David Byron
"It was a somber day when the family gathered at the gravesite of Aunt Bessie as the liturgical rites were chanted in her memory. The women were dressed in black weeds, and the men of the family draped in black suits with their heads covered with the traditional skullcaps. Friends and onlookers joined in the weeping and a few wailed at the tragic loss, ‘Such a fine woman, a devoted member to her large family and a loving aunt to her many darling nieces and nephews.’ ‘Oy at such an early age,’ one cried out oblivious to Aunt Bessie's age, which was past eighty, and her demise was more than of natural causes. High tension was the tool Father Death used in his harvest of her soul.
"I was still in my early teens, a freckled faced youngster that started to take interest in the opposite sex, when I stood in the itch of my wool suit at the burial ceremonies for Auntie Bessie. Mom had to resort at times to straighten my skullcap when I scratched my brownish crewcut. ‘Norman, stop fidgiting and behave yourself,’ were the angry whispered words of my irritated mom. When she saw I was more or less in order, she straighted her stout body and applied a handkerchief to her veiled florid features. And, yours truly somehow behaved himself in the misery of the hour and started to reminisce about my dear departed aunt; I had nothing better to do during the long drawn out rites.
"I wrinkled up my pug-nose as I tried to release the memory block. Slowly my addled mind jogged and slowly the details, from what I know of them, etched in the rememberance...
"From what I was told by my mom was that my Aunt Bessie lived in the Pale of Russia in a hamlet that was quite primitive; toliets were the hole in the ground in a lean-to, and lighting was through kerosene lamps or by candle. It was a foresaken place, a kolkhoz, one of those so-called volunteer farm cooperatives deemed fitting for the chosen people. The good inhabitants were happily busy in their twelve-hour day in meeting the dictated quotas. But, a few of the stalwart elders defied the authorities and studied the forbidden holy books by candlelight in the quiet of the night.
Aunt Bessie in her youth was a fine figure of a woman, tall and sturdy in bones; her laughing eyes on her Semitic features shown in their happiness. She had been married to a good man, Jacob by name, who fathered four sons and three daughters. The bearded patriarch was a comfort to her and she took comfort in the sight and touch of his middling muscular body. Yet, life was hard due to their labours, but they were content with the few blessing they had.
Their blessing extended to the letters and the odd parcel of used clothes and a couple of tins of food hidden in the sleeves, which they received from their relatives in the country beyond the seas. ‘Bougeouise’, was not labeled upon them as they wore the garments of Saks and Brooks Brothers in the privacy of their wooden hut and on special occasions; the surplus was distributed and many of the villagers attended the council meetings in the best of Fifth Avenue.
"Jacob was the kolkhoz's chairman who issued the correct orders to the happy farm crew according to the dictates of the five-year plan. Whereas his Bessie was proud in his eyes as her tended cooped chickens exceeded their quotas. It was a picture of fulfillment, as preached in the tenets of the fatherly regime. All was in correct order and life carried on.
"Then the days darkened and the goosesteps tramped into their hamlet. Orders were barked by the supermen and all the weeping villagers were lined in front of ditch, naked in their sight. Nobody was spared, even the little ones felt the shame. Then the rattling sound was heard for a few terrible moments and then all was still. My Aunt Bessie had fortune on her side as her unhurt naked body fell into the ravine, covered by the blood of her man and children. Somehow she managed to extricate herself from the murderous carnage and naked, covered in blood and in shock she wandered around the burnt out village. Partisans had found her, clothed and fed her, and within time she joined their ranks; revenge was found when she struck down the men in grey uniforms.
"After the order of batle was stilled Aunt Bessie laid her arms aside and received medals from a grateful regime. She drifted to the capital where she worked for the state in one of their endless offices of the bureaucrasy. Some she managed on her meager salary and war pension, which was enough to pay for her shared room and the food on her plate. Again good fortune was on her side as the large family in the distant land had traced her; thus she enjoyed the blessings of their many parcels. But, she still had the stigma of being of the chosen people, which caused a certain amount of hardships.
"Within time a state was founded on land of the forefathers and a few of the believers were allowed by the good graces of the autocratic regime to migrate. Aunt Bessie, then slightly bent in age and grey in hair, was one of the fortunate few. Since she was a widow with no kin in the Holy Land she was diverted to her family in the land of opportunity.
Within time she took up abode in a small apartment amoungst religious adherents of her belief in the Big Apple. My aunt wanted to live her life by her own merits so she chose that quarter of the city.
"True, she was helped financially by our large family and by an immigrant association. True she was quite happy in her elder years to sit on a bench and gabble away with women of her age; she was admitted to a religious organization, and on the Friday evenings and the religious holidays she took part in the blessings. Slowly she became intergrated into the golden land, albeit her tongue was of Yiddish in the ways of the devout.
"Aunt Bessie was considered a pious woman by her near neighbors and by the congregants of the faith. Candlelight was always seen through the window of her flat and those who passed thought the candles were for the remembrance of the dear departed.
But, if they inquired they would have found that the poor dear was scared of putting on the electricity. ‘The light bulbs leak,’ she would cry out in her garbled words.
"It seemed that she imagined that the bulbs leaked their electric current because in one rare incident in the past she had sat under a naked bulb and received a fright of her life. It happened at the naturalization center where faulty wiring charged a switch and when pressed shattered the lamp above her and sent out sparks. ‘Oy heavens protect me!,’ she called out with a Hebrew prayer to the Good Lord for his divine protection as she ran in terror from the so-called danger. My mom learned later that the authorities there had an uncomfortable time in trying to comfort the poor dear by assuring her that she was in no danger, but somehow they mangaged. It was unfortunate for the good woman that she had witnessed the fault and from that moment onwards swore that electric bulbs leaked.
"Still she was adherent to the faith, as she was constantly in attendance at the services or joining in the religious activities at the adjoining vestry in the evening hours. ‘The light of the Good Lord is blessed and protecting,’ she reasoned to the subdued electric lighting in the house of prayer. The vestry's flourescent lighting gave a tone of daylight, ‘No leaky bulbs,’ she exclaimed. The same was true when she sat together with other old-agers in their well-lit flourescent lit meeting place; there she was able to read the Yiddish gazettes without straining her weakening eyesight that gazed through thick spectacles.
"Visits to her apartment by the members of her large family were made during the daylight hours, as it was torturous for them to sit in a candle lit room. They tried hard to cajole her to switch on the lights, but Aunt Bessie was adamant that the electric bulbs leaked. Even when Aunt Bessie visits to her family was also made during daylight hours. And in rare overnight visits, she suffered leaky bulbs, but the guestroom where she slept was always dark and she made her way by the light of the street lamps.
"True Aunt Bessie used her umbrella when the clouds darkened the skies or when the sun sent its sizzling rays in hot summer days. But Aunt Bessie always had her umbrella open when she dared the night hours as she traipsed to her appointments. ‘The street bulbs leak!’ was her reply to the curiosity of her acquaintances and they accepted her eccentricity. It was unfortunate for the poor dear that the quarter where she lived was lit by old-fashioned street lamps that had large wattage bulbs screwed into them. Somehow she managed to be careful and avoid the leaks.
"Within time as the debility of old age crept into the movement of her body and in her dimming sight; it was decided then and there by our large family to place her in a retirement center. She insisted in being placed in one of the few rest homes for the aged in that section of the city and one with no electric bulbs that leaked. Fortunately the golden age club where she attended also catered to people in retirement and she was welcomed most heartily. They had modern flourescent facilities, and the corridors and stairwell were lit with subdued strip lighting. And the family, at their expense, installed lighting in her room with leak-proof lamps.
"Aunt Bessie was quite happy in her surroundings with all the amenities to her needs and with her amiable acquaintances. The few remaining years of her life was of contenment without any cares or worries, especially to leaking electric bulbs. Visits to the good woman by her large family was a pleasure as they were able to converse with her in a well-lit reception room. And Aunt Bessie had the pleasure to see clearly through her thick glasses the features of her many nieces and nephews that togged along.
"It was a stormy night in the recent past when the Reaper of Souls hovered over her. Lightning flashed and thunders boomed disturbing her sleep. Suddenly in one thunderous clap the northeast was blacked out as electric power ceased. Aunt Bessie had been hidden under her blanket to escape the fright of the storm. The thunder of the heavens exploded in her room and in terror she sat up still covered by her white sheet. When an ensuing lightning stroke flashed in the darkened room she imagined the white of her cover as the ghost of Jacob, her loving husband. She called out to him in one agony of a cry and then the beat of her heart stilled.
"'Amen,' was called out by the bereavers when the services ended. Then I wiped away a tear or two, and joined my family when they readied themselves for departure."
Copyright © 2007 David Byron