"Leslie What - Clinging to a Thread" - читать интересную книгу автора (What Leslie)

again.

Ruth had asked that I go to her house to pick up a few things she needed. She
was transferring to a nursing home. After she was stable, she would come stay with
me тАФ until she felt well enough to go home.

I took out her old gray coat from the closet. It smelled badly, like wet dogs.
Father had given it to her many years ago and Ruth had steadfastly refused to get rid
of it. A thick gray string hung loose off the collar. When I pulled it free, the fabric
began to unravel, and I had to look for a needle and thread with which to repair the
hole.

I sat on her bed to sew. What I knew of the War was limited to what my
mother had told me. She talked often about the cold, how she was always cold,
always hungry. She was allowed to keep only a lightweight coat that was much too
small for her. It was her job to undress the dead and sort their clothing for the
Germans to re-use. Sometimes, their flesh was still frozen to the fabric. Rarely, she
found money in the pockets. She had saved what small fabric scraps she could hide
to sew into the lining of her coat and make it warmer. Into this, she made secret
pockets, where she hid money, bread тАФ anything she found that could be traded or
used.

When I left RuthтАЩs house, I was so chilled that my teeth began to chatter. I put
on her scruffy coat, and thrust my hands deep inside the pockets to warm them.
There was a small hole in the right pocket. I worked it bigger with my finger until I
could push all of my hand through into the lining of the coat. There, I felt something
cold and flatтАФ a packet that I pulled out to examine.

It was LenaтАЩs yellowed handkerchief. Inside were three photographs. One of
Lena holding her toy dog тАФ the picture I remembered from my childhood. Another
of Ruth as a twelve-year-old, gripping LenaтАЩs hand. The third was of the two girls,
standing next to a little boy who was several years younger than Lena. The boy held
an embroidered pillow tightly across his chest. I recognized the fabric. It matched
the handkerchief.

I hurried to the hospital. When I had reached RuthтАЩs room, I ran toward her.
She was sitting up in bed, staring at the television.

тАЬMother,тАЭ I said, and kneeled by the bed. тАЬI have to talk to you.тАЭ There was
no gentle way to begin it. тАЬDid you have a little brother . . . a boy named Karl, who
you never told me about?тАЭ

She began to tremble, and I dropped my head into her lap and hugged her
around the midriff. She patted my hair, as she had done when I was tiny. тАЬA
brother,тАЭ she said, quietly. Suddenly, a low sigh rushed out from somewhere deep
inside her. тАЬOh my God,тАЭ she said. тАЬOh God, yes. My brother, but I canтАЩt
remember what he looked like.тАЭ

тАЬWas this him?тАЭ I asked, and showed her the picture. тАЬWhat happened to
him? Tell me, Mother.тАЭ