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In a Boxcar T here is a dream th a t keeps re cu rrin g to me. E v ery tim e it comes, v ary in g slig htly in ac tion b u t alw ays th e sam e in lo cale, I w ake up s tiff w ith fear. Som etim es a cold sw eat comes over m e, and I lie m otionless fo r a long while. I ’m afraid to open m y eyes fo r fe a r th a t instead of m y fam iliar surroundings — th e outline of th e window, th e shelves of books, th e gleam of th e m irro r — I ’ll see th e in terio r of a boxcar, w ith hunched- over figu res huddled everyw here am id suitcases and bundles. As I lie rigidly, g ath erin g th e cour age to open m y eyes, I slowly realize th a t th e m onotonous clickety-clack of tra in wheels in m y dream is really th e sound of a ty p e w rite r in th e ap a rtm en t above me, or th e noise of tru ck s p assin g in th e street. T he sharp, piercing w histle of a Soviet loco m otive stops ab ru p tly to g eth er ability need assistance w ith th e m ore difficult passages. The tra n sla to rs: D. S truk, G. T arnaw sky, P. Kilina, L. H im a, G. and M. L uckyj, A. Savage and R. B ah rij-P iku lyk have p erfo rm ed th e ir difficult ta sk w ith com petence and P rof. G. Luckyj who served as editor of th e collection — in addition to a tw o-page in troduction — has provided help fu l b rief bio-bibliographical notes about each of th e au th o rs in th e anthology. M any of th e sh o rt stories in th is collection w ere tran slate d in to E nglish and appear h ere in p rin t fo r th e firs t tim e. A few, how ever, w ere previously p u b lished elsew here (e.g. S tefany k ’s “T he Pious W om an,” “A Stone Gross” ) — th is fa c t should have been indicated by th e editor. Also one would have w ished th a t th e nam es of th e tra n sla to rs a p p ea r in th e tab le of contents and n p t m erely under th e te x t tra n s lated. T he tran slato rs, certainly, deserve th is sm all tok en of ac know ledgm ent. ULY A N A LIUBOVYCH w ith m y dream . It had a sound unlike any other sound I have ever heard, akin only to a cry of challenge, or a wail of despair. I listen to th e n ig h t sounds of a big city and force m y h e a rt to q uiet down. B ut m y th o u g h ts keep re tu rn in g to th e boxcar. W e w ere p u t in to it on th a t fa ta l F riday, A pril 13, 1940 — m y m other, m y b ro th e r and I. ** * A t firs t it seem ed th a t we could no t possibly f it into th e packed fre ig h t car. N evertheless th e g uards shoved us in, and we m anaged to squeeze in our w ick er tru n k , w hich had so often ac com panied us on p leasan t vaca tions to th e m ountains. T hen it had held linen, cooking utensils and books. W e didn’t know w h at w as in it now, fo r we w ere given only a few m inutes to pack, and everyone p resen t p u t in to th e tru n k w h atev er cam e to hand, w h atever he saw. T here w as no tim e to select th o se articles w hich m ig h t be useful or valu able — indeed, we had no idea w h at would foe useful, w herever it w as th ey w ere tak in g us. Now we squeezed th e tru n k in, th in k ing th a t our m oth er would be able to sleep on it, as all th e benches w ere already occupied. W e even m anaged to m ake a sm all niche fo r h e r betw een th e tru n k and th e wall, w here she could sit on som e bundles. In m y dream it is alw ays night-tom e in th e boxcar. P e r h aps th is is so because a t n ig h t each of us tu rn ed in on him self, sank in his own despairing th o u g h ts. A t n ig h t th e boxcar w as loaded w ith fifty hum an traged ies. D uring th e day people took on life, sound, shape, th ey becam e beings w ith elem ental needs like food, w ater, or even air, fo r th a t too w as in sh o rt supply. A t n ig h t th e hum an bodies seem ed to m elt in to th e ' darkness of th e car. E ach p er son trie d to m ake him self as com fortable as possible in th e crowded conditions, b u t only th e children slept a sound, uncon scious sleep. F o r th e re s t of us, th e g ra te fu l fo rg etfu ln ess of deep slum ber cam e seldom. A t n ig h t sorrow , pain, despair cam e into th e ir own. I t seem ed th a t th ey filled th e car, one could al m ost touch them . A m ist, a dark spiderw eb of sh a tte re d hopes and tra g ic th o u g h ts spun its th re a d from one huddled form to a n o th er. E ven in fitfu l sleep I could feel th e palpable presence of th is plasm a of agony, a sticky fog em anating fro m th e jungles of hum an souls. Som etim es you could h ea r th e so ft m u rm u rs o f tw o dark shapes leaning close to each other. Som ew here som eone w ept q u iet ly. A voice w hispered p rayers, or m aybe talked, half-asleep, to someone th a t w asn’t th ere. F a te had cruelly in terru p te d th e life of a very person in th e fre ig h t car. A b ru ta l pow er had w ith one stro k e severed all th e ir affairs, larg e and small, all hopes and plans and schem es fo r th e y ears ahead. T hen it had grabbed up th e broken pieces and d e posited th em in th e boxcar. U n til now, each person h ad gone to sleep expecting a tom orrow . H ere, in th e boxcar, th e re w as no tom orrow . All loves and h ates, anger, and sorrow , and sm all d ai ly troubles and pleasures had been le ft behind on th e o th er side of th e locked doors. I t w as too la te to m ake am ends, too late to change a final w ord spoken in anger. F e a r of th e fu tu re was m ixed w ith re g re t th a t w h at w as done had not been done d iffe r ently. T hrough it all w as th e th o u g h t of th ose who rem ained behind, concern fo r them , th e longing to see th em ju s t once more, to do som ething fo r them , to speak a la st ten d er word. (To be concluded) T ransl. by O. D ragan T ru th , like m edicine, is often unpalatable, * The eyes rem ain blind w hen th e pupils are closed. 2 8 НАШЕ ЖИТТЯ — ЧЕРВЕНЬ, 1973 Видання C оюзу Українок A мерики - перевидано в електронному форматі в 2012 році . A рхів C У A - Ню Йорк , Н . Й . C Ш A.
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