Rochester, Minn. Version anglaise

The city of Rochester witnessed an unusual dialogue

1954. Doreen boarded the train in her native city. She left the “criminal” Chicago for the “innocent” Rochester. Her husband lent her his attaché-case to house the gifts intended for their son, bed-ridden in the orthopedic ward of the Mayo Complex. She is on her own for the first time and is feeling a little anxious about the trip.

She chose her gray wool suit. Her blond hair is safely pinned and rolled back. She has crossed her feet demurely and sits on the velvet seat, waiting for the train to end a journey which she finds much too long.

Upon her arrival, she looks at the pavement, dreading to travel the endless platform with three pieces of luggage. She makes up her mind, walks hurriedly towards the station, but a man, who has been following her at a distance, quickens his pace, gets closer, bumps into her, almost knocks her over, snatches her purse and runs away at full speed.

Doreen has lost her personal papers and her money but she is more upset at the sight of the precious content of her husband’s briefcase scattered on the concrete floor. She is wearing nylons, high heels and a thigh skirt, but she nevertheless kneels and tries to recover the family souvenirs.

At that moment, the porter emerges and bends in front of the spilled objects. Doreen, losing her legendary calm, screams
WHAT ARE YOU DOING ?”

“M’am I trying to help you with the mess, M’am”. He is holding the letter (written in cyrillic characters) from her son’s grandfather.

“DON’T TOUCH IT! Find the culprit!”

“ But M’am, that is not in my job description!”

“Then WHO will search for the thief?” Her voice is harsh, angry, she is furious.

“The police M’am if I call them.”

“WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?” yells Doreen. She picks up the letter, the toys ( including the broken ones ) and stuffs them in the special case.

Later, the formalities having been dealt with, she calms down somewhat, she has lost her illusions about the safety of small towns, but most of all she worries:
“How do you explain the soiled letter, the broken toys, a mother’s absence from visiting hours, to a four-year old?”