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Dear Madam: This is to express my sincere thanks for your letter of May 10, in reply to mine of May 8, on the subject of your speech in Congress on May 3. The disclosure of your opinion has dispelled my former apprehension regarding your attitude towards the future attempts at solving questions of not only politics, but of life itself among my Ukrainian countrymen now precariously poised between evils, none of which can be safely termed to be the lesser. May I venture to request your permission to publish your letter in my Ukrainian Women’s Monthly? I am sure that my readers, most of whom are concerned about their “Old Country,” will be quite reassured by your clear and honest thinking on the subject discussed in the aforementioned correspondence. Very truly yours, Claudia Olesnycky May 15,1944 letter from Representative Luce to Claudia Olesnycky Dear Mrs. Olesnycky: I am delighted to learn that you liked and were reassured by my letter of May 10, and I am glad to give you permission to reprint it in your Ukrainian Women’s Monthly. All best wishes. Sincerely, Clare Booth Luce In the Country House by Iryna Zhylenko, 1990 Now back to the chores. Rake out the ashes. Start the fire. Sweep away the cobwebs ... and cook some potatoes for dinner. Dead or alive — I'm still the housekeeper. Dead or alive — I'm still the mother. I come out of a deep dark depression, to feed my little son to tell him a fairy tale about happiness. Joy fills my lungs as my son offers me a chrysanthemum through the window. But a raven's voice is already counting out the dose of radiation. "Wash your hands, wash your hands, my son ..." "Mom, a kitten. How sweet. You're such a poor little dirty stray ..." The clock starts to beat out the doses of radiation: Wash your hands! Wash your hands! Wash your hands! "Mom, please let me go play in the sand. The kids are burying the reactor. Don't worry — it's just a hunk of metal. Granddad caught some crayfish and treated me to some. They were great. Why is everything we eat canned, canned, canned? Mom, don't cry. Did I make you mad?" "I'm not crying. It's just the smoke ..." "It's smoky because no one's swept the chimney. ... And why can't we go pick mushrooms? Autumn will be over soon." "Where did you lose that button?" "How would I know ..." And off he ran. Grabbing the shovel and pail on the sly. To the sandlot? My heart beats out the doses of radiation on every grain of sand, on every little weed ... Translated from Ukrainian by Virlana Tkacz and Wanda Phipps. Translators’ note: After the Chornobyl disaster, people believed that the highest concentration of radioactive particles was present in sand, dirt, chimney soot, seafood, flowers, and mushrooms. 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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