Verhovayak Lapja, 1944 (27. évfolyam, 1-52. szám)
1944 / Verhovay Journal
Pase ft_____________________________Verhovay Journal I Al TH... It was about a year after her husband died — he came late at night after a twelve-hour day; passing over the creek he must have stumbled on a rock and fell. In the morning, when they found him, with his face in the water, he was dead. It was a hard year for her. At the time he was buried, all the neighbors came to visit with her and to sympathize with her. They sent flowers, they did her housework, they were nice to her. But human sympathy is shortlived— people get so tired of sharing another one’s sorrow. They want to get out of it and try to find a way in which they can separate themselves from the sorrow that made them cry, too, at the time when it happened. Just a few days after the funeral, the gossip started. People cast furtive looks at her and she could sense that they were whispering behind her. Some who pretended to be great friends told her confidentially that people were talking about the mysterious circumstances of her husband’s death. They told her, too, that some said that she waited for him late at night and gave him the push that killed him, and many were ready to believe the gossip. Then, a few months later, her only son was inducted. Her eyes already had cried out all their tears—with a blind sorrow she looked into the world when her son left her. _ And people kept on whispering. They said — “God is punishing her for what she did.” Then came his letters. Beautiful letters, pitiful letters. The love of a son to his Mother was their beauty and his homesickness was what made them pitiful. She was left alone. Only once or twice a week she went out of the house to do her marketing. She didn’t need much. She lived on hope; the only hope that her heart could harbor. She was waiting for her son to come home. Very seldom did people look her up. It is hard to visit sad people. One has to suppress his own troubles and she, who had been hurt so many times, didn’t have much left for other people’s troubles. After all, they all seemed so insignificant. What did it matter that Mrs. Smith’s clothes line broke down and she had to do her laundry over again? What did it matter that Mr. Tailor came home late at night and more often than not failed to bring home his pay check? What did it matter that Mrs. White’s daugher eloped with some fellow only to come home a few weeks later when she did not want to see her anymore? Those were petty troubles. She had lost her husband and her only son was taken away. Who could compare his little sorrow to hers? * * * But she was not spared the full measure of sorrow. One day that dreaded yellow telegram arrived, telling her that her son was missing in action in France. She looked at the telegram and eould not grasp its contents. She eouldn’t accept the fact that some thing had happened to him. He was bound to come home — he could not be lost. People soon heard about the news and again they came to risit her. They wanted to see the telegram — they wanted to hear the sad news. They found some morbid enjoyment in visiting the house over which the heavy shadow of death lay with its threat. It is a short-lived enjoyment but they wanted to have it, nevertheless. No further news camé for many months. She very seldom left the house now and when she walked down the street, she did not notice anybody. There was a curious sort of expression on her face. A distant look ... as if she were trying to listen to a far away voice. When people stopped her on the street, she hardly listened — she looked through them as if she were trying to see something far, far away. And the gossip started again. There wasn’t anybody who would tell her but she could sense it if she cared— but she did not care. There was only one desire in her heart; for the boy who must return. And the gossip spread. They said she was going crazy. They said she should be put in an institution. They said she would do something to herself . . . but nobody did anything about it. Perhaps they hoped she would do something to herself and then the people would have another diversion. Something new to talk about. * * * But there was more to come. Late in the fall came a letter from the War Department. It was a Certificate of Assumptive Death. It explained that, due to the circumstances surrounding her son’s disappearance, he was assumed to have died in action. She read the letter and she read it again but it didn’t mean anything to her. He can’t be dead — he must return — he will retrun . . . She sat in her house all day. Waiting. People noticed that she did not come out any more and neighbors went to see her. She showed them the letter and they cried softly while she looked far, far away. They tried to comfort her — they told her those commonplace things one says when facihg sorrow beyond understanding. But words did not reach her. Perhaps she was nearer to her son than to her next neighbor . . . * * * One day, the Manager of the Branch called on her. He expressed his symathy. He pressed her hand and with sincere emotion told her how much he and many others felt what this blow must mean to her. And then he told her that since her son died, she had better apply for the death benefit that was coming to her from the Association of which her son was a member. But she shook her head. She said; “I am not applying for any death benefit.” He said: “But you are entitled to it.” She answered: “I am not.” “Why not?” — asked the Manager. Then she looked at. him. The first time that she had looked at a person for months as if she actually saw him — her eyes lit up, there was intense fire in them when she said: “Because my son has not died.” “Look here” — said the ‘ Manager — “there can be no doubt about it. Even if they did not find his body, the War Department wouldn’t issue a Certificate of Assumptive Death unless they have definite proof that there wasn’t a chance for him to stay alive.” “But he is alive” — she said softly, which certainty. The Manager was helpless. “As you say” — he said — “but if you should change your mind, just let me know. You are entitled to the money and by God, you need it.” * » * Then the snow came — knee deep it lay before her house — she sat there alone. No one had seen her for days. People were busy. Christmas was near. There was cleaning, cooking, baking, washing and ironing to be done... who had time for that old woman who was out of her mind anyhow? It was late at night — slowly she w'as getting up to go to bed — deeply she sighed. Another day. And tomorrow is another day for waiting and hoping. She just started up the steps when the phone rang. Its shrill tone hit her and paralyzed her. Her heart started beating and her head pounded and she felt death- coming. Her body trembled and her knees gave way and she looked up to Heaven begging “Not now — Oh, don’t let me die now, God!” The telephone kept on ringing impatiently. Slowly, weakly, she dragged herself to the telephone. She sank down on the chair and lifted the receiver. A woman’s voice came over the wire, “New York calling Mrs. Toth.” She felt her heart contract — her breath stopped. She had to hold the instrument with both hands. She was sitting there and waiting on the edge of death. “Hello, hello! New York calling Mrs. Toth — hello —” impatiently the woman’s voice demanded. “This is Mrs. Toth” — she answered feebly. “Just a minute, please” — answered the cold, business-like voice. Then a sharp click and suddenly through the phone came the Voice. The Voice, winged with joy and weighted with tears, the trembling caresssing happy Voice for which she had waited for a year!” “Hello, Mother”. CARELESS TALK Everyone must guard against careless talk, particularly now with so many thousands of soldiers home on furlough from overseas. Any fragment of war information, no matter how harmless it seems, may be of value to the enemy, OFFICE OF WAR INFORMATION Washington, D. C. November 9, 1944 EMBARRASSING A wife in Westchester addressed her husband: ‘'Put a twentydollar bill in my bag, please, while I powder my nose. I must run for the train.” On the train a pleasant lady shared the seat with her. During a temporary absence of the-pleasant lady, the Westchester wife opened her bag to get at her lip-stick. The twenty-dollar bill was not there. Then she remembered that the pleasant lady had had a chance to loot. With complete cynicism she peeked in the pleasant lady’s bag. Inside it was a twenty-dollar bill. “Huh,” thought the wronged wife, “thought you were smart, huh?” So she slipped it out and presently the pleasant lady reappeared and they parted, neither knowing the other’s name. And that night her husband slapped his pallid head. “My golly,” said he, “I just thought of something, my dear, I forgot to put any money in your bag this morning.” INSISTED ON HIS RIGHTS An Irishman entered a barber shop for a shave. After he was seated and the lather applied, the barber was called to the adjoining room, where he was detained. The barber had in the shop a pet monkey which caused amusement by imitating its master. As soon as the barber had quitted the room the monkey seized the shaving brush, dipped it in the lather, and proceeded to apply it to the Irishman’s face. When the operation was finished to the monkey’s satisfaction, the little animal picked up a razor, and, after stropping it, turned to Pat to shave him. “Stop that!” cried Pat’, firmly, sitting erect. ‘‘Ye can tuck the towel in me neck and put the soap on me face, but, begorrah, yer father’s got to shave me!” POLITICIAN, OF COURSE! A surgeon, an architect, and a politician disputed which belonged to the oldest profession. The surgeon claimed the distinction because Eve was made from Adam’s rib. That, he contested, was surgery. . “But”, said the architect, “before the advent of Adam order was made out of chaos. That was architecture.” “Admitted,” said the politician, ‘'but who created the chaos?” ACCURACY DOCTOR: Well you are certainly looking better than I expected to find you. PATIENT: I think it is because I followed the direction on the medicine bottle. DOCTOR: Very likely. What were they? PATIENT: Keep the bottle tightly corked. SAFETY FIRST In a certain school in New York there was a teacher, an energetic advocate of “Safety First,” who opened her class each morning by rising and asking: “Children, what would you do if fire were to break out in this building?” The children would reply in chorus: “We would rise in our places, step into the aisle, and march quietly out of the building.” One morning when the children arrived at school they found themselves honored by the presence of the well-known and beloved Dr. Henry van Dyke. The teacher stepped before the class and, instead of the usual fire drill question, said, “Children, what would you say if I were to tell you that Dr. van Dyke is to speak to you this morning?” Instantly from the class came the resounding chorus: “We would rise in our places, step into the aisle, and march quietly out of the building.” SOME HUSTLE Chapman returned from lunch and called his new secretary into his room. “Anyone call while I was out?” he asked. “Yes,” replied the girl. “Smith came in about his account. He wanted it settled.” “And you told him »that I had left for Europe this morning?” asked Chapman. The girl nodded and replied: ”Yes; and that you wouldn’t be back until this afternoon.” HE BURIED IT A motorist in England who had a 50-gallon tank of gas in reserve When rationing was introduced, consulted a friend as to what to do about it. “Bury it, my dear fellow,” was the reply. Acordingly, he gave his gardener instructions next day to dig a hole for it in a secluded spot. After a time the gardener returned. “I’ve buried the gas,” he said. “What do you want done with the tank?” A CONFESSION “Say there, Jinks,” roared the Top Sergeant, “why weren't you out this morning?” “Because,” replied the quaking private, ‘T threw my ankle out of joint last night.” “That’s no excuse!” boomed the Sergeant. “I’ve turned out for drill after having my whole body thrown out of half a dozen joints.” CURIOSITY JOE: Do you know why I like chickens? PETER: No, why? JOE: I don’t know. That’s why I asked you.
