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110

The woods are so quiet, benevolent and fragrant. In a high

tree top a bird sharpens its beak against the tree bark. A

deer races past and a snake slithers by. White cobwebs

criss-cross between the pine and fir trunks.

Like the wounded in a mine field, Naģe drags herself along

the ground. She has to get to the marsh. Among the

mounds of cranberries and marsh tea. To lie down in the

white, damp moss, to fall asleep and force herself never to

get up. And wait, perhaps wait for a long time, until he

arrives and takes her. Death, deliverance... How good that it

is now, how good that it was not then. Now she has

something to give.

In her head there is a wonderful emptiness.

It does not hurt, humiliate, despise or denigrate.

Naģe’s bag remains on the forest road. Inside it are

sandwiches with smoked meat and her home-made pickles.

They could have eaten them together.

_____