My Mother's Secret Read Online Free PDF

wonder about why I am using so much water!”
    If a neighbor notices such a small thing like this, I can’t help but wonder if Casmir suspects anything.

Chapter 18
    I long to be with Casmir and feel frustrated at being caught between what is right and what I want.
    My mother senses this and doesn’t scold me for my short temper and moodiness.
    Instead, she tells me a story about myself.
    She says, “When you were about eight years old, you found a cat that was injured and lying on the side of the road. Its leg was badly damaged and covered in blood. It looked like it was going to die, if it wasn’t dead already. You picked it up and brought it home. I helped you clean the leg, and we kept the cat warm and fed it leftovers. When it recovered, we let it go. Sometimes it would come back for a visit, and we both knew that it remembered us.
    â€œHelena, there are three kinds of people in the world. One that would have seen the suffering cat and not have given it a second thought. Another that would have seen the same cat and said to themselves, ‘Oh, isn’t that a pity,’ before continuing about their business. Finally, there is the kind who sees the suffering, feels the empathy, and then goes one step further by taking action to help. That is you. You didn’t leave the cat there to perish. I am proud that you are my daughter. Think what a wonderful place the world would be if everyone was like that.”
    I know what she is really saying.
    I had agreed to hide the Jewish families. It’s just that I miss Casmir so much.

Chapter 19
    D amian has done quite well and is promoted to manager at the oil refinery.
    It makes me so happy to see him wearing the leather jacket that I bought with my first paycheck.
    Every four weeks he comes with kerosene, machine oil, olive oil, and cottonseed oil for my mother to trade for food with the other peasants. One time, he even has his workers bring a wagon full of firewood to make sure we can stay warm through the winter.
    We don’t see much of my brother because on his days off work, he is secretly transporting supplies to the partisan Jews hiding in the forest.
    On a cold, bleak evening, a man we have never seen before appears at our house. He says that he is in the underground with Damian. He looks weary and worn when he says to my mother, “I am very sorry to tell you that your son, Damian, was killed today. His wagon was ambushed. It’s risky for me to come here, but I thought it was important for you to know that he was a hero.”
    Shortly after telling us this, he leaves.
    My mother is a strong woman in every way, but she is broken inside with this. Do we really heal stronger where we are broken? I don’t think so because it feels like neither one of us will recover, ever.
    I so desperately want to see my brother again.
    I go outside and sit under the apple tree.
    Wrapping my arms around my knees, I bury my head in my lap.
    I see my ten-year-old brother. We have just finished dinner, my father, brother, and I. My mother eats later when she comes home. My brother is clearing the table, while my father is dozing in his chair in the living room. I am washing my father’s favorite ceramic beer stein, when it slips from my hand. I watch in horror as it drops to the floor. I am frozen with fear. My father rushes over with the crashing sound and my brother is fast to respond with “I dropped it, Papa. I didn’t mean to. It was an accident.”
    â€œYou stupid, useless idiot. Do you know how much that cost?” My father takes off his leather belt and starts to whip my brother, who is hunched over trying his best to protect his face.
    I scream hysterically, “No, Papa! No! Stop hurting him. It was me! It was me! I dropped it.”
    My father stops whipping my brother and looks at me like a madman.
    â€œSo you’re a liar too, are you?” He is fuming and pulls me over by my long hair.
    His other hand is up