The Tin Can
My dear Jadzja,
I’m writing to tell you that we haven’t received a parcel from you for such a long time. We did get a tin sent but no letter. We made the soup but it wasn’t very tasty even when we added some sorrel. Don’t send any more!
The cow has stopped milking again and the hens only laid two eggs today. Things are very bad here. When I was in town shopping, I really felt my lumbago coming on and the rheumatism in my hands is something shocking. We heard on the radio that you have a miracle cure over there in America. It’s called ‘Rhumacure,’ please send six bottles of it urgently. Doctor Jacek is still waiting for the medicine we asked for months ago. You were always bad to your older sister. Never did things for me.
Wladek needs a pair of new trousers so that we can go to the pictures in decent clothes. Don’t send those blue thick cotton ones. He needs nice wool ones with a leather belt. I’ve seen them in magazines. The kids could do with some clothes too. I keep sending you the sizes but you send all kinds of things that don’t fit. The last lot I’m sure weren’t new. They smelt musty and a little dirty. Don’t send those rags again.
The horse has gone lame and Wladek says we should get a tractor instead so send us some more money or some coffee beans which we can sell. Not the stuff that’s powdered. The good stuff! Wladek deserves a good bean coffee in the mornings.
Must dash. Eva is waiting for me to go into town. There’s a new film out and we want to be the first to see it.
Say hello to Arnold for me.
Bye and God Bless,
Your loving older sister Basia.
P.S. Don’t send any more of those tins marked ‘Corned beef.’ The radio said they put all the rubbish in them.
P.S. Send some up to date magazines. The glossy fashion ones! The ones you sent last time were a year old. And don’t send any photo’s of yourself, you look old and poor and I can’t show them to my friends.
Dear Basia,
A great tragedy has befallen us here. Arnold was killed in a road accident. He just got off the bus and didn’t look and a lorry hit him. Fortunately he died instantly without pain. I just couldn’t have afforded the hospital bills if he was just injured. The crematorium people were very good to me and posted you the ashes in a tin for no extra charge. You will probably get them soon. Please dear sister, bury them in our family grave with our dear mother and get the priest to say a few prayers for him.
Without Arnold’s wages I am very poor here. I have had to move out of our apartment and now am a lodger in a room with two other women. That’s all I can afford on the wages I earn at the laundry. I have even had to take on more hours there just to make ends meet. Most of our spare money was used to send you parcels. I’m afraid they will have to stop for now sister.
Please stop sending me begging letters. Let me hear some good news to cheer me up a little. I’ve heard enough of your cow and hens and how ill you always are. The miracle cures you always asked for and I didn’t send are totally useless and waste of money so I didn’t bother sending them. You probably cursed me as you always have. That’s why I ran away to America to get away from your bullying. You still do it in your letters. I don’t care. I have to look after myself now. Nobody else will!
And those medicines you keep asking for. Even the Pharmacists say they haven’t been released yet by the factories and the amounts you ask for would cure the whole of Poland. Tell Doctor Jacek not to be such a fool.
I will stop there before I say anything worse. I don’t expect to get any more letters from you now, or at least until my position improves. The manager at the laundry is making eyes at me. Beggars can’t be choosers in this hard world. My new address is at the top and I will continue to send you news even though I don’t expect any reply.
Give my love to Wladek and your two daughters Jasia and Diba. I hope they recover from all those horrible illnesses that you keep writing about. Do send some photos.
Bye and God Bless.
Your loving sister Jadwiga (the younger)
P.S. Don’t forget about the ashes. It’s the least you can do for me.
