Trafika Europe 7 - Ukrainian Prayer

Maria Matios

an evil eye, or become envious, or simply did a time of suffering come to this house, who knows. But joy for Mykhailo and Matronka broke the way the string on Fitsyk’s fiddle once broke right in the middle of playing “The Hutsul Girl” at their wedding, as though joy had never spent the night here. …And it was like this. The long spring roared away in winds and blossoms. The hills and valleys were taken by a sudden summer with frequent, short downpours, the untold splendor of the grasses and berries, and first and foremost – with protracted expectation of crops and litters of farm animals. Matronka returned to her usual jobs – she unrecognizably blossomed

after birthing, with an unwanted full bosom and a somewhat stifled, or, maybe, peaceful luster of her eyes. Likewise –as before the child – she places a braid in a small rough circle around her head, she gets the child to fall asleep with her breast, carries out the sycamore maple cradle onto the porch, takes up her hoe, which is as small as she is – and goes to the garden. She rakes – strangely smiling to herself, closing her eyes for a moment, as though she’s hiding something valuable in a place known only to her, then she suddenly looks back if anyone has seen her mysterious smile – and again takes to her hoe. And toward evening she takes the child in her hands, rocks her, quietly singing, and moves closer to the gate. She gazes for Mykhailo to

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