We came to Johannesburg. Lived in Wynberg. After a time, my twin
sisters Betty and Rosie also came looking for husbands. They stayed
with us and the shadchen fixed them up. I can see that Hannah
doesn't understand. Not the ideas. Not my mixture of Yiddish and
English. Still she listens, looking at my face. Then they moved to
their own homes but we always spent Shabbos and Yom Tov together. I
go on, When your Mommy married your Daddy, they lived a one bedroom
flat in Clarendon Circle. We wrapped you up tightly in your blanket
when you were born. You slept in a drawer. I show her with my
hands. You were this small. Spanning the pogrom years in Lithuania
and the 1950s South Africa, Frankel weaves a delicate tale of
despair and loss, of love and attachment and of place. She evokes
the post-war years in South Africa in heartbreaking detail, and
traces the relationships within an extended family and their own
struggle with racism, grief and guilt.
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