An atmosphere of darkness now pervaded Lattimer, that of slaughter and trepidation, of unrest and despondency. People convening to others' porches to whisper, to talk of all gone awry. Assembling women standing around the water pipe, murmuring about how this was what her husband was saying, about what they both thought. This all was occurring in the midst of grieving, of lamentment terrible enough that description was useless.
It had been near three weeks since the mines started running again, or three weeks since Big Mary — as everyone around here called her now — had failed to stop the inevitable; and the great unrest, both in feeling and in action, that swiftly followed the massacre had dissipated, leaving in its wake begrudged conformance, with an underlying tone of depression.
This depression seeped into all aspects of life, leaving me peevish and irascible. I, who was better off than many, the many who had lost their husbands, had lost their brothers, had lost their sons. Who was I to grumble, who was I to begroan? I had my Tata, my brother, and — if I was to be brazen — my beau. I had everything I could ever want, it seemed, and yet I found myself something to complain about. Something to be caught up with, like a sleeve snagging on a nail, my mood just as sharp.
For example: I had gone to visit Lidia, for she had just given birth. There she had lain, pale face peeping out of the quilt pulled high, her eyes puffy and red from weeping. I had nearly wept myself when I saw her. Poor Lidia! With no husband and now two sons to raise — what would become of her?
But I already knew the answer to that.
She had told me so, the day of Jerzy's funeral, had told me of her fate. I ached just to think of my dear friend no longer with me, alone on a steamship, heading back to the old country. I have had enough of America. The words touched something dark within me, for I had long thought the same thing during my moments of despair and distress. And now? I wasn't sure of much of anything now.
All this self-loathing! Such a wretched creature I was! My efforts to bring comfort did nothing but do the opposite. Try as I might, my words, given in the strictest context of consolation, caused nothing but tears and fits of anguish between the both of us. And the cause of this all was no one but myself!
Alas, the visit, which was meant to bring Lidia so much love, resulted in as much pain for the both of us, had left us clinging to one another in misery!
I find the audacity of myself very shocking even now as I think about it. And do you think that I was the one to regain my dignity and compose myself? No! It was Mrs. Woźniakowa who took pity on my inanity and, putting a strong hand on my shoulder, said "Oh Anetka, it is best you leave now. Go tend to whatever you should at home," The savior herself! It was only then that I gulped down my tears and tore myself out of Lidia's clasp, roughly tying my kerchief on and practically flinging myself off the porch itself as I stomped my way back home, all the while cursing myself for my idiocy. Why couldn't I be like Lidia? She herself was the one grieving for a husband, not me, at least not anymore. I had no business working her up! I stormed on home, wishing all the while that I could be as kind, as gentle, as sweet, as good…
