Marc Chagall Bella with his wife and daughter, Ida - 1917 
Vitebsk 1908 E 'evening. Thursday. I think of Bella. In her nine years old girl and then woman recalls. That you remember. This evening I like to quote the chapter Bagni where Bella gives us the atmosphere of his hometown, Vitebsk (now Belarus) to the earliest dawn of the twentieth century. One of the photos I chose for Bella, portrays Vitebsk in 1908.
Bella Rosenfeld was born in 1895 in his writings reminds the child of nine years. The photograph appeared Caturano for us the time of memory and remembrance of those that went down Thursday at the baths with his mother.
With them we prepare to enter the Sabbath ....
(I remember the summer I spent in translating the voice of Bella Rosenfeld: I engrossed in its pages and in the enchantment of my waters of the lake, she in the cold of winter, directly to the baths along the street where Jewish Vitba scrolls, in Vitebsk.
But listen to him:
Shabbat, for me, begins on Thursday when night falls.
later in the day, the mother rushes out of the shop, as if forces to escape the noise of the week. Still in the shop, she was heard shouting:
"Bachka, where are you? Come to the baths. Sacha! Linen is ready? Svelte! svelte! I have no time!"
The home wraps around the bundle of linen, ties him with a rope so strong that the paper tears. I m'infila coat, hooves, I tighten the cap, I can not give a breath.
"Silly, do not cry!" Readily me dry the tears continued to fall.
"Come on! Freezes out. All we need is - God will preserve it - you take still cold! "
on the sly, my mother and I go out the front door, as if it was already Saturday and the store was already closed. My mother would feel uncomfortable to go there with the laundry under his arm, but wrapped in a black paper. The store, in fact, is full of men and, who knows, there may still hold. Let's go racing.
E 'own late mother waited until the last minute. At the door, probably, we expect the slide that will lead us to the baths. The driver is always the same - it is always there in front of the house - he already knows, every Thursday evening, almost at the same time, mom you do bring to the baths.
the evening, cold, snowy, enfolds us once in a blanket freeze. On the slide, under a blanket worn, I feel the hand of mother holding me tight - above all, it does not slip! - And I feel that my mother has already forgotten the store and the mayhem that has just escaped.
Fly away with the sledge, outward looking in the pure air, it seems that is already beginning to vibrate for all the holy prayers to be recited, with the will of God, before the arrival of Shabbat.
The road is long. The coachman takes us for a shortcut to the dark side of a stream - the Vitba - where the bathrooms are Jewish.
In silence, the slide cuts through the icy air vibrating with frost. From the bank above, flashing lights dim winking. It 's the light of PADL, the small market square, shining over there on the height.
know the market well. I know the merchants, shops, basements, and above all the dairies. Before going down the stone steps, you had to ask for help the Lord, it was so wet and slippery ladder. It was cold as a tomb.
Water oozed from the walls gray. One small glass lamp from the lit smoke-filled room. Its low range was barely loaves of butter yellow, the large bowl of cream, and even less the angle from which it sprang, as babies' heads, hard cheeses of Gomel.
Only large scale could be seen clearly. Suspended like a throne in the middle of the cellar. The iron chains swinging in the air like long black braids, and the two copper plates held up, so proud, poor and few supplies, like Justice herself.
Merchants in vestitoni transparencies, all around the s'agit cellar. With the tip of the fingers emerging from half-gloves, tearing pieces of butter, fill jugs of milk, cheese as they hurled snowballs, and during all the time, as if someone shouted from behind them percuotesse. Perhaps this will warm up. From time to time, from the basement office of breathing filters a dirty word. Curses, tongues of fire, fly around, firing a stall after another.
"What the plague take him away! How disgusting of merchandise do you have? Damn my age if I lie.
merchants rant. Blacks seem to mice in their burrows. Curses inflamed just as outside, is stirred by the hot coals in the vessels of iron, there they are stocky little women sitting holding a basket of roasted beans in shawls.
merchants insult one so eagerly and so hard that it becomes almost a joy.
All these cries accompany us from afar, while my mother and I we sent to the bathrooms. The wind brings a curse, it shakes the air. The snow that falls drops down to the ground.
And so we arrive.
"Back - God willing - to be here in two hours," her mother says the driver, even if he knows so many years.
In the vestibule of wood, we encounter the woman who sells tickets, wrapped up like a ball of merchandise. At first, it does not move either. You can see only the tip of the nose and fingers. On the table next to the tickets, they go for a walk a pear, an apple frost. A bit 'of Kvass blue - probably made livid by frost - crack in a bottle.
The cashier, as if our breaths swallows hot, half frozen slowly closes her mouth, and it turns a cold smile.
"It's really cool to sit all day," he said brightening gradually. "The wind blows everywhere. Still a bit 'and you could completely freeze while waiting for arrivals a human being. "
Mother with a smile and encourages me to buy an apple or a pear.
We push the door leading to the bathrooms. The noise Latch alarm raised two or three naked women, covered by shawls. How
flies scared, jumped, jumping from the bench, and come to chatter around us.
"Good evening, Altechka. Good evening! So late! Coma is, High? The little ones are good? How are you, Bachinka? "And women are starting to groped by all parties.
"Ah, the evil eye you save! But yeast grow as "
were revived, they have waited in vain. Shawls fell from the back like wings black. I am struck by the whiteness of their bodies.
Everything becomes more pure, more clear ...
In the anteroom, the heat mixes with cold air that flows from the outside. I hardly knew the women at the baths, although they are always the same. And every Thursday I think they become more and more old and ugly. The youngest - the shawl which he knew even mold - will not let me be with his bony hands.
"It's cold, is not it?" Well? The unbutton your dress? Do you have another with you? Well, throw him into the bench. Come on, raise your leg! So what? "
spurs me as if I were a horse.
Even before throwing a look around, I find myself with all the slots of unlaced shoes, and shoes, stockings rolled up flying to the bench where I'm sitting. My ass is up and down with the seat of the bench.
And I have not even had time to see what happens in the bench where your clothes as they fall into a dark pit ...
The icy wind blowing through the windows, covered with frost, steamed snow: you say your eyes become blind.
shivering. The woman taking my towel baths and wraps it around me.
"Well! Wait a bit! Between you very warm. Here! We go to the bathroom, you see? "
I feel lost. Dragging me toward the door like a goat. His hands
steel drag me. "Do not fall, my God, Bachinka! Walk slowly! It slips! "
Once inside, I can not breathe, and half fainting, I can bring. An impenetrable cloud
me covers his eyes. A small light gray metal with a hook is hanging up there, above the door. The tiny glass is still too large for the light and as soon as the door opens, ranging from all sides.
Rest stops. I'm afraid to move. The floor filled with water, it is not. The water flowing in the legs, flowing from the ceiling, walls, as if all the little house exudes warmth.
She rushed on the bathroom tubs, rinse the slippery bench where I sit. Do not have time to say a word. The back thin, shiny circles like the tail of a cat.
The hot water flows. Two or three buckets in the face to give off steam that is hot.
Heat bench calms me down, let me put my legs in a tub of warm water. The woman approaches me of the bathrooms. Her breasts dangle in front of my eyes like deflated balloons, and in his belly, taut as a drum, my nose collapses. I feel caught between the tubs and the belly. I can not even turn around - I can not even think about it.
His rough fingers caught my long hair. With one motion, she begins to rub. The soap slides up and down, as if the ironing head.
The head turns, hidden in her hair. I have no time to even start to cry. Hold the tears, I remove the acid soap bubbles that burn my eyes. The soap penetrates my ears, mouth. Blind, dip your fingers into the bucket of water cool place near me.
Return to me when my hair is rinsed. Drops of water down my eyes and soothe them. Catch my breath, I pull up the back, open my eyes.
I hear the creaking of the door and the door, I see, stark naked, my mother white.
A cloud of hot steam immediately wraps. Two women argue. Small tears of sweat slide down the sides, from the breasts. A rain drop continues to flow from the hair and behind the ears.
Quiet, shy, mom he is standing near the door. Women who take care of her, rushed into the tub, open all faucets, hot water go through the bench for her. Without
upset, the mother sits and takes his body, the whole bench. Exhausted all for being rubbed, from where they are, the distinction hardly. Even in front of me is uncomfortable and lowers her eyes when I look at only the hair. In place of his thick curly wig every day, I see her short hair, thin.
became weak, stifled all these years, no air under the wig ... I am overcome by a heavy sadness, as if suddenly lose strength, let me wash still, without resistance.
She grabs my body, I grab the soul. As a piece of dough, puts me on the bench and starts to rub, to pinch me, it seems that wants to make me a bread form of braid.
I turn to my stomach. It gives me such a hit that jump up on the buttocks.
"Oh well, what do you say Batchinka? It 'nice, right? "
She soon found his tongue. "Look how you turned red! It 's a pleasure to give you tweaks "
Exhausted, looks to take it away. Suddenly I fear behind him, a body of water falls on me. For a moment, disappear in the torrent. The water lifted me up and carries me like a river. The woman inundates me. I melt like wax white, on ecstasy, Heat.
"Phew" The woman is breathing a sigh and wipes his nose with wet hands. "Really shines as a small diamond Bachinka! You can benefit, my child! "She looks at me with those eyes glaze over, wilted from the water, and quickly, covers me with a warm blanket.
probably would dry itself. Slowly, with his arms around me as if I was a small blessing is that Shabbos candles.
From a distance, look like dealing with the mother. They certainly rubbed, soaped and, of course, the tubs of warm water have made it feel good.
Yet, it is not ready yet.
After washing, the older women came forward with a stool and settles down at the feet of the mother. Place a candleholder on a copper box, turn the piece of candle that is there remained inside. Rekindle the flame and short before his mother began to complain about his hard life. It seems that all concerns have penetrated into the back until it prostrate at the feet of the mother's weight.
"May God have mercy on us, free us from all punishment."
Raise your eyes from the ground. "So be it, Father of the Universe!"
How to make a sacrifice, starts to fix the toes of her mother. The flame comes alive every prayer that mumbles in the nails before cutting. For every blessing, it illumines the heart. Mother, look down, look at what she does to the feet, and listen to his words.
behind the burning candle, a crown of light seems to subtract both the darkness of the place. A head down on the other, the two white faces shine, as purified from a sacrifice.
After making polished toenails of her mother, the old woman raised her head:
"High, now we go to the ritual bath," he says softly.
Mother sighs, as if the old woman had communicated a secret. Both slowly, get up, straighten your back, pull a deep breath, catch your breath: you may think is in the process to cross the threshold of the Holy of Holies.
stand out in the dark the two white shadows.
I was afraid to go there. You had to go through a warm room in which, on long seats were flat and suffered torture. From the scourged smoldering branches of branches, moistened by drops of hot water. Rising from under the benches heavy breaths, as if all these women burned on hot coals. The heat
I enter the mouth and grabs my heart.
"It 's definitely hell for those who have many sins," I say to myself, and run quickly from the mother to the ritual bath.
As in a prison, down in a dark room.
Over a small bridge it is the elderly woman. With one hand he carries the candlestick lit, the other is waving a white sheet.
Mother, quiet - I was so scared for her - down the four steps slippery, and then immersed in water up to his neck.
When the old woman says a blessing, Mom gets scared. As a convicted, he closes his eyes, he closes his nose and dives into the water as if it were forever.
"Kooo-sher!" Cries the old woman, with the voice of a prophet.
I have a start like a thunderclap. Anxious, waiting - for sure now a flash from the darkness of the ceiling will fall and kill us instantly. Or maybe the stone wall will pour a flood and submerge us in the darkness of the ritual bath.
"Ko-oo-sher!" Cries the old woman again.
Where's Mom? Water no longer moves.
But suddenly, the river seems to crack. The mother's head emerges from the water. He shakes off the water as if it came from the sea bottom. Three times the old woman crying to his lungs three times and her mother sinks into the water black. Do not take it anymore and wait for the old to stop crying and that her mother no longer disappear in the water.
In the end, is tired. The water flows down from the hair, ears. But smiles. Out of the water like a fire - clean, purified.
"high, this can benefit you and make you well"
The old woman smiles the same way. Two long thin arms held well wrap up the sheet and my mother as two great white wings, she smiles like an angel bright. Dressed
, still smoking, chewing an apple that has long frost has melted from the heat, and wait for his mother.
Suddenly my mother began to hurry as if suddenly remembered that it is not a holiday and that the store is still open.
The sacred and the warmth of leaving the bathroom. Fast, dresses. The women talk about their latest misfortune: the curtains on a dress, the other a boot. They fear that, by his mother, in their hearts things still remain unexpressed until next Thursday. With trembling hands, wrap the package of our laundry, and wrap me well as a package.
Inflates the heat, I can hardly move. Mom delivers tips and listen to the long blessings with which women join us.
"Whether this is beneficial there, Altink! In this Thursday, God willing! Welcome back! Take care Bachinka "A
screams louder than all others and, immediately, cover with their shawls.
The little door closes her alone, so it seems. We stopped for a moment on the threshold. How cold! From the dark sky snow falls. The stars, snowflakes shine ... And
'day or night? The eyes see all white and cold.
the chariot and the horse has grown a mountain high and white. Yes are frozen? The driver smiles. Bushy eyebrows from the crumbs falling of snow.
The horse, revived, neighing.
"Welcome back" he shouted from the bathhouse.
The sled jerks.
"Hop! Hop! "The driver whip his skinny horse.
Faster than the first leg, his mother through the entrance, left the pack of underwear. The smell of the house, shop, face the lash.
"God knows what happened here without me!" As a
guilty, he runs to wash his face purple and sits up, again, to the shop.
I'm sorry that the bathroom is finished so soon.
later in the day, the mother rushes out of the shop, as if forces to escape the noise of the week. Still in the shop, she was heard shouting:
"Bachka, where are you? Come to the baths. Sacha! Linen is ready? Svelte! svelte! I have no time!"
The home wraps around the bundle of linen, ties him with a rope so strong that the paper tears. I m'infila coat, hooves, I tighten the cap, I can not give a breath.
"Silly, do not cry!" Readily me dry the tears continued to fall.
"Come on! Freezes out. All we need is - God will preserve it - you take still cold! "
on the sly, my mother and I go out the front door, as if it was already Saturday and the store was already closed. My mother would feel uncomfortable to go there with the laundry under his arm, but wrapped in a black paper. The store, in fact, is full of men and, who knows, there may still hold. Let's go racing.
E 'own late mother waited until the last minute. At the door, probably, we expect the slide that will lead us to the baths. The driver is always the same - it is always there in front of the house - he already knows, every Thursday evening, almost at the same time, mom you do bring to the baths.
the evening, cold, snowy, enfolds us once in a blanket freeze. On the slide, under a blanket worn, I feel the hand of mother holding me tight - above all, it does not slip! - And I feel that my mother has already forgotten the store and the mayhem that has just escaped.
Fly away with the sledge, outward looking in the pure air, it seems that is already beginning to vibrate for all the holy prayers to be recited, with the will of God, before the arrival of Shabbat.
The road is long. The coachman takes us for a shortcut to the dark side of a stream - the Vitba - where the bathrooms are Jewish.
In silence, the slide cuts through the icy air vibrating with frost. From the bank above, flashing lights dim winking. It 's the light of PADL, the small market square, shining over there on the height.
know the market well. I know the merchants, shops, basements, and above all the dairies. Before going down the stone steps, you had to ask for help the Lord, it was so wet and slippery ladder. It was cold as a tomb.
Water oozed from the walls gray. One small glass lamp from the lit smoke-filled room. Its low range was barely loaves of butter yellow, the large bowl of cream, and even less the angle from which it sprang, as babies' heads, hard cheeses of Gomel.
Only large scale could be seen clearly. Suspended like a throne in the middle of the cellar. The iron chains swinging in the air like long black braids, and the two copper plates held up, so proud, poor and few supplies, like Justice herself.
Merchants in vestitoni transparencies, all around the s'agit cellar. With the tip of the fingers emerging from half-gloves, tearing pieces of butter, fill jugs of milk, cheese as they hurled snowballs, and during all the time, as if someone shouted from behind them percuotesse. Perhaps this will warm up. From time to time, from the basement office of breathing filters a dirty word. Curses, tongues of fire, fly around, firing a stall after another.
"What the plague take him away! How disgusting of merchandise do you have? Damn my age if I lie.
merchants rant. Blacks seem to mice in their burrows. Curses inflamed just as outside, is stirred by the hot coals in the vessels of iron, there they are stocky little women sitting holding a basket of roasted beans in shawls.
merchants insult one so eagerly and so hard that it becomes almost a joy.
All these cries accompany us from afar, while my mother and I we sent to the bathrooms. The wind brings a curse, it shakes the air. The snow that falls drops down to the ground.
And so we arrive.
"Back - God willing - to be here in two hours," her mother says the driver, even if he knows so many years.
In the vestibule of wood, we encounter the woman who sells tickets, wrapped up like a ball of merchandise. At first, it does not move either. You can see only the tip of the nose and fingers. On the table next to the tickets, they go for a walk a pear, an apple frost. A bit 'of Kvass blue - probably made livid by frost - crack in a bottle.
The cashier, as if our breaths swallows hot, half frozen slowly closes her mouth, and it turns a cold smile.
"It's really cool to sit all day," he said brightening gradually. "The wind blows everywhere. Still a bit 'and you could completely freeze while waiting for arrivals a human being. "
Mother with a smile and encourages me to buy an apple or a pear.
We push the door leading to the bathrooms. The noise Latch alarm raised two or three naked women, covered by shawls. How
flies scared, jumped, jumping from the bench, and come to chatter around us.
"Good evening, Altechka. Good evening! So late! Coma is, High? The little ones are good? How are you, Bachinka? "And women are starting to groped by all parties.
"Ah, the evil eye you save! But yeast grow as "
were revived, they have waited in vain. Shawls fell from the back like wings black. I am struck by the whiteness of their bodies.
Everything becomes more pure, more clear ...
In the anteroom, the heat mixes with cold air that flows from the outside. I hardly knew the women at the baths, although they are always the same. And every Thursday I think they become more and more old and ugly. The youngest - the shawl which he knew even mold - will not let me be with his bony hands.
"It's cold, is not it?" Well? The unbutton your dress? Do you have another with you? Well, throw him into the bench. Come on, raise your leg! So what? "
spurs me as if I were a horse.
Even before throwing a look around, I find myself with all the slots of unlaced shoes, and shoes, stockings rolled up flying to the bench where I'm sitting. My ass is up and down with the seat of the bench.
And I have not even had time to see what happens in the bench where your clothes as they fall into a dark pit ...
The icy wind blowing through the windows, covered with frost, steamed snow: you say your eyes become blind.
shivering. The woman taking my towel baths and wraps it around me.
"Well! Wait a bit! Between you very warm. Here! We go to the bathroom, you see? "
I feel lost. Dragging me toward the door like a goat. His hands
steel drag me. "Do not fall, my God, Bachinka! Walk slowly! It slips! "
Once inside, I can not breathe, and half fainting, I can bring. An impenetrable cloud
me covers his eyes. A small light gray metal with a hook is hanging up there, above the door. The tiny glass is still too large for the light and as soon as the door opens, ranging from all sides.
Rest stops. I'm afraid to move. The floor filled with water, it is not. The water flowing in the legs, flowing from the ceiling, walls, as if all the little house exudes warmth.
She rushed on the bathroom tubs, rinse the slippery bench where I sit. Do not have time to say a word. The back thin, shiny circles like the tail of a cat.
The hot water flows. Two or three buckets in the face to give off steam that is hot.
Heat bench calms me down, let me put my legs in a tub of warm water. The woman approaches me of the bathrooms. Her breasts dangle in front of my eyes like deflated balloons, and in his belly, taut as a drum, my nose collapses. I feel caught between the tubs and the belly. I can not even turn around - I can not even think about it.
His rough fingers caught my long hair. With one motion, she begins to rub. The soap slides up and down, as if the ironing head.
The head turns, hidden in her hair. I have no time to even start to cry. Hold the tears, I remove the acid soap bubbles that burn my eyes. The soap penetrates my ears, mouth. Blind, dip your fingers into the bucket of water cool place near me.
Return to me when my hair is rinsed. Drops of water down my eyes and soothe them. Catch my breath, I pull up the back, open my eyes.
I hear the creaking of the door and the door, I see, stark naked, my mother white.
A cloud of hot steam immediately wraps. Two women argue. Small tears of sweat slide down the sides, from the breasts. A rain drop continues to flow from the hair and behind the ears.
Quiet, shy, mom he is standing near the door. Women who take care of her, rushed into the tub, open all faucets, hot water go through the bench for her. Without
upset, the mother sits and takes his body, the whole bench. Exhausted all for being rubbed, from where they are, the distinction hardly. Even in front of me is uncomfortable and lowers her eyes when I look at only the hair. In place of his thick curly wig every day, I see her short hair, thin.
became weak, stifled all these years, no air under the wig ... I am overcome by a heavy sadness, as if suddenly lose strength, let me wash still, without resistance.
She grabs my body, I grab the soul. As a piece of dough, puts me on the bench and starts to rub, to pinch me, it seems that wants to make me a bread form of braid.
I turn to my stomach. It gives me such a hit that jump up on the buttocks.
"Oh well, what do you say Batchinka? It 'nice, right? "
She soon found his tongue. "Look how you turned red! It 's a pleasure to give you tweaks "
Exhausted, looks to take it away. Suddenly I fear behind him, a body of water falls on me. For a moment, disappear in the torrent. The water lifted me up and carries me like a river. The woman inundates me. I melt like wax white, on ecstasy, Heat.
"Phew" The woman is breathing a sigh and wipes his nose with wet hands. "Really shines as a small diamond Bachinka! You can benefit, my child! "She looks at me with those eyes glaze over, wilted from the water, and quickly, covers me with a warm blanket.
probably would dry itself. Slowly, with his arms around me as if I was a small blessing is that Shabbos candles.
From a distance, look like dealing with the mother. They certainly rubbed, soaped and, of course, the tubs of warm water have made it feel good.
Yet, it is not ready yet.
After washing, the older women came forward with a stool and settles down at the feet of the mother. Place a candleholder on a copper box, turn the piece of candle that is there remained inside. Rekindle the flame and short before his mother began to complain about his hard life. It seems that all concerns have penetrated into the back until it prostrate at the feet of the mother's weight.
"May God have mercy on us, free us from all punishment."
Raise your eyes from the ground. "So be it, Father of the Universe!"
How to make a sacrifice, starts to fix the toes of her mother. The flame comes alive every prayer that mumbles in the nails before cutting. For every blessing, it illumines the heart. Mother, look down, look at what she does to the feet, and listen to his words.
behind the burning candle, a crown of light seems to subtract both the darkness of the place. A head down on the other, the two white faces shine, as purified from a sacrifice.
After making polished toenails of her mother, the old woman raised her head:
"High, now we go to the ritual bath," he says softly.
Mother sighs, as if the old woman had communicated a secret. Both slowly, get up, straighten your back, pull a deep breath, catch your breath: you may think is in the process to cross the threshold of the Holy of Holies.
stand out in the dark the two white shadows.
I was afraid to go there. You had to go through a warm room in which, on long seats were flat and suffered torture. From the scourged smoldering branches of branches, moistened by drops of hot water. Rising from under the benches heavy breaths, as if all these women burned on hot coals. The heat
I enter the mouth and grabs my heart.
"It 's definitely hell for those who have many sins," I say to myself, and run quickly from the mother to the ritual bath.
As in a prison, down in a dark room.
Over a small bridge it is the elderly woman. With one hand he carries the candlestick lit, the other is waving a white sheet.
Mother, quiet - I was so scared for her - down the four steps slippery, and then immersed in water up to his neck.
When the old woman says a blessing, Mom gets scared. As a convicted, he closes his eyes, he closes his nose and dives into the water as if it were forever.
"Kooo-sher!" Cries the old woman, with the voice of a prophet.
I have a start like a thunderclap. Anxious, waiting - for sure now a flash from the darkness of the ceiling will fall and kill us instantly. Or maybe the stone wall will pour a flood and submerge us in the darkness of the ritual bath.
"Ko-oo-sher!" Cries the old woman again.
Where's Mom? Water no longer moves.
But suddenly, the river seems to crack. The mother's head emerges from the water. He shakes off the water as if it came from the sea bottom. Three times the old woman crying to his lungs three times and her mother sinks into the water black. Do not take it anymore and wait for the old to stop crying and that her mother no longer disappear in the water.
In the end, is tired. The water flows down from the hair, ears. But smiles. Out of the water like a fire - clean, purified.
"high, this can benefit you and make you well"
The old woman smiles the same way. Two long thin arms held well wrap up the sheet and my mother as two great white wings, she smiles like an angel bright. Dressed
, still smoking, chewing an apple that has long frost has melted from the heat, and wait for his mother.
Suddenly my mother began to hurry as if suddenly remembered that it is not a holiday and that the store is still open.
The sacred and the warmth of leaving the bathroom. Fast, dresses. The women talk about their latest misfortune: the curtains on a dress, the other a boot. They fear that, by his mother, in their hearts things still remain unexpressed until next Thursday. With trembling hands, wrap the package of our laundry, and wrap me well as a package.
Inflates the heat, I can hardly move. Mom delivers tips and listen to the long blessings with which women join us.
"Whether this is beneficial there, Altink! In this Thursday, God willing! Welcome back! Take care Bachinka "A
screams louder than all others and, immediately, cover with their shawls.
The little door closes her alone, so it seems. We stopped for a moment on the threshold. How cold! From the dark sky snow falls. The stars, snowflakes shine ... And
'day or night? The eyes see all white and cold.
the chariot and the horse has grown a mountain high and white. Yes are frozen? The driver smiles. Bushy eyebrows from the crumbs falling of snow.
The horse, revived, neighing.
"Welcome back" he shouted from the bathhouse.
The sled jerks.
"Hop! Hop! "The driver whip his skinny horse.
Faster than the first leg, his mother through the entrance, left the pack of underwear. The smell of the house, shop, face the lash.
"God knows what happened here without me!" As a
guilty, he runs to wash his face purple and sits up, again, to the shop.
I'm sorry that the bathroom is finished so soon.
(translation by Madeleine Cavalleri Gobbi)
