Trafika Europe 12 - French Bon-Bons

Marat Baskin

Krasnopole people who returned from Bukhara after the war.” Grandfather sighed. “So she too wasn’t spared by the war.” Grandfather wiped a tear with his sleeve, looked at me thoughtfully, and asked: “Is this a dream?” “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe it’s a dream, maybe it’s not.” “I’ll wake up in the morning , and I won’t know - did I really see you, grandson, or did I just dream you up?” Grandfather straightened his cap, looked around and saw a statuette on my desk--a small bronze of the Statue of Liberty. “Vos iz dos?What is it?” My grandfather asked in Yiddish. “It’s the Statue of Liberty,” I said, “A symbol of New York.” “Li-ber-ty,” he said slowly, stressing every syllable and carefully picking up the statuette. He looked at it for some time, then said: “Zunale, can you give it to me? When I wake up and see this thing in my hands, I’ll know that my meeting you here was not just a dream but reality. See, grandson, my brain is still capable of some thinking.”

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