THE CONFESSION ON THE PALM
If not for my mother, I’d never wake up early in the morning (that sweetest sound of my wake-up call). I opened up my eyes when I heard her calling me for at least the hundredth time.
The first thing I saw was the bluishly scribbled sheet of paper and then looked around the cluttered room. I raised my head from the cushion heavily and read what I’d written at night. It was good.
“Nina! Nina!” I called but my mother didn’t answer. “Mum!”
“Are you calling me, Rada?” She hated when I called her by name.
“Will you make some coffee for me?”
“You’d better come down yourself... It’s no problem for a young girl to make coffee…”
“That means you won’t…”
“Wait! The water hasn’t boiled yet…”
Five minutes later Nina was in, with a cup of coffee in her hand. She glanced around the room and resentfully observed:
“Haven’t tided up your room yet…”
“As you can see, dear mum”.
“I’m not going to clean it anymore. Do whatever you want…”
“OK”, I said and, giving her a kiss on the cheek, took my coffee. “There’s some washing under the bed…”
Ninachka began to grumble but I didn’t listen to her: With my coffee in one hand and the papers in another, I sat down on a window sill and read what I had written at night. (See PDF)
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