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August 09, 1973

Front | November 1976 »

August 09, 1973
About a hand.

Do not even remember if I tried to hit my mother. All I remember is the story she told after I might have tried. It appears to be a story which has traveled through generations, leaving a trail of fearful little children.
My mother spoke very softly, my eyes were wide open. It was the middle of the day, but it could have been midnight...
"Once upon a time there was a little boy, just like you. He thought that he could just hit his mom. His own mother!
She only warned him not to do it, but he tried it again and again.
Just a short time after he tried hurt his mom, he died. Nobody knew why.
His mom was very sad and would come to his grave very often, to cry.
One day, his mom noticed that there was a very strange plant growing out of the center of the boy's grave. She looked closer and discovered that it was the boy's left hand growing out of the soil." (I am left handed, that's why she used "left hand".) "She tried to cover the hand with flowers, or to put something on it, but no matter what she did, the hand which tried to beat her, would always grow out of the boy's grave."
We all know that at this point I am holding my own left hand, scared to death.
"The mother did not know what to do. She had forgiven the boy, but obviously this was not enough.
She asked a wise woman what was there she could do to get rid of this hand on the grave and the wise woman gave her the exactly right advice.
One night, when there was a full moon, the mother came to the grave of the boy. She brought a large stick. She beat the hand so hard that it turned all black and blue..."
Not sure if this was the moment when I started crying...
"When she came to the grave on the following day, the had had withered away and was a dry looking thing, like an old broken branch. This branch could then easily be covered..."
I definitely cried here... Very scary story...