She must have grown weaker as the days went by, but I noticed nothing. She stopped reading for a while, and just stared out of the window. I had, in a few small ways, grown like her. I shared some of her feelings. If she was awake in the night, I would lie awake too. Maybe something in me weakened too during that time. I shared English with her, and that made us different from everyone around. There are more words in English, she used to say, and more things to describe. I told her that made no sense, but she said that I had never been in England, so I could not possibly know. She laughed at her own jokes, and I loved watching her cackling there in the shadows of the hallway.

I knew she was dying, but I thought that it would be slow. It was easy not to think about it: I was busy teaching, and then shopping, and cooking, and keeping the apartment clean. I hated washing sheets and trying to hang them to dry from the small balcony off the kitchen. I asked her how she had done it over all the years and she purred in her seat as though I were praising her and thanking her rather than complaining.

She did not want me to call the doctor for her. Even though her awareness was slipping, she knew that we were short of money. She had good days when she pretended that nothing was wrong. She would put her hotel clothes on and some makeup and sit in her chair. Sometimes I found myself looking around the apartment thinking how still and calm and easy it would be when I was alone here and she was dead. I felt guilty about these thoughts, I did not know that they were a way of protecting myself from what was going to happen.

On the morning that she had her stroke I telephoned my uncles and aunt and told them that she was sick. I had already called the doctor. She was lying in bed making unintelligible sounds. The doctor thought that maybe she would be better in a nursing home. I told him that we had no money. He looked at me and said that she would have to remain here then. Speaking the plain, blunt truth made him satisfied and pleased with himself. I asked him if he knew the name of the nurse who had looked after my father. He said that his secretary had her name and number, but I should remember that a nurse did not come cheaply, and I should not run up bills which I could not pay. I asked him if my mother was likely to regain her speech. He said that it was impossible to judge.