“If such battles were fought over each soul, there’d be as many angels in heaven as there are sparrows in Kharkiv!”
“He was laid out on the floor, and they cast spells over him,” Mykhailo continued in the same vein. “The old man finally died, but he still wanders about in this world...”
“Who filled your head with such rubbish?” Skovoroda stopped. They were walking along between the city ramparts and the river. “Human life is like a garland: with a beginning and an end. From the earth you come and to the earth you return. Once a person has died, they are not given the power to rise and move about, similar to rocks, iron and clay...”
“What about the spirit, the soul?” Mykhailo asked in a whisper.
Hryhoriy did not reply for a long time. He walked along, deep in thought, alone with his dou
