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Octavia
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"Make some coffee, Octavia." mum yelled to me in the living room while she took the woman with her into the kitchen and seated her at the table. She took the fountain pen, ink and air mail notepaper and began to write. When she had finished, she read the letter aloud to the woman. "How did you know that was exactly what I wanted to say?" "I often sit and look at my boys' letters, just like you, without a clue about what to write." A few days later the woman returned with a friend, then another one and yet another one, they all had sons who fought in the war, and they all needed letters. Mum had become the correspondent in our part of town. Sometimes she would write letters all day long. Mum always insisted that people signed their own letters, and the small woman with the grey hair asked mum to teach her how to do it. "I so much want to be able to write my own name so that my son can see it." Then mum held the woman's hand in hers and moved her hand over the paper again and again until she was able to do it without her help. After that day, when mum had written a letter for the woman, she signed it herself, and her face brightened up in a smile.
”奥塔维娅，去冲杯咖啡来。”母亲在客厅大声叫我，然后把那女人领到厨房桌旁坐下，拿出钢笔、墨水和信纸开始写信。 写完后为她大声读出来。 “这正是我想说的话，您是怎么知道的呢?“ 我也和你一样，常常坐在那里看儿子的来信，完全不知道写什么好。 几天后，女人回来，带来一个朋友，后来又来一个，再一个……他们都有儿子在战场上奋战，都需要写信。 妈妈变成了我们城镇的通讯员，有时她一整天都在写回信。 母亲常常坚持让大家签上自己的名字。一位头发灰白的女人要母亲教她怎么签名。 我真想亲手写下自己的名字，好让儿子可以看到。 于是母亲手把手地教她在纸上一遍一遍书写，直到她自己可以签名。 第二天，母亲帮那个女人写好信，由她亲自签名，女人的面容在微笑中变得灿烂了。