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MARIE HALUN BLOCH DEJA VU Contimuation As we followed the steep winding road, we soon came to a branch curving away to the left. Turning into it, shortly we reached another branch to the left. Here, on a house on the corner was a small ceramic plaque. On it something was printed. I stepped up to it and read. ’’Honcharska.” Potters’ Lane. In the sudden hush, I could hear my heart pounding. Here on this street, a thousand years ago, lived my boy Bern. I stood for a long moment gazing down the lane, removed a millenium and more from the great city upon the bluff above. I saw it as it once was, cottages within yards fenced with wattle, but the same narrow dirt lane. In a thousand years that, at least, had not changed. On the still air came the sounds of industry from within the yards of artisans supplying the needs of the city — the lup-lup! from the nearby tanners’ huts as they worked the hides... the whirr of potters’ wheels.. Chickens in low conversation among themselves foraged in the dirt. A dog barked somewhere. ’’During the lengthening days., the lane... came alive with the sunny sounds of spring — with laughter and young voices summoning the spring with songs. From over the fence came the shouts of children at play, the banging of wooden buckets at the well, sometimes the shrill woices of women scolding or calling to their children. Now and again Bern caught a glimpse of the mistress going in or out through the gate, carrying buckets on a beam over her shoulders, or heard her voice greeting a neighbor. He could hear the screaking of the windlass on the marvelous well, and from the neighboring yards the intermittent whirring of the potters’ wheels. Evidently they had moved their work out of doors.” Kiev 1977 B o ry c h 's Threshing F io rr (T ik ) in the previous issue, on pg. 22, we labeled photo # 1 "Tanners Lane." The photo, however, shows "Potters Lane." 26 НАШЕ ЖИТТЯ, ЛИПЕНЬ-СЕРПЕНЬ 1980 Kiev 1977. S tatue o f H ry h o riy S kovoroda in "Red Q ua re " o f Podil, across from K ie v-M oh yla A cadem y К и їв-П о д іл . П ам ’я т н и к Г р и г о р ія С ко вор од и. I started down the lane almost on tiptoe. It was a short street — I could see the dead end of it just ahead — now lined with old one-story cottages stuccoed white on the outside. Scarcely a line of them in plumb, they were probably only early nineteenth century. But in shape and size they were not much different from what Bern was familiar with. Nowadays, however, white lacy curtains fluttered at the open fenester windows hung with shutters. Pots of bright flowers stood on the deep window sills. I looked all around for a hill that might once have had a fortified castle upon it. But none seemed likely. Not a soul was in sight that I might have asked. It was an empty stage, awaiting its actors. 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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