The Mother quotes

Is there one day different from another under heaven for a mother?

In the morning the mother woke and rose before dawn, and while the others still slept she opened the door and let out the fowls and the pig and led the water buffalo into the dooryard, and she swept up what filth they had dropped …

she would pipe back gaily, “

Aye, here I be and my good grave clothes on me! A-wearing them out, I be, and I cannot say how many more I can wear out!

”

Yes, she would miss this old soul when dead. Yet what use missing?

Life came and went at the appointed hour, and against such appointment there was no avail.

Therefore the mother went her way tranquil.

Yes, she would miss this old soul when dead. Yet what use missing? Life came and went at the appointed hour, and against such appointment there was no avail.

Therefore the mother went her way tranquil.

She had taken it from him and counted it and put it into the cranny and there it should be. But it was not there.

Then she knew indeed that he was gone. It came over her in a daze that he was truly gone.

She sat down suddenly there in the earthen house upon the earthen floor and holding the babe in her arms she rocked herself back and forth slowly and in silence. Well, he was gone!

But when she was come to her own house she was torn in two with all her lies. Sometimes she was filled with sadness and loneliness and she cried to her own heart, “

How sorrowful and lone a woman am I whose only man is one I must make for myself out of words and lies!

”

“I know as well as ever. Do you think I can forget?” the woman said.

So she emptied her heart clean.

But how can any heart live empty?

So she emptied her heart clean.

But how can any heart live empty?

On a day soon after this she went into the city to change again her bit of paper, for these days she did not trouble her cousin often, having learned to be alone, and when she had the ten pieces in her hand she turned …

And the landlord’s agent was not wed. She was widow and he not wed, for she had heard him say that his wife was dead last year but she had not heeded, for what was it to her then, who was not widow?

Yes, she must be widow.

That night she watched the great moon set high in the heavens and she watched far into the night, the children sleeping and all the hamlet sleeping save a dog here and there barking at the enormous moon, and more and more it seemed to …

What could she do, then, knowing all? She set her feet steadfastly upon the road to home, her heart deathly still within her, and she said over and over, “

It is not time to weep yet⁠—the hour is not come yet when I may weep.

” And she would not let her weeping come. No, the weeping gathered in her great and tremulous but she would not weep.

… back her loosened hair and wiped her swollen eyes and rose and the child put out her hand and felt for her mother’s hand, shutting her eyes against the shining evening glow that was rosy where the sun went down, and she said plaintively, “

I wish I never had to weep, for when I weep, my tears do burn me so!

”

Then when he was finished she waited for an instant and let the words sink in her heart.

And they sank in like rain upon a spent and thirsty soil

and she cried in a low warm voice, “Did he say so, my son?”

It will come up and up. Aye, and there is no healing.”

Now these words fell like iron upon the two hearts that heard them

and the mother said in a low swift voice, “But there may be—there must be some physician somewhere. Do you know of any good physician not too costly, since we be poor?”

It is her destiny. In some other life she must have done an evil thing, looked on some forbidden sight, and so received this curse. Or else her father may have sinned, or even you, goodwife—who knows the heart?

But however that may be the curse is here upon her and none can change what heaven wills.

” And again he yawned, his brief kindness done, and he took the pence the woman gave him and shuffled into some inner room.

She was diligent and she was smooth and quick at work and when the work was done she sat and sewed on something for her husband but all she did was done in her own careful way.

Now there are not two women in this world who do the same task alike, and this the mother had not known, thinking all did as she did.

But no, this son’s wife had her own way of doing all. When she cooked the rice she put too much water in, or so the mother thought, and the rice came out softer than the mother was used or liked to have it.

… maid who sat there on the threshold in the sun, when she heard this and heard the complaint her sister made against the younger brother, she cried out in mild haste, “Mother, indeed I do not care for the flower, and my sister is right.

What are flowers to the blind?

”

… I saw my blind maid beaten or even if it was done near enough so I could hear of it, or so the maid could run home and tell me, and I helpless once she is wed, that I think I could not bear it.

Better far to have her where I cannot see her and where I cannot know and so be saved the pain because I cannot see and so can hope.

”

My comrades tell me it is the chiefest thing their parents say—wed—wed—wed! Well then, mother, I will not wed! And if you wed me against my will, then shall you never see my face again! I never will come home again!”

He turned and went on more quickly and she dared not say a word, but only sat amazed and frightened at his anger and that he did not sing again.

Yet she forgot all this now in what was to come.

But there was nothing. No, the maid’s soft skin was all unbroken, the slender bones whole, and there was nothing to be seen.

She was pale and piteously thin, but she was thin always and death is pale.

Then did the mother stoop and smell at the child’s lips to see if there was any smell of poison, but there was no smell, nothing now except the faint sad scent of death.

… the son made haste and led the ass down the rocky path and turned shivering to see if they were followed and he said, “I shall not rest until we are near that village once again and where many people are, I am so fearful.”

But the mother answered nothing. What need to answer anything? Her maid was dead.

I did not bear the child and I have seen my blind maid die, still blind.

Does not sorrow atone?

Aye, I have been very full of sorrows all my life long, always poor too, with all my sorrows. But gods know no justice.”

I did not bear the child and I have seen my blind maid die, still blind. Does not sorrow atone? Aye, I have been very full of sorrows all my life long, always poor too, with all my sorrows.

But gods know no justice.

”

Well, I will stay away from gods, so sinful an old soul as I be, for even if I would I do not know how to atone more for what I did than I have atoned.

I swear if they measured up the joy and sorrow I have had in my whole life the sorrow would sink the scales like stone, and the joy be nothing more than thistledown, such poor joys as I have had.

I did not bear the child and I have seen my blind maid die, still blind. Does not sorrow atone? Aye, I have been very full of sorrows all my life long, always poor too, with all my sorrows. But gods know no justice.”

So, she thought gloomily, she had two sorrows to bear now: fear lest her grandson be not whole and sound or else a girl, and waiting for this younger son who would not come.

Sometimes she thought her whole life was only made of waiting now.

So had she waited for her man to come who never came, and now her son and grandsons. Such was her life and poor stuff it was, she thought.

Sometimes she thought her whole life was only made of waiting now. So had she waited for her man to come who never came, and now her son and grandsons.

Such was her life and poor stuff it was, she thought.

Yet she must hope and whenever anyone went into town she always asked him when he came back again, “Saw you my little son today anywhere?”

This one looked at that and each looked everywhere and said no word and the mother saw their dubious looks and somehow her heart broke. She fell into her weeping again and cried at them,

“Oh, you hated him because he was so fair to look upon⁠—better than your black sons, who are only hinds⁠—aye, you hate anyone who is better than yourselves⁠—”

and she rose and staggered forth and went home weeping most bitterly.