Ruth Mason

Exile

Many decades later, a daughter revisits her mother’s history

Screen Shot 2017-01-05 at 1.30.15 PMJERUSALEM—APRIL, 1915. Sivia bent down to examine the stone that caught her eye as she crossed the rocky field on her way home from school. Unlike its rough, pink or white neighbors, this one was oval shaped; shiny, smooth and black. She placed it in her small palm and, bouncing her hand lightly, considered its weight. She didn’t often find such a perfect stone. Maybe it would be a good omen. Or wait. Isn’t black bad luck? Black cats, black uniforms on the Turkish police…But no, that was old ladies’ nonsense. Bobbe meisses, her young, fair- skinned teacher, Naomi called them.

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