The Loudest Sabta

When I was in college, I remember reading a story by the author and political activist Grace Paley.  It was called "The Loudest Voice," and was her autobiographical tale of growing up in the Bronx and being selected for the lead in the Christmas pageant at school, even though she was Jewish.  She was chosen Ha! because she had the loudest singing voice, and would be able to project the Christian songs all the way to the back of the auditorium.

Well, as fate would have it, Wifey and I are now blessed with the loudest 92 year old relative.

Rachel lost the hearing in one of her ears when she was in a slave labor camp during the Holocaust.  She was under the supervision of a Kapo -- the worst of the characters in the Camps.  Kapos were Jews deputized by the Nazis to keep order, in exchange for special privileges.  Rachel and another teen girl were told to clean the kitchens, and as it happened the other girl was sleeping with the Kapo.  She was given a sleep break but the Kapo ordered Rachel to keep working.  When she complained, he struck her very hard across the head, causing permanent hearing loss.

Years later, she saw his picture in a brochure about Survivors.  He was living in Australia.  Rachel demanded that Wifey have him prosecuted.  Wifey took my advice, assured her mother she would "get right on it," and let it pass.  This is often the best way to deal with aging parents.

Unfortunately, the hearing in my suegra's other ear went out as well.  She never had the voice of a nightingale, but now she has gone full on fog horn.

It's remarkable how loud she speaks -- how a 92 year old musters the strength to activate that buzzing alarm of a voice.

Wifey has taken to recoiling when her mother speaks.  It really hurts her ears.  She makes dramatic arm movements to her mother, to bring it down a few hundred decibels, and then her mother is insulted and talks even louder.

Last night, I drove Wifey to the Palace, and took up my usual post outside under the gazebo.  Wifey went to fetch the old woman from her room.  I was able to hear her voice THROUGH the exit door -- she must have been a good 200 feet away.  It's truly something to behold.

Wifey kept trying to attenuate the volume, but I egged the old lady on, figuring the more she spoke that loudly, the faster she'd grow tired.  No dice.  She can go on for hours, and with us she DID go on -- sharing a rash of complaints about the staff, her roommate, and the food ("it's too good and much -- dey VANT to keep your mouth full so you don't complain!").

As my brother Paul noted about my mother in law, she's going down swinging -- she is NOT going quietly into any good night.

She droned on and on -- Wifey once pointed out she sounds a bit like a leaf blower.  I began to wax philosophic -- I calculated that, after she died, it would take at least a full year for me to finally expunge the sound of her voice from my head.

It seems that time is far in the future.  For now, the Palace staff and fellow residents have to listen.  I guess that's why we pay them the big bucks...