I sunk to my knees. If I had had the strength, I would have crawled to the sink and held my wrists under the water. I was victim to one of those preliminary heaves of vomit.

“Now don’ get all upset wit’ Mot’her Nature.”

“Why do we have to urinate blood??”

“Honey. You don’ urnate. It’s jus’ a fact o’ life.”

I could tell she was holding back. Probably the sucking out part, like when a scorpion stings a victim and an Indian has to suck the poison out of the wound and spit. I saw that once on Bonanza, I think.

“Just like that?”

“From dere, you make you poo-poo.”

“I know that!”

“From dis, you make urina. Well, dere, b’tween.”

I bent forward as much as I could.

“You see?”

“No.”

In a state of shock, I stared instead at the pendant necklace she was wearing. The multi-carat ruby shone like a sanguine sun. It used to be on the ring my father gave her at Niagara Falls when he popped the question, which she readily accepted upon seeing the stone.

“Well, dere is a hole dere. It still too lil’, but it will get more big later!” she stunned me out of my stupor.

“Why?”

“Why we have hairs? Why we have a nose? It’s like dat. You accept!”

I was offered an elastic belt with metal hooks onto which I could attach a wad of cotton padding. Securing it in place was the same principle as stabbing a hook into bait. It was big enough for a Red Cross nurse to dress a wounded soldier.

“But how will I know when it will open?”

“You did no’ feel any ting?!”

“I didn’t start bleeding yet.”

“Yes you did. You don’ feel?!”

I remained wordless, thoughtless.

“You don’ see?!” her tone rose, “Me, I see!”

Though my mother was shorter than me, her stride was longer, and her steps, more rapid. In the utility room, she confronted me with my Tuesday, and four pairs of my Friday underwear. When she fought for these in the clearance sale bins, she was more concerned with the colour white than the days of the week. Each bore a meat stain from what I’d hidden down there. I underwent the humiliation of her sticking a pair in my face. Although to my mother all her neighbours were near-sighted, her own offspring were far-sighted. I had been careful to hide the underwear in the middle of the laundry basket, but my mother washed even the whites in cold water to save electricity and traces of brown had remained. My forearms lifted to protect my guilt-laden face.

“It’s a’kay, honey. It’s no’ yo’ fault,” she reassured me, “De world mus’ turn.”

CHAPTER 7

The three of us waited outside for the Tattas to arrive, hostesses of a solemn reception. Most of our neighbours simply let their guests in and out the front door without formality. We always had to help ours in and out of their car doors. This must have been some old Eastern European tradition, dating back to the horse and carriage when the beloved one needed a hand to make it down the high step; or dating back to the invention of the first car, when the entire village wouldn’t miss its arrival or departure for the world.