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“НАШЕ ЖИТТЯ”, ЛИПЕНЬ-СЕРПЕНЬ 2015 WWW.UNWLA.ORG 19 A strong fiery wind wrinkled the surface of the water, snatched at the mown hay, tore off leaves, and carried away dust and coarse sand. It grew dark. Thick clouds stretched over the entire hori- zon and covered the sun. Reverberations of mighty thunder rolled in from afar, and lightning slashed the black layers of clouds with increasing frequency. Over the mountains, the pendulous cloud, crowned by a glowing blood-red aura, hung in grey and yellow streaks. The thunder’s roar drew nearer. The crim- son glow faded and was replaced by dark blue and black pillars that rolled in, one after the other, dissolved, disintegrated, and swirled in a fiendish dance. Birds cowered under branches; panic- stricken cattle raced from the fields, leaving their herdsmen in vain pursuit; people secured win- dows and doors, and extinguished the fires in their stoves. Mykhaylo Fediw never went to sleep at noon, but now, as fate would have it, he was sleeping soundly, as if someone had struck him on the head with a stone. He was also called Debrovy, because his house stood at the edge of the village by a debra [a dale overgrown with thickets] , and everyone was aware that he knew how to deal with thunderstorms. This was why more than one householder in the village thought of him now. He, however, was sleeping soundly, oblivious to what was happen- ing. His terrified wife grabbed him by the shoul- der and shook him awake. Mykhaylo leapt to his feet and glanced out the window. Beyond it, fire flashed, and a deafening clap of thunder roared with laughter. “You may laugh if you want to, but you won’t be allowed to do what you want to do,” Mykhaylo muttered angrily and determinedly. A dense, muddy darkness was descending, sinking ever lower and lower, swelling, and thick- ening. Suddenly, as if the bottom of a lake had been shattered, the darkness was torn into dirty, jagged fragments, and thick, frozen lumps of ice, like clover blossoms, pelted to the ground. Mykhaylo reached behind the icons, grabbed a priest’s ceremonial belt, ran out of the house, and dove into the darkness. He raced to the old bell tower that stood, seemingly supported by a tall forked maple, alongside the church. He undressed, girded himself with the belt, and pulled at the rope of the large bell. The bell would not budge. He tugged at it a second time; the bell’s clapper struck the rim of the bell, but there was no sound. It was only after the third attempt that it shouted: “Stop! Stop! Stop!” The cloud swirled in a pillar of grey smoke, opened up wide with fire, and roared with thun- der: “Let go! Let me go!” “I won’t! I won’t!” the bell tolled solemnly. “Let go!” “I won’t!” “At least, let me pass over a small field!” “No, not over a field, over the forest!” “I want a field!” the storm cloud roared. “Over the forest, the forest,” the bell replied. “The field, the field,” the dirty yellow pillars rumbled. “The forest, the forest,” the bell tolled. “Let me advance at least a little; my army is rebelling,” the storm cloud pleaded. Behind it, thunderbolts, clattering like an inferno, wound themselves like snakes and, with open jaws foam- ing with blood, slithered forward to devour, de- stroy, annihilate. But the bell rang out its orders loudly, sharply, inexorably: “Over the forest! The forest! The forest! The forest!” Its breast shattered, its arms shriveled, its fingers twisted, and its innards shredded, the storm cloud rose and fell, stretching out its head like a bird about to take flight. Suddenly, whistling like the wind and mak- ing the ground shake, it slowly raised its heavy, leaden wings and turned sideways, over the mountains. With a din, a roar, and a cry like the neigh- ing of a herd of horses, countless heads, bellies, arms, legs, and wings tangled in a single ball, threw arrows, and flew after the storm cloud into the abyss of the murky horizon. The forest rustled and groaned. Trees bent down to the ground. There was a screeching, roar- ing, flashing. Flaming arrows split centuries-old oaks, and frozen pellets cracked branches and stripped them of their leaves. Amidst the shriek- ing, the crashing of the thunder, and the roar of the wind, the clear voice of the bell reverberated ever farther and farther. Cont. on pg 24.
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