Trafika Europe 9/10 - UK in Europe

I stared at thenightof the city

this country over the past fifteen years – assigned the rebuilding of the village to the three men, who had nothing else to live for but memories. They were to rebuild the village. It did not matter how many years it took them. It didnotmatter how many houses they built. It did not matter how they designed the buildings, the walls or the windows. All that mattered was that they kept on working. Once a month, a truckload of stone, cement and other construction materials was unloaded on the asphalt road at the foot of the cold, foggy mountain, and the three men were obliged to transport the materials on three old mules to somewhere up near the summit, and set to work there. They had to work day and night. Three

men with dishevelled beards, covered in grime. The day the new and unusual man arrived in the village, he was first received by the Real Magellan, whose given name was Zuhdi Shazaman – a man with long, grey hair and a long beard. If Christ had not died very young, but had gone on to gain in years, he might have acquired a similar look. Although Shazaman was old, he was solid and powerful, one of those men who could charm women more in his old age than in youth. He had been his city’s finest bricklayer. He considered the guest with suspicion, and then led him to his friends. This was the beginning of the curious game the cunning and mischievous man had to play. He had to get inside the souls of the three men,

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