He’s like an ersatz husband for Marja. She raised him, and she pampered and spoiled him even as a chick; now he’s full-grown and good for nothing. Struts around the yard imperiously and leers at me. His internal clock is messed up, always has been, though I don’t think it has anything to do with the radiation. You can’t blame the radiation for every stupid thing in the world. I lift up the covers and let my feet drop to the ground. On the floorboards is a carpet I crocheted out of strips of old bedsheets. I have a lot of time in winter because I don’t have to tend to my garden. I rarely go out during winter, only to fetch water or wood or to shovel snow from my doorstep. But it’s summer now, and I’m on my feet at five in the morning to go wring the neck of Marja’s rooster. Every morning I’m surprised when I look at my feet, which look knobby and swollen in my German hiking sandals. The sandals are tough. They’ll outlive everything, surely including me.
What do You think about Baba Dunja's Last Love (2016)?
