alternatively. She is pretty, conscientious, and honest, so everybody treats her with kindness and is willing to help her. Mrs Z. does not earn less than at her relative’s. But this work does not bore or exhaust her like the previous job. And she can spend more time with her child. Our life is currently so dynamic in its tragic momentum that we do not have time to brood on yesterday’s memories. Tragedies come tumbling on us in a hot avalanche, piling up on us and burying the memories of recent dramas. And the hierarchy of tragedies is actually unimportant when our whole life is one big tragedy. We are simply embarrassed to be stuck in our own pain or we are at least embarrassed to confess to it openly. And if you look at Mrs Z. today and you are unaware of the hell she has been through you would not suspect that she has had such horrible experiences. She is cheerful and even-tempered and even makes bold plans to emigrate after the war. And she has begun to learn dressmaking from her sister, bearing her future in mind. She devotes her evenings to learning [that new skill]. “Every woman should learn a practical occupation,” Mrs Z. says. “For life is unpredictable and an occupation can protect her from misery and bring her back to life if she happens to fall.”
[102]
***
Each Friday after lunch Mrs D. comes over to clean the "kitchen, hall, and bathroom." Pale, with a subdued stare and in stinking rags, she -- a living embodiment of Jewish misery -- mopes about the flat, which shines completely.
Mrs D. always washes the dishes first. Before she sinks them in a bowl of hot water, she closely examines each plate, mug, and pot, hoping to find a sediment of thick soup or meat sauce or an uneaten carrot, parsley, or potato. Her hungry eyes flash with joy: she has spotted a large basket of potato peels under the table. She asks "Madam" if she can take them. The woman will not refuse. Why, last week "Madam" did not refuse when Mrs D. asked her for a raw carrot, a glass of tea, and a saccharine roll after she felt a sudden, sickening hunger cramp. Mrs D. will sell the potato peels to a milkmaid she
