Thus my mother after the longer among her many coughing spells. In rough translation, this means “go to hell,” but the Italian malora actually means something like “ill hour.” My mother coughs a lot and ever less willingly. “It is my sensitive throat,” she says. She deplores the encroaching physiology.

Addendum (November 19, 2013)

And thus I ever more often. Just like her, I deplore the encroaching physiology. Her physiology, too, which I inherited straight from her. A tiny bit of spit slips down my throat against my will, and it often finds the wrong pipe. Increasingly often, to be precise. The resulting cough can get quite violent at times. “Vai malora!” To be sure, my mother will die with me, and not a day earlier.