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“НАШЕ ЖИТТЯ”, ЖОВТЕНЬ 2014 WWW. UNWLA.ORG 17 with craters; blood trickled in ruts made by carts. Near the path, a grey soldier ’ s greatcoat lay spread out. The boys wanted to take it, but feared getting into trouble. Broken trees lay one on top of the other. A dead doe, her eyes gaping and glassy, leaned against a bush, and a crow, shot in flight, dangled by a wing from a jagged branch. The girls began piling smaller branches on the cart, while the boys went farther into the fo r- est. Mahdunya, who had run off a little ways from her girlfriends, suddenly froze in terror. Something blue protruded from a mound of soil expelled from a crater, and she thought she heard a groan. She ran up closer and was struck dumb — directly in front of her lay a soldier, covered in blood, his face deathly pale. His inert eyelids twitched slightly, and he opened his eyes. “Come here! Come here!” she shouted to her girlfriends. A soft, painful groan escaped from the wounded man's chest. “ He's alive! He's alive! ” the girls shouted as they called the boys. The youths came running. “ What should we do? We must go and tell someone. ” “ Shouldn't we put him on the cart and take him to the hospital?” “ The cart's too short. ” “ It probably is; we ’ ll have to put som e- thing under his head and shoul ders to raise him.” They ran for the cart, threw off the brush- wood, and picked up the wounded soldier. His hands, feet, and chest were caked with soil and congealed blood, but on one shoulder there was a shiny gold star. Something had to be placed under his head. They recalled the greatcoat that was lying alongside the path, and now they no longer feared to take it. II “ Oh, it hurts, its hurts,” the wounded man groaned in a faint voice , as the youngsters fussed with him. “Where are you taking me?” he asked, when they were almost halfway there. “ To the hospital. ” “ Is there a field hospital here ?” “ I don't know what kind it is, but there's a hospital in the school, and all the wounded are being taken there.” He wanted to ask something else, but could not. When they arrived at the hospital, it was almost dark. “What is it?” asked a nurse, walking by with some bottles. “ We found a soldier in the forest. ” “Is he dead?” “ No, he's alive. ” “ Really? He's alive? But our men were there. He must have been left behind. ” “ We found him under some earth blown out from a crater.” The nurse quickly placed the bottles on a windowsill and, calling for help, rushed to the cart. The doctor and several medical aides ran up, moved the soldier to a stretcher, and carried him inside. The next day, Mahdunya came to ask how he was. The nurse sai d they had removed the bu l- let lodged in his body, but he was still very weak. Mahdunya came by to ask about him ev e- ry day. She was told he was improving and re- gaining his health. One day, he said he wanted to see her, and when she walked into the room, he was already sitting in a chair. “ So was it you, Mahdunya, who saved my life?” the invalid asked in a cheerful tone of voice. He grew stronger every day. Mahdunya always found him in th e yard, where he sat on a bench waiting for her. When he regained his strength, he went with her to her home. He was talkative and chee r- ful, as if he had never been wounded. But one day he came to say goodbye, b e- cause he had to leave. Mahdunya wept loudly. He smiled sadly, patted her on the head, and promised to write. Two weeks later, he sent her a postcard — a picture of a wounded soldier, and a nurse holding his hand. He wrote that he was going to the front lines. A short while later, he wrote that he was being sent into battle. Mahdunya never heard from him again. English translation by Roma Franko; edited by Sonia Morris Reprinted with permission from Warm the Children, O Sun : Selected Prose Fiction by Olha Kobylianska, Olena Pchilka, Nataliya Kobrynska, Lyubov Yanovska, Hrytsko Hryhorenko and Lesya Ukrainka. (Women's Voices in Ukrainian Literature, Vol. V). Saskatoon, SK, Canada: Language Lanterns Publications, 2000. Pp. 78-80.
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