Trafika Europe 8 - Romanian Holiday

Poems

wrapped him into the big cellophane bag that had held Mama’s new sheepskin coat, and dragged him into the yard... and we ran around the whole house and peeped from the corner: in the yard old Marfusha climbed on the wagon and hauled up the bag, then took the reins and drove off. And Grandma walked beside her and blew the militia whistle. And everyone came out of the houses with garbage pails, but the wagon went past without stopping…. And Vovka and I ran to the last house – stopped and came back, because beyond that was the City,

and we knew children weren’t allowed there. But Mama, returning from work in the City, said that it was terrible, because who would take out the mouse now and that she couldn’t live in this accursed village anymore

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