A Story My Grandmother Told Me
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A Story My Grandmother Told Me
Last Sunday my grandmother Rosa visited our house for lunch. After the meal she was sitting in the garden and telling me about her first year in the city.
She was eighteen when she left her village on a slow train. Her sister was waving from the platform while Rosa was holding a small suitcase and a paper bag with bread.
When she arrived, she did not know anyone in the neighbourhood. She was renting a room in a tall building near the factory where she was working six days a week.
Every morning she was waking at five because the factory bell was ringing early. Other women were walking with her through foggy streets while men were opening shop shutters along the main road.
Did she feel lonely at first? She was feeling lonely, but she was not staying alone for long.
