Routine

A dark, handsome woman, worn out with child bearing and a wisp of a girl, in a torn frock- they move in unison as they walk to work, mother and daughter, sharing intimate whispers, barefoot, tinkling anklets, at the break of dawn. At the sound of the car, the daughter turns, transfixed. It is a shining new sedan and its colour hurts the eyes in the early morning light. It passes smartly, crunching the gravel underneath. Gently, the mother draws the child away and urges her on to the daily routine. [From The Used Book]