Anthology of wounds - Arct

Anthology of WoundsWe laugh at this phrase even though laughing wasnot in fashion that time.Meanwhile we were near home where Ela and themother waited.The mother was sat on her place near the sofa. Ela wassleeping in her arms. Her little head was on her mother’schest and her brown hair flopped on her head until to theeyebrow and the black long eyelash. Her face her lips werecramped to the mother’s black blouse, her hands buckledup on her arms. As if she had felt they had to separate.The mother followed with her black sad eyes as askingus, “Do you have any good news?- Very worried and under pressure, she said, for Ela:- She didn’t like to lie on the bed, she got in after meand slept like an angel.We sat near her. I softly touched her white hand, withblue veins and long and slim fingers.-These hands raised us-I thought. She is like SaintMaria, with the head in one side, timid and noble thattransmitted only love. In her face as a saint she smiledsoftly and warmly.-God is great!-said she-Be hopeful. I don’t care foranything else except Ela.Her voice was trembled.Don’t worry - said Ela - when she will be one year oldwe will bring her here. Let’s stay with her grandma as nowshe is….We didn’t sleep that night.218