He filled his cupped hands with water, splashed it in his face. Ooh, sheer bliss! A stream of water trickled into his bosom. Hryhoriy took off his shirt and washed the dust of the road from his chest and neck. He then drank till he could drink no more, dressed and stretched out on the green grass in the shade. The sun blinded him through the young willow leaves, as if flirting with him. Without waiting for the evening, two nightingales began to compete in the thickets by the river. Here and there cuckoos counted someone’s years, a hoopoe struck its tympani, and a turtle‑dove babbled away.
He closed his eyes. God, what more of a paradise could people wish for! But no, they churned about, forging fetters for their neighbours. Freedom-gobbling brutes! Like hawks they soared through the sky s
