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«ЖІНОЧИЙ СВІТ» 25 | “MY CRIME” by IVAN FRANKO Translated by Raymond Shustakewich {Conclusion} Toward evening I returned home and went to my bird. He had not touched the food. He sat in a corner, his neck stretch- ed high, and gazed unblinkingly out toward the mountains behind which the sun, in all the glory of its flaming rays, was descending. From time to time his head drooped so sadly and so hope- lessly that I could look at him no longer. — Perhaps it is a nocturnal bird and will eat when night comes, I thought. ‘This idea soothed me somewhat and I slept soundly without a thought of the bird. As soon as it was morning, even before the sun had risen, I ran into the next room and looked into the window at the bird. He had not changed his posi- tion. His neck was still craned, and he gazed with that same un- blinking eye out at the free, wide world just beyond the glass pane, and again his head would droop sadly. — “Release him! Release him!” а voice shouted within me. “Wy do you torture him? He will die of hunger.” — “No! answered another stubborn voice, “I must discover upon what he feeds! I will bring him some snails, some worms and frog’s eggs.” І don’t know where I got the idea that he might eat frog's eggs. However, I ran out into the pasture, gathered some snails, dug up some worms, and obtain- ed from the stream a good hand- ful of frog’s eggs. With this col- lection I returned to my prisoner. He paid no heed to it when I placed it before him, showed not the least bit of curiosity toward these delicacies. It seemed though all his attention was taken up by the sunny warmth of spring in the world beyond the window. On that day I had some parti- cular task to do, which occupied my time until evening Then I hastened home to see my bird. He was running back and forth the length of the window sill. His food remained untouched. — “Wonder of wonders!” I thought and wanted to release him im- mediately. But the thought came to my mind, that by now he mu be quite weak and ineapable of flying. And if I released him anywhere in the immediate viein- ity 1 would Бе providing an easy and desirable prey for our eat. It will be better if he remains for the day. Early to-morrow morning I will take hini to the spot whiere I found him, and give him his freedom. The next morning I arose early from my straw bed and ran to see my captive. He had not touched any of the food and sat and tired in the same cor- azing steadfastl, through the window toward free- dom. He did not struggle when 1 picked him up, but looked at me, and his eyes held the same mute, sorrowful expression as they had when he surveyed the outside world with its warm sun and fragrant apple blossoms. Onee he drooped his head as mueh as to say, “So, so, I knew long ago to what end I would come.” T carried him ouside into the yard. He sat quietly in my hand and did not struggle. Through the damp feathers I could feel the warmth of his little body. “How tender and tasty his flesh must be,” the thought sud- denly shot through my head. “Suppose I killed him and baked him?” “Release him! Release him!” something whispered like a good angel in my heart. “Only see how small he is. It would not even “But it’s a shame to let him go. I caught him,” I rebelled with childish stubborness. “Release him! Release him!” a voice murmured quietly in the innermost depths of my soul. And the bird sat quietly and resignedly in my hand. I opened my hand — he did not fly away. Something hateful and evil tri- umphed in my brain. “See! he himself does not want to go. He had an opportunity to escape. Why bidn’t he fly?” “But he is weak and starved,” the voice murmured quietly in my soul. “Oh, nonsense,” my childish stubborness voiced itself and, in an instant Т had twisted off the head of the beautiful little bird... His thin legs twitched onee or twice... a drop or two of blood oozed from his neck — and the beautiful little bird was no more. Та my hand lay a cold, lifeless body... And at once my stubborness, my infernal ambition, my self- ishness and self-love dissolved. І clearly realized that, which I had done was brainless, despicable, that I had lowered myself to heartless murder and had taken upon my soul an irrevocable sin for which no amount of prayer could atone. For no reason at all I had de- stroyed a beautiful innocent life! Here, on the face of God’s free earth, in the warmth of the bright
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