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Maria Matios
nearly the same mother
tongue, and the same way
folded their hands to say the
same “Our Father,” on one
and the same day celebrated
Christmas and Easter, and
even their dress was similar,
and their oaths, and way of
saying thanks. The people
only greeted each other on
the two sides of the river a
little differently, that is nearly
the entire difference.
But from time to time the
land of their ancestors
shifted from one country to
another, like a weak-willed
woman going into the arms
of a more capable man, and
because of that, from time
to time and over many years,
so many that they sometimes
were chiseled into the
centuries, the people under
the twin hills were divided
by a border that passed right
along the middle of the river
not subject to such changes.
On that day when the
suddenly orphaned Mykhailo
peeped
under
virtually
every stone on the shoreline
meadow, his Cheremoshne
belonged to Romania, where
King Mihai served as God
and king for his subjects, and
here, on the very border of
Romania Mare, in the village
tucked into the mountains
above the Cheremosh,the
king’s
intermediaries
–
soldiers serving from the
local gendarmes headed by
Lieutenant Lupul and the local
landowners – were kings and
Gods.
When, who ruled, and for
how long on the other side
of the river, Mykhailo didn’t
know very well, but he knew
precisely that in his memory
the Polish lords, the
Pany
,
along with their gendarmes
and soldiers maintained