Trafika Europe 7 - Ukrainian Prayer

Serhiy Zhadan

of struggling with the ancient apparatus, he called back, dejectedly, “I don’t have any bars. We’ll have to drive up to the top of the hill.” “We’re down in a gully here,” Tolik explained. “We’ll have to drive up to the top of the hill,” he repeated. “We’ll take a little detour. We’ll be there in no time.” Gosha collected his toys and dropped them into his cavernous pockets, wiping the grenade off on his sleeve before tossing it back in. He also took back the machete. The three of them just started milling around, seemingly expecting something to happen. “What’s the deal?” Mr. One Eye blurted out at last. “Are we going or what?” “What are you going to drive up there in?” the presbyter asked, clearly confused. “What do you mean?” Tolik

getting him down, at least. “Well then,” he said, his real eye directed at the pot- bellied man, “let’s give them a call and get going.” The pot-bellied man handed me his beloved knife and started digging around in his overall pockets. They seemed bottomless. He kept taking things out and handing them to Tolik and me to hold: I got two red autumn apples, and Tolik got a handful of spark plugs. Then, much to my surprise, I got a hand grenade covered with nail polish; next came a few old, battered cassettes for Tolik, whose glass eye twinkled joyfully. Finally, the pot-bellied man reached all the way down past his knee and came back up with an old Sony Ericsson phone, one with a short antenna. He walked a few steps away fromus, pulledout the antenna, and turned the thing on. After a few minutes

8