It was rumoured that the curse of stillbirth had come to the village with the potter. He did not look like somebody who had a family, moreover it was whispered that he was not even in Bohemia at the time of the plague. There was another rumour that he came from the wild east, and he even daubed that strange sign on his pots. Since he lived with the unwed woman, the villagers refused to buy his works, so he had to visit other markets in the neighbourhood, where he was a stranger.
“I can’t take this anymore!” the girl scratched her nails across the table top, which served as the only clean and flat surface in the house.
The old charmer said something again in Bulgarian, but none of them understood her. She pushed her wrinkled hands roughly against the girl’s stomach.
“I would rather die!”
