"Herzog was thinking, however, how she found the strength to spoil her children. She certainly spoiled me. Once, at nightfall, she was pulling me on the sled, over crusty ice, the tiny glitter of snow, perhaps four o'clock of a short day in January. Near the grocery we met an old baba in a shawl who said, 'Why are you pulling him, daughter!' Mama, dark under the eyes. Her slender cold face. She was breathing hard. She wore the torn seal coat and a red pointed wool cap and thin button boots. Clusters of dry fish hung in the shop, a rancid sugar smell, cheese, soap--a terrible dust of nutrition came from the open door. The bell on a coil of wire was bobbing, ringing. 'Daughter, don't sacrifice your strength to children,' said the shawled crone in the freezing dusk of the street. I wouldn't get off the sled. I pretended not to understand. One of life's hardest jobs, to make quick understanding slow. I think I succeeded, thought Herzog."
Herzog, Saul Bellows