The hands

Please correct my text.


The Hands

Grandma washed dusters, dishclothes, socks and caps together; she did not put the laundry to soak, and she did not rub it, but flapped every single thing a couple of times against the sides of the bucket, she made white clothes turn into grey. "Don't ever think about doing the laundry", my mother had said to her, when she was at ours.

She took a piece in the stiff laundry bag behind the striped curtain; for a moment the piece floated on the surface, then the grey water and the foam pulled it down, and she took a new piece from behind the curtain, and it sank, her stilk-like torso in the knitted sweater moved between the curtain in the entrance and the bucket and the tub, where chains of dripping pieces that used to be far away from each other in the apartment, and on different parts of the body, were hanging. The entrance door opened. "How have you been?", my mother asked. "Great!", I said, and lowered my voice saying "Grandma is doing the laundry".

Grandma appeared in the entrance with her hands wet; my mother made a thrust, I saw an extreme movement in her shoulder and arm: she threw an egg, it hit the wall behind grandma "Oh god, that was terrible. "No it is not, mom" said grandma in one breath, and her face disappeared behind the long blue-white hands. She sat down on the sea chest and cried, my mother came with a shawl and embraced her with one of the ends of the shawl in each hand, tied it around her shoulders and patted and straightened it.