My mother’s mother

ESTHER

(©hepzz99)

dear @friends,

I wrote this in the train from Marseille to Paris.

My mother’s mother. Esther Weiner. A small, compact lady; ‘of sturdy peasant stock’ as my mother often likes to point out when we marvel at her own health and longevity. She was very coquette in her days, I’m told, but my memories of her are of an older person, wrapped in furs in the middle of summer. She took care of the whole family, and when she died a few years ago we all felt the loss acutely. But I often feel her benevolent presence close by, as if I can see her nodding approvingly when my children finish their food. ‘Eat, darling!’ has become a standard expression in all our homes as we lovingly watch our babies grow. When spring comes to my cold country and the flowers on my terrace start blooming, she is also by my side, and I can hear her declare: ‘I love Nature’. Her smile hovers above me like that of a Cheshire cat.

Today she was with me again. After a weeks’ stay in Marseille with my long-time friend Nicolas, his girlfriend and their new six-month old baby, my son and I were about to board the train up to Paris when we discovered he had left his precious Gameboy in their flat.

First I must recall the kind man who immediately let me use his cell-phone. Luckily, Nicolas’ girlfriend was still at home and I asked her to jump in a taxi and bring us the toy at the station. We then went back downstairs with all our luggage to the spot where our taxi had dropped us a few minutes before. We had 15 minutes, after that we’d have to rush back up so as not to miss the train. We waited, and waited, no sign of her. Ultimately we ran back up with all our gear - too bad, the toy would have to be sent on by mail.

But there she was on the platform, holding out the Gameboy in one hand and a bewildered baby in the other. Of course, the station had another entrance that I didn’t know of, and she had walked straight to where our train was waiting, and had stood there for quite a while! We hardly slackened our pace, grabbed the little computer, pressed the taxi fare in her now empty hand and ran on desperately, while she exclaimed about the money and called goodbyes as we hurried on. This train was about six miles long, and we needed to get in at the other end, the cars for Paris being in the furthest section.

As I sat panting and puffing in my seat, my son hugging his dear machine, I wept tears of relief and gratitude for Nicolas’ girlfriend who had snatched up the baby from its nap and ran to our rescue so swiftly. Her name is ESTHER.