THE CLATTERING OF clogs down the street in the early morning was no longer as loud or as brisk. Sometimes there was none. The military was no longer ordering uniforms, so trade had slowed. The tailoring shops were idled just as the mills were, and the men and the boys and girls who worked there stayed home, and the men sat outside their houses and smoked. With my father, however, there was little change. He came and went as he always had, sitting at the table alone for his dinner, head bent low, shoveling food into himself. Then, abruptly pushing his chair back with a scraping sound and rising to get his coat hanging on the back of the scullery door, and then charging out as always with one sleeve dangling behind him. Off to the pub. Where he got his money was his business. He gave none to my mother Saturday afternoon. There was none, he said, and so my mother had to struggle as best she could. Her little shop had dwindled to almost nothing. The shelves and bins were practically empty.
What do You think about The Invisible Wall (2007)?
