Page 5

A Short Story

Harrisburg Area Women's News

October, 1979

This is the first of a short stories series. HAWN would like to encourage contributions of approximately 2,000 words in length. Copy deadline is the 20th of each month.

by Clare Allen

The morning sun traced an oblique shadow through the carefully closed drapes, filling the room with premonitory vibrations of impending death. A small frail figure, carefully placed upon the bed in a supine position, lay enveloped in white, her eyes fixed upon the ceiling in a blank stare despite her somnolent state. An aura of quietness permeated the room, the only movement twisting of a knotted handkerchief between gnarled fingers.

the

She perceived, although no one had as yet had the benevolence to tell her, that she was dying. She could feel life slithering from her grasp with every laborious breath. She listened intently to each heartbeat pulsating blood throughout her body and willed it to continue. was a meaningless concept, each breath a desperate struggle. Nevertheless, she clung to her life with vehement fervor..

Time

People entered the room, performed their tasks in a perfunctory manner, then left again, oblivious and insensitive to her emotional needs.

A tear crept down her cheek. She was tired, so very, very tired. Others What did it matter anyway? would be born to take her place.. Her life had been but a moment suspended in the timeless periphery of space. In retrospect, it somehow all seemed so meaningless. Her body, which had once danced to the tune of life, now lay withered and spent, a mere vehicle for the soul that resided within. Her hair, once a mantle of thick black tresses, had thinned to a shock of white, barely covering her skull. The eyes, at one time blue and bright, brimming over with happiness, were now sunken and hollow. Lips that had once borne a cheery smile were pursed in The hands that an angry scowl.

had once toiled so fruitfully had given way to arthritic immobility. Breasts that had once nourished five children were now shriveled; the womb from which life had emerged had been removed by the scalpel of an unmerciful surgeon.

Did it matter now? Who would ever care; who would ever know all that she had tried to do? She had worked so hard, devoted every fiber of her being to the careful sustenance of her family. Would her children remember with gratitude and pride that she had immigrated to this country at the age of sixteen so that they could enjoy the freedom and opportunity that her family had never known? No one would comprehend, much less care,

about the sacrifice and struggle she had endured during her lifetime. A long time ago her life had been filled with love and meaning. Her husband and her children had been the reason for her existence. It did not matter that they were poor for poverty was a fact of life for ethnic people then; what mattered was their spirit. They worked hard and their lives were filled with hope. Every pittance that could be hoarded away was placed in a jar in the hope that they would one day achieve their dream, a farm of their own. They would live off the land and they would be free. No longer would they be dependent upon her husband's job at the steel mill where the working conditions were unsafe and inhumane. He worked so hard for such small wages. However, fate is not always kind. On the grayest day of her life a harsh pounding at her door brought grim bearers of sad news. They told her that her husband had been killed She at work, crushed by a crane. would never fully recover from the pain of that moment. Her heart sank; her mind was spinning; her knees were so weak that they had to carry her to a chair. She wept openly and unashamedly. "What am I going to do? What am I going to do?", she wailed over and over again. She was only 32 and pregnant with her fifth child. Grief overtook her life. Oh yes, they had been kind; they gave her four hundred dollars to compensate for her loss. Four hundred dollars, four children and one soon to be born; ah, that is just compensation for a poor Hungarian woman!

COSTS WILTE INSPORTATION

SOMEHOW

KEN EXPEN

SERVICE COSTS

MEDICINE

UTILITIES COSTS BUS FARE LAUNDRY $RENT

MAKE ERIS M UNLITIES

FOOD DOC HOUSIN

EXPENSIV

LAUND

COST

FOOD

WORRY

DOCT MED KINE TRANSPO TATI

Life was difficult, extremely difficult, but she survived. Her sorrow surrounded her, and she felt as though it would never go away. In order to support her family she was forced to take a job cleaning offices at night, caring for her children during the day. There was no such think as Social Security then, only welfare, and she was a proud woman. Her work was exhausting and unrewarding, her children selfish and ungrateful with unrelenting needs. During the depression they made many meals on stale bread and sour milk. In the winter she pulled a wagon to the slag dump behind the steel mill to pick up the coke which had been discarded, then hauled the wagonload of fuel home to keep her children -

warm.

She carried on with stoical grace; to weaken would be a disgrace. She dedicated herself to her husband's memory, never allowing herself the luxury of another companion. The children would not have liked that. When alone she was given to moments of self-pity and bitterness; however, she managed to present a facade of impenetrability. When the War came and two of her sons were killed, she did not swerve from her course, for she knew that there must be a reason. She carried on, cleaning offices at night, caring for her children during the day, begging God to help her persevere.

She learned that happiness was an elusive moment and when it When came her way she cherished it. her youngest child died during a siege of pneumonia she did not even cry.

She had become hard and tough. There was no time in her life for self-indulgence.

When the two remaining children married they brought their spouses home to live under her roof; she cooked for them, cleaned for them and did their laundry. When their children were born she cared for them, still cleaning offices at night. She helped them as best as she could, always finding time to lend a helping hand when it was needed. cont'd on p. 17