you. My mother didn’t inquire what was wrong. No, I saw a tear drop down her cheek and heard her say quietly to herself: Perhaps she died. She knew people would never say: Your mother died. She was aware: your mother’s ill meant she died.

I could see my mother was in distress and agony but my father who was shaving next to the living room began singing when he heard the news. I felt like hitting him in the face to silence him and vowed I will never, never be like him. I think my mother either didn’t notice it or was powerless to say anything. She left and I went to school. When I arrived there I found the news about my grandma’s death had travelled far. A boy came to me and said: Do you know your grandma died this morning before sunrise? She is said to have fallen heavily off the roof when she was on her way to the bathroom. I think she was about 60. She must have been a beauty for people often said: she always looks as if she has just come out of the bathroom. They were referring to her white skin and clear eyes.

The next morning my father’s good mood and singing went on although my mother was in mourning. He often criticized my mother’s family and started an argument with her whenever he had to pay for his tea at a teashop owned by my uncle saying: Your brother is such a stingy man he even takes money from me. I felt a strong dissociation which has never diminished and our communication has been reduced to a minimum ever since.

Jamshid
Bremen, 20 June 2007

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