Translated from the Ukrainian by Oles Kovalenko and Vasil Baryshev It wouldn't be inaccurate to say that it is the story-writers who actually introduce kids to the world they live in... Using words, they paint a bizarre yet convincing pattern of the essential human values Love, Beauty, Honesty, Courage as opposed to Hatred, Uglyness, Meanness, Cowardice... This is a massive, wide-ranging collection of tales full of action, ferocious energy and imagination offered by leading Ukrainian authors of several generations. .j Rocking with laughter and dissolving in tears, praising the good and grappling with the evil — these entertaining and brilliantly plotted mysteries have it all!
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 they were waiting for Karmelyuk - - but they were. They waited for him every day, every night, every hour. They waited for him before sunrise and at daybreak, by day and by night, from dawn to dusk. They spent hours, days, weeks and months just waiting for him. Their days were filled with work and the usual chores, but they were also filled with hope and waiting. Their evenings were set aside for rest, but they, likewise, were filled with hope and waiting. During the day, a neighbour might sometimes drop in, and then they would be momentarily overwhelmed with chattering, the din, and the daily routine. But in the evening, when all around them had lapsed into calm silence, the mother and daughter lit the lamp, as though expecting visitors, and just sat there, silently. The daughter would not play with her toys; from time to time she would speak softly with her mother, and sometimes she would also sing her father's songs in her tender voice. She tried really hard to sing them well -- so hard that her little face burned, her heart beat faster, and her whole body trembled. Her mother's eyes were fixed on her, her hands stretched out towards her; and Marusya took her daughter in her arms and held her close, the girl's tiny arms entwined round her mother's neck. They sat together like this for a very, very long time -- often well into the night. And in the dead of night they would still sit there. Towards daybreak, with the lamp dying away, the girl, still not in bed, would finally doze off by her mother's side. And then the young woman would bury her face in her hands, overcome with the agony of despair. And as time went on and on, they never ceased waiting. One night they were sitting in the house, the lamp burning as always, and were thinking the same thoughts and cherishing the same hopes. And as she had so often done before, the little girl said to her mother, hopefully, "Perhaps tonight..." Then the door opened and he whom they had been waiting for so long stood before them. Oh, God! Glory to God! In the morning, when the sun had risen in the clear sky and the village stirred back to life, filling the day with its constant din, Marusya left the house to start her work, as she usually did at that hour. She looked all around, and it seemed to her that all had changed overnight. And suddenly she burst into tears. But it was not sorrow that made her weep, because when her daughter scurried to her side, she smiled gently to her and gave her a loving look, her pretty eyes shining with utter joy. Shortly afterwards Karmelyuk's wife sold the house, bid farewell to all and left the village, taking her daughter with her. She had told some of the villagers that she intended to move to town, perhaps as far as Kiev, but, as a matter of fact, nobody seemed to know exactly where she had gone to, nor where she might have settled. To be sure, somebody was said to have seen them in a remote, out-of-the-way village where Marusya apparently worked to earn her living. It was also rumoured that she was doing odd jobs in town. All who had known her were sorry for this quiet young woman and her child, recalling their former good fortune and talking over their present misfortune which had struck them so hard, leaving them practically ruined and no longer able to live as well as they used to. Other people now lived in the Karmelyuk house, managing things in their own way: some of the old trees were cut down in the orchard and new ones planted, and different flowers were sown in the garden in spring. That same spring word spread that the robbers were back in the forest. It seemed they were Karmelyuk's men, just as before, as Karmelyuk had escaped, returned and reorganized his band. The news cheered up the poor, and many a humble man suddenly bore himself proudly, despite his ragged clothes. There were also many others, their faces long creased with cares and shrivelled up with want, who now smiled cheerfully, their eyes beaming and sparkling. The rich, on the other hand, were again frightened and nervous; they busily began to form their committees and councils, urging courts to take action, tossing money about and bribing judges. They demanded that Karmelyuk be recaptured, exiled farther, and guarded more closely. So the police resumed their search, and detectives again set forth to track Karmelyuk down. But it was a far more difficult job for them now, because the robbers were now far more numerous and were to be found in practically all the major forests and ravines, not just in one district.
VIII
Quite close to a little, out-of-the-way village and not too far from town, there was a large forest, dense and dark. If somebody talkative had happened to walk along those gloomy, lonely paths, he would probably say that he often encountered a young woman with a little girl. Both carried baskets, and if asked where they were going, they would tell they were picking berries or gathering mushrooms to sell. And as they said, they could often be seen at the marketplace in town, selling berries or mushrooms. The forest was believed to be a safe place, as nobody had ever heard of any robberies occurring there. Reaching the forest, the woman and the child plunged straight in its depths, almost instantly disappearing from view, like a pair of snakes sliding through a hedgerow. Then they walked quickly on, never pausing, following along those paths and trails in a way only they themselves knew, until they reached a small meadow deep in the thick of the forest and sat down to catch their breath. There, in the heart of the forest, it was still as a church. Ancient trees seemed to be leaning on younger ones; their thick, mighty arms resting on supple young crowns, bending them down by their weight. Here and there a winding young branch threaded its ways up through that maze, then reached higher and higher, twisting and turning from side to side, as though it feared that somehow its growth might be halted. The ground beneath was covered with all kinds of shrubs. Only tiny patches of sunlight sifted through from above, and flowers grew there in the cool shade. Snowball- trees and elders blossomed with flowers that were at least twice as big as anywhere else; wild roses -- usually a flaming red - - were paler and more luxuriant, and had a softer fragrance. The woman and the girl paused there, listening carefully. At first, they would hear nothing — not ever a bird in flight, not even a breath of wind. The impenetrable forest remained still and quiet, dark and fresh. And thus it would be until the dried branches cracked softly somewhere not far away. Then the two -- the woman and the girl -- would pick up their heads and smile. Soon a man would appear. He would be pale, out of breath, exhausted, hungry and covered with dust; but to them he was still as beautiful as the Sun. Here they met, here he had his respite and ate his meals, here h^ listened to words of love and sympathy, here his wife told him everything she had heard, seen and thought; here he enjoyed hearing his daughter's prattle. The girl occasionally brought him some sweets; he thanked her heartily and smiled at her gently. Here sometimes he laid his tired head on his wife's lap and slept, while the girl kept watch. She was rather expert at it, never raising false alarms, but always giving a timely warning if something seemed wrong. They had little time to spend together and when it was spent, they took leave of each other as they loved -- with exceeding pain and sorrow, yet at the same time with even greater faith and hope. The man strode off into the forest; the woman and child returned to town. They waited three days and three nights before venturing into the forest again. In the meantime, the woman went out to her work, leaving the girl alone at home. They rented a small hut which stood clinging to a hillside by the river, almost outside the town. The woman was off at her work all day long. The girl, though still quite young, wasn't idle either; she would offer to fetch water for the old woman next door or to weed her garden. "What a smart little girl!" the neighbour would say every evening patting the girl on the head and giving her a small coin or two. And before she retired for the night, she would always offer the girl some work for the next day as well. The girl then went over to the river, to a place where she could see the forest, and would sit there, thinking and remembering, and sometimes also singing a song - - the song her father had taught her as he held her in his arms, back there in the green forest. Though I'm back from Siberia, no future is mine! Wear no shackles, just the same I in slavery do pine! I am shadowed day and night, all the hours have eyes, I have nowhere to go — Oh, from sorrow I'll die! I've collected daring fellows — what is that, after all? And they lurk by the highroads where the stagecoaches crawl. Whether travellers come or not — it's no matter, wait they must! Oh, it looks like Karmelyuk will die a dog's death in the dust! They call me a highway robber, and say that I murder— But I don't kill anyone, for my soul is my preserver. What I take from the rich, I give out to the oppressed, While I do good that way, no commandment I've transgressed. I've a wife and daughter — but when do I see them? When I think of their sorrows, flow my tears faster then. I would have gone to their village — but my splendor is known — Should I turn up anywhere, into the jail I'll be thrown. Oh, my heart's wrung with sorrow — but where can I flee? It's a wide world, full of beauty. But there's no place for me! On an early Sunday morning, all the bells ring in chorus, But they hunt down Karmelyuk, like a beast of the forest. Let them hunt me, try to catch me, let them keep on the chase — May the whole world remember Karmelyuk's name and face. Her mother would then come down the road leading from the town. Here they would meet and walk back home side by side, talking affectionately, whether remembering, or encouraging each other, or sharing their sorrow...
IX
Meanwhile, Karmelyuk's enemies remained vigilant. The agents and detectives were ordered to bear arms and to be prepared to shoot if he couldn't be captured alive. Day after day, Marusya and her daughter watched every face, fearing to read the terrible news written on it, and listened anxiously to every word, expecting to hear the worst. Many were those days before the news flashed throughout the town: Karmelyuk had been wounded and captured, and would shortly be brought in! He was escorted back to town to be again confined to a sombre cell, to be put in stronger and heavier irons, to face more enraged judges, to hear a harsher sentence, and to be banished to a more remote destination. Again, as before, people gathered in crowds, first to meet him, and then to watch him leave; talking excitedly and sympathizing with him. It was then that his wife and daughter reappeared. They walked after him — just as they had the first time. "We'll do what you want," Marusya told him — just as she had once told him before. The girl wept again, kissing him, and, as before, he told them to hope for the better. The convicts were again ordered to march, and so they did. And then he again was gone, and, as before, there were only trees, sharply outlined against a bright sky... He was driven on and on, and they again stayed behind, working harder and harder... and waiting. Then they, too, were gone. Marusya and her daughter were last seen when it was finally rumoured that Karmelyuk had again escaped and returned. The rumour faded away, but since that time neither Karmelyuk, nor Marusya, nor their daughter have ever been seen again. Where did they go? How did they end their days? No one knows, even now. They came and went; just as so many things come and go -good and evil, love and hatred, strength and glory. But sometimes a living memory lingers.
Добавлять комментарии могут только зарегистрированные пользователи. [ Регистрация | Вход ]
Вход на сайт
Поиск
ПОЛЕЗНЫЕ САЙТЫ
Песня "Как Челинтано" кавер версия от Сландо
Квартиры посуточно Донецк
Песня "Держи" кавер версия, клип (cover) Дима Билан
Как научиться играть на гитаре
Песня "Минуэт"
