"I remember thinking, Let this not be imprinted on his mind. Let not my child see his father burn”
Details will make the story come to life, Felix thinks as he writes down Chasya’s words. Sooner or later, she will reach the meat of the story. Although there is no guarantee.
She talked about the little shul, how the furnace was built into the women’s section and on Shabbos and Yom Tov the men would freeze as the women huddled around for warmth, leaving no gap for the heat to pass over to the men. He smirks, amused.
Little town worries, everyday arguments — the cock that crows in the middle of the night instead of at dawn, and how they kept the bird up for hours, walking it through the town with a string around its neck even as midnight struck, so it would sleep for longer and wake only at dawn.
Mama listens, hands clasped on her lap, an affectionate smile on her face, and he suddenly thinks, It’s such a long time since she shared her stories. Despite his deadline, despite the nerves — will this all sputter to a stop before it reaches the climax? — he is fascinated. Chasya is a good storyteller. Her face is animated. She slips into different voices for each character, without even realizing it.
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