hold around his body, and the pain of his brother’s teeth biting his ear, Abrau lost consciousness and, like a bit of cargo that has fallen from a load, with a quick kick, he fell onto the clods of earth beside the wall of the ruins.
Abbas’ mouth was full of blood. He spit. The blood was salty. He rolled his brother’s head on the earth and looked at his injured ear. The left side of Abrau’s face was covered in blood. The rays of the sun glittered in the crimson blood. Abbassat on a pile of dirt and put his head in his hands. He couldn’t even cry. It was as if he could only cry in blood-tears. He rose and gathered Abrau’s woodpile and added it to his own. He left Abrau’s cloth next to where he had fallen. He sat next to the new bundle and set it against his back.
Now that’s what you call a bundle of wood!
He set his back against the bundle and set one knee into the ground, and with an effort lifted it from the ground. He stayed bent and adjusted the heavy bundle on his back. Abrau was there, fallen before him. He passed by Abrau and stepped into the road. His shadow fell before him, and he walked with an eye to the shadow cast by the bundle. He wished it looked bigger. But it didn’t look very big from this angle. The sun was shining from behind him. So he turned and stood with his side to the sun. Now the shadow looked bigger. It gave Abbas a sense of satisfaction. He set back out on his way, going up another alley. The sound of Abrau’s heavy breaths stopped him. He turned. Abrau was running up from behind him. He stood. Abrau’s eyes looked like two hot coals. Two hot coals and smoke. Abbas felt sorry for him. Despite this, he snapped at him, “Well, now what do you want? Wasn’t what you got enough for you!”
Abrau replied, “The sickle. I want your sickle.”
3 .
Abrau returned as the sun was setting. He had a bundle of wood on his back, and sweat was dripping from the tip of his nose. His face was white in the moonlight. His lips and cheeks were trembling from weakness. His heart felt empty. The sweat that covered his face and ears was not the sweat of fatigue; more than that, it was a sweat of weakness. Of fragility. He felt as if the very fabric of his body was coming apart. He had heard the saying “If a man’s knees begin to tremble, he will eventually fall.” However, Abrau refused to fall. He conjured up the last reservoir of strength within him and took another step toward the awning of the bread oven. Gasping, he arrived and leaned the bundle against the wall, and his knees began to fold under him. The wood stalks scraped against the wall as they slid to theground. He sat down, leaning his back against the bundle of wood. His legs extended out beneath him, and his eyelashes, heavy with sweat, slowly shut as his arms stretched out naturally to each side. But he didn’t remove the bundle’s strap from his chest. It was as if his body was melting. His head was spinning and he felt like a kite lost in the air, fluttering along. It felt as if his body’s weight was dissipating. It felt like coming apart at the seams, like breaking apart, and transforming into the tiniest speck. Like being torn off like a meteor is torn off a star. Hanging, suspended, and abandoned. Hanging in a moment’s hesitation between being and nothingness. Selfless, blowing in the wind, swinging. It seemed to him as if nothing was tethered to its place. Dust filled the air, blowing around everything. Blowing onto the millstone, mixing with the grains of wheat. Swinging, like on a swing. Soluch once took the family on a New Year’s picnic. On that day, he hung a swing from a tree for the children. A rope hung between two willows.
Abrau became dizzy, nauseous. Abrau was torn from his place by the bile that was pushing up from his intestines. Rising, the bundle of wood was lifted along with him. He knelt over, and the wood slid over and on him. Bile. Abrau vomited and fell on the ground chin first. The bundle
Abbas’ mouth was full of blood. He spit. The blood was salty. He rolled his brother’s head on the earth and looked at his injured ear. The left side of Abrau’s face was covered in blood. The rays of the sun glittered in the crimson blood. Abbassat on a pile of dirt and put his head in his hands. He couldn’t even cry. It was as if he could only cry in blood-tears. He rose and gathered Abrau’s woodpile and added it to his own. He left Abrau’s cloth next to where he had fallen. He sat next to the new bundle and set it against his back.
Now that’s what you call a bundle of wood!
He set his back against the bundle and set one knee into the ground, and with an effort lifted it from the ground. He stayed bent and adjusted the heavy bundle on his back. Abrau was there, fallen before him. He passed by Abrau and stepped into the road. His shadow fell before him, and he walked with an eye to the shadow cast by the bundle. He wished it looked bigger. But it didn’t look very big from this angle. The sun was shining from behind him. So he turned and stood with his side to the sun. Now the shadow looked bigger. It gave Abbas a sense of satisfaction. He set back out on his way, going up another alley. The sound of Abrau’s heavy breaths stopped him. He turned. Abrau was running up from behind him. He stood. Abrau’s eyes looked like two hot coals. Two hot coals and smoke. Abbas felt sorry for him. Despite this, he snapped at him, “Well, now what do you want? Wasn’t what you got enough for you!”
Abrau replied, “The sickle. I want your sickle.”
3 .
Abrau returned as the sun was setting. He had a bundle of wood on his back, and sweat was dripping from the tip of his nose. His face was white in the moonlight. His lips and cheeks were trembling from weakness. His heart felt empty. The sweat that covered his face and ears was not the sweat of fatigue; more than that, it was a sweat of weakness. Of fragility. He felt as if the very fabric of his body was coming apart. He had heard the saying “If a man’s knees begin to tremble, he will eventually fall.” However, Abrau refused to fall. He conjured up the last reservoir of strength within him and took another step toward the awning of the bread oven. Gasping, he arrived and leaned the bundle against the wall, and his knees began to fold under him. The wood stalks scraped against the wall as they slid to theground. He sat down, leaning his back against the bundle of wood. His legs extended out beneath him, and his eyelashes, heavy with sweat, slowly shut as his arms stretched out naturally to each side. But he didn’t remove the bundle’s strap from his chest. It was as if his body was melting. His head was spinning and he felt like a kite lost in the air, fluttering along. It felt as if his body’s weight was dissipating. It felt like coming apart at the seams, like breaking apart, and transforming into the tiniest speck. Like being torn off like a meteor is torn off a star. Hanging, suspended, and abandoned. Hanging in a moment’s hesitation between being and nothingness. Selfless, blowing in the wind, swinging. It seemed to him as if nothing was tethered to its place. Dust filled the air, blowing around everything. Blowing onto the millstone, mixing with the grains of wheat. Swinging, like on a swing. Soluch once took the family on a New Year’s picnic. On that day, he hung a swing from a tree for the children. A rope hung between two willows.
Abrau became dizzy, nauseous. Abrau was torn from his place by the bile that was pushing up from his intestines. Rising, the bundle of wood was lifted along with him. He knelt over, and the wood slid over and on him. Bile. Abrau vomited and fell on the ground chin first. The bundle
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