October 06, 2015

Love letter

The fact that she did not live with the family, preferring her tiny cottage and solitude to the comfortable but rather noisy household where we were brought up-added to the respectful fear in which she was held.
We used to take it in turn to carry small delicacies which my mother had made down from the big house to the little cottage where Aunt Stephia and an old colored maid spent their days. Old Tnate Sanna would open the door to the rather frightened little messenger and would usher him-or her - into the dark voor-kamer, where the shutters were always closed to keep out the heat and the flies. There we would wait, in trembling but not altogether unpleasant.
She was a tiny little woman to inspire so much veneration. She was always dressed in black, and her dark clothes melted into the shadows of the voor-kamer and made her look smaller than ever. But you felt. The moment she entered. That something vital and strong and somehow indestructible had come in with her, although she moved slowly, and her voice was sweet and soft.
She never embraced us. She would greet us and take out hot little hands in her own beautiful cool one.

Posted by: jbbushuang at 10:24 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 208 words, total size 1 kb.

<< Page 1 of 1 >>
7kb generated in CPU 0.006, elapsed 0.0467 seconds.
32 queries taking 0.0427 seconds, 42 records returned.
Powered by Minx 1.1.6c-pink.