But the building itself was white rather than the dark English stone the former novitiate was made of. He parked his car in the neatly-lined lot (pay-as-you-leave) and entered the lobby through revolving doors that responded to the lightest touch. It was not quite visiting hours, but when they saw his roman collar the nurses made no objection to his being on the floor. One of them even accompanied him down the hall, reminding him by her accent of the distance he had covered that afternoon. When he reached the room, he thought at first she must have made a mistake, because the elderly figure asleep in there was clearly not his mother. Then he saw that the room was divided by a gray curtain. When he stepped cautiously around it he found a luxuriantly white-haired stranger seated on the other side. The woman lying there was indeed his mother, however pale, the lines of her face radically rearranged—from illness, he thought at first, then realized that he was just not used to seeing her on her back.
What do You think about The Jew's Wife & Other Stories?
