When I was 8, Evelyn, age 13, drowned in the Hallville Pond. Hallville was a little village with row houses built for local workers who worked at the textile mill. In fact, my brother Ike and my father sometimes worked at the mill for extra money.
I loved Evelyn. She was active and fun-loving. She was the kind of person that people want to be with, and I wanted to tag along with her all the time.
Ike and Evelyn often went to Hallville Pond to swim. Evelyn was a great swimmer and loved to dive from a raft tethered in the middle of the pond. On this day, Evelyn dived and never surfaced. Neither Ike, nor anyone else noticed she was missing. Ike finally looked around for her and panicked when he couldn’t find her. He ran home to see if she was there. My mother became hysterical and threw herself on the ground. She seemed to sense that something was horribly wrong. Back at the pond, locals dived and searched the pond. Evelyn’s body was found after a couple of hours. She had hit her head and knocked herself out.
My mother laid Evelyn out on the bed and stayed with her all night. My mother kept saying “lift up, fly away” in Yiddish. Ike was beside himself. My parents didn’t blame Ike (at least I never heard them say anything).
After this, I developed a fear of swimming but was able to force myself to become a good, safe swimmer. Later, I made sure all my kids had swimming lessons from an early age.