Trafika Europe 5 - Slovenian Interlude

Ragna will feel faint. What a horrible transformation, what a fate for the poor man. I, with my peering face, will grin at him and her, remind them of my existence, in all their moments of pleasure. If I know Ragna, she will quickly work out the consequence of what has happened. She will slowly straighten up, perhaps purse her lips and glance disapprovingly at the deformed manhood, but will then without any mercy decide that Johan must move back to his own house and that henceforth he cannot be used for anything other than hard physical labour. A month passes, then a couple more weeks. The sun rolls across the sky around the clock, without ever touching the horizon – it’s already the middle of May. The tree outside my window now has small, light-green buds, and fresh shoots are sticking their heads out of the thawed ground: grasses, heather and the first tentative beginnings of what will become rosebay willowherb in large mauve clusters. One Monday morning, just after breakfast, Ragna decides to accompany Johan to the village. I sit at the kitchen table eating – a daily self-imposed chore so that I can better study the state of the master of the house. Unconcernedly, *


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