A year passed. Karmelyuk's old mother died, as she had foretold, and by that spring her grave was already overgrown with tall thick grass. Living in the house were his wife and daughter. Once, shortly after Karmelyuk's arrest, a kindly neighbour had asked the little girl, patting her on the head: "What are you and your mother doing, my dear?" "Waiting," the girl had replied. Which was precisely the answer. For Karmelyuk had told them to stay at home and wait. "It will be easier to escape and make my way back home on my own," he had said. Marusya had agreed to everything. "We'll do what you want," she had told him. Their daughter had since grown up and learned to watch her words, and nobody ever heard from her again that
When the news that none other than Karmelyuk was the leader of the band in the Black Forest spread about his native village, it caused quite a stir among old and young, good and bad alike. The men appeared concerned, while the women were visibly worried and troubled. The story also reached Karmelyuk's mother and wife. The widow was in tears as she told her daughter-in-law: "Wicked and shameless --that's what people are! Isn't it horrible, how they're lying? They're slandering my dear son! It simply can't be true! I don't believe it! I'd sooner die than believe it. What do you say, Marusya? What about you?"
For a year after the wedding, Karmelyuk forgot his affliction completely. There was no trace left of his sadness, his wife blossomed like a rose, and they got on like a pair of lovebirds. A daughter was born to them, all was well in their household, and the Karmelyuk widow would often say that, thank God, she couldn't really think of a better life for the young family and herself. Then Karmelyuk's melancholy suddenly returned. He again became sad and sullen. He again took to staying away from home and wandering about alone. His pallor and frequent sighing returned.
Have you been to the Ukraine? Do you know the Ukraine? If you have been there and do know the country, you will remember. Otherwise, try to imagine those whitewashed houses which everywhere dot the cherry orchards, and how lovely -how absolutely lovely it is there in springtime, when all the orchards are in blossom and the nightingales trill. In fact, there are so many of those birds singing then, that a person couldn't probably count them all. Once, when I was travelling there, I happened to spend a night in a village, in one of those houses standing in a cherry orchard. We came late at night and went to bed right away. The sun set, and before long voices died away, and the whole village lapsed into quiet. It was very still all about. I could hear only leaves stirring in the trees outside the window, and the water murmuring in the river, over at the mill. Also, not far away, a woman was softly lulling a baby to sleep — and my eyelids became heavy. I dozed off and dreamed that the fast-flowing river, which had glittered so brightly as we were driving past, was now drawing nearer and nearer, and that the trees which grew outside were rustling right over my bed. The unseen baby being lulled to sleep assumed the image of a lively little boy, now overcome with drowsiness, and she who was rocking him took the appearance of a thoughtful,
Лисичка-то хитра штука. Іде вона раз біля куща, аж бачить — сидить горобець на гілці. Вона стала під кущем та й каже:
- Друже милий, коли вітер дме тобі з лівого боку, під яке крило ти голову ховаєш? Він їй одказує:
Коли вітер дме мені з лівого боку, я ховаю голову під праве крило. Лисичка прикинулася, що не розуміє. Щось я мало з того второпала. Ану ж покажи мені, як ти це робиш. Горобець сховав голівку під крило, а лисиця хап його — та й з'їла.
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