"I still think that we should go out and look for her" - Nitzkhia
insisted dreamily.
"Let's start to clear the table" - my mother instructed me and my
sister. We helped her carry greasy plates and cutlery and shapeless
napkins to the kitchen and pile them there indiscriminately. Mother
rolled up her sleeves, donned a checkered pinafore, and started to
scour away the evening with minimal, efficient moves.
"Mother" - I said meekly - "we haven't sung the Passover hymns."
She rinsed the dishes emphatically and used a drab cloth towel to dry
them.
"Mother" - I persisted - "It is not the same without the signing." I
liked to chime in and yodel the refrains.
"Well, I think we will be on our way now" - I heard Aliza from the
other room. Nitzkhia had nowhere to go back to, she lived with my
grandfather and grandmother.
"Mother" - I was panicky now, but I knew not why - "Gabi and Itsik have
gone and now Aliza, too! No one is left!"
My mother froze and then, bending towards me, she tousled my hair, her
hand all wet and soapy.
I shut my eyes and opened them repeatedly to repel her rivulets of
stinging water. I was crying now and my sobbing swelled in me and I was
swept in frazzled tremulousness, wiping my running nose on the back of
a sullied hand.
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