Saturday was a special day—a bath day for Sunday.
We stood by the washtub placed next to the well,
watching our mother pour hot water from the cauldron
and then add cold well water, stirring to obtain the right temperature.
Then she would take each of us in turn and bathe thoroughly
from head to toe with quick moves and without fuss,
dry with a towel, and help get dressed.

I don’t really remember that. It’s just one
of the very few stories from back then that she ever told us.
Saturday was a special day—the day I’d like to believe
we felt like family.