Trafika Europe 4 - Armenian Rhapsody

want to repeat ‘Time will tell.’ We walked in silence. She was ahead of me and I followed. I picked the sticky wild cornel leaves off her dress, crushed them and put them mechanically into my pocket. We were more than halfway home. In a couple of minutes we would reach the blackberry bush. I planned to stay there for half an hour; another half an hour and we would be home. But: Time will tell. I smiled. Time will tell. What would time tell? That I didn’t have the right? That I had taken on a responsibility beyond my power? And it would be hard to overcome it? And, really, how did I dare? I knew that everything was doomed from the beginning. Nothing was forever. It was only a question of time . . . How did I dare when I knew that someday a huge meteoroid from the depths of space could hit our fragile earth and, within seconds, send everything to oblivion, if people hadn’t killed each other before that? How did I dare to plant a tree when I wasn’t sure that I could protect it from a negligent passer-by or from the axe of a woodcutter who claimed to know his job perfectly well? In fact, everything was clear even if you didn’t wait. Time would never tell anything good, and every time I said that phrase I wanted to prolong the time to give my answer. Something like self-deception. I was hoping that things would be better for my daughter and I wouldn’t be responsible for my adventurous spirit and frivolous decisions. Otherwise . . .

“Be careful, Bibi. You may hurt yourself, my sweetie. Let me gather them for you.”

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