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Maria Matios
in Mykhailo’s hand, her hard,
almost maidenly breast, and
that Christmas horn first
became alarming like the
rumbling of flood water, then
frenzied like a man next to a
woman he finds desirable….
Sometimes after their daily
chores, late in the evening,
Mykhailo and Matronka went
to the meadow, let their legs
dangle from the dam, and
listened either to themselves,
or to the mountains’ chilly
breathing and the water’s
turbulent gurgling. They lean
their heads against each other
– and remain silent, they just
toy with each other’s hot
fingers, and maybe just for
a moment Matronka places
her head onto her husband’s
knees – they listen… and keep
listening.
And there, on the other
side, some tipsy
gazda
’s feet
stagger – and he’ll shout
across the river to the same
kind of tipsy guy, who’s on his
way back from Kapetuter’s
tavern; the whistle could be
heard in both Cheremoshnes:
“And what,
gazda
, are you
going to yer girl this evenin’?”
“Why wouldn’t I go?!”
“Does Mr.
gazda
have a
darling?”
“I do, may she stay healthy.”
“May yours stay as healthy
as mine, because I also have
a darling; she’s tasty as sour
cream.”
“Mr. Domnul, woulds you
trade yer darlin’ for mine?
Mebbe mine is even tastier?”
“Mebbe I’d trade her just one
time, but not more.”
“So let’s make a trade
tonight.”
“Go make the trade. Catch up
with me.”