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unlike cain angel-like
- University of North Texas Press
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52 unlike cain angel-like Ruth Kessler There’s a certain race of men (now I know my brothers and sisters) who harbor in their breast a bit of trembling, naked water . . . Race of ill-omened tenderness, of Abel returned to life rosario castellanos Imagine Passover eve. A foreign country. A small apartment in Paris. Imagine welcome: chopped liver, matza, sweet wine. Imagine history’s records banging on memory’s door, crying, pointing a blaming finger. Imagine suspicion. Imagine the hosts: a Jew and a Polish gentile married after The War. And The War even now madly scattered charred puzzle pieces. How did hers fit in? 53 Imagine in one living room corner distant relatives’ acquaintance-talk of the husbands, twining of common roots. Imagine in another, the forced small talk of wives— an eager hostess, a wary guest. Imagine Polish fare on the table dressed for the Jewish occasion. Imagine the hideous wallpaper its thick orange stripes, its huge orange eyes. Imagine in the tiny kitchen the faucet dripping. Imagine the drawn-out meal: The overcooked meat. The small silences. The awkward tiptoeing of people who never met Imagine the Untouchable Subject stealing in an unguarded moment between the main course and the salad into the room. Imagine the intent scraping of forks and knives on the plates. Imagine the host suddenly turn toward his wife: Show them the letter. [3.88.60.5] Project MUSE (2024-03-28 16:51 GMT) 54 Risk, Courage, and Women Imagine an old tin cookie box. Imagine inside a folded sheet of paper lying humble and pale as a matza. Imagine official yellowed stationery, fading typescript Imagine words throbbing: State of Israel … thanks … heroine … … Righteous among the Nations … … saved … saved … Jews … saved … saved … Imagine this receipt of the heart now quickly refolded, now quickly put back into the tin box. Imagine the hush. Imagine not the unimaginable: a young, powerless woman turning a deaf ear to Authority’s orders, hearing only what’s human and groans; exchanging death sentences of strangers, of Jews, for her own But imagine the bus driver not waiting for her; the snow falling no differently on her coat, frayed at the cuffs like ours; a fine for an overdue library book imposed on her as on us; sustenance for living 55 the one rose in her living room vase lasting no longer than ours. Imagine the young man waiting behind her dyed-haired, frail to pay for the evening paper having no notion … Imagine her walking among us— unlike Cain angel-like— unknown, unmarked, masquerading as you or me. Imagine our host now say softly She has always been a good-hearted woman. That’s all. Imagine the words fall on the table between us plain and homely as the boiled potatoes. Imagine in the tiny kitchen the faucet continues to drip. Imagine the orange stripes of the wallpaper closing in on his words then the silence like the columns of some ancient temple, half-destroyed half-unearthed. Imagine the bells of a distant church beginning to toll. [3.88.60.5] Project MUSE (2024-03-28 16:51 GMT) 56 Risk, Courage, and Women Imagine the night standing outside the window, a dumb, indifferent witness ready to swallow this story like so many others. Imagine Passover eve in a foreign country. Imagine a small apartment in Paris. Imagine not having a proper Seder. Not telling stories of the coming out of Egypt. ...