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ISSN 1409-6900 | UDK 82+7     Blesok no. 101-102 | volume  | November-December, 2015



                     Peer-reviewed journal
Blesok no. 101-102November-December, 2015


p. 1
Aleksandar Prokopiev



Translation from Macedonian: Kalina Maleska
    The first image that came to me of my grandfather’s house was snowy, perhaps because I write this story before New Year, when it snowed in Skopje, which had not happened for a long time. Unlike these past few years, in my earliest childhood, snow was a common winter phenomenon. The roof of the house in Pajko Mahala [1], in which four generations of my closest relatives lived – my cousins, my aunt and uncle, grandpa and grandma, and my great-grandma Marija – as well as the bare tree crowns in the yard, were under a thick white cover. It was snowing night and day, so that when we would come back in the evening after playing games around the neighborhood, we were white and frozen as little Laponians, with boots filled with melted snow and tiny ice particles aligned on the wet wool socks. I would take them off quickly and, encouraging myself “oh, oh”, I would put my legs into the washbowl of warm water waiting for me, prepared by grandma. While I was rubbing my legs, grandpa would come down to bring a bottle of black wine from the cask in the cellar. With the same feet that were now warming up in the bowl, in September I was stomping the grapes in the wooden tub in the cellar.
    Pajko Mahala survived for a few years after the earthquake, all the way to 19 The houses continued their lives, but somehow each for itself. As I was growing up and started going to school, it seemed to me that the children on the streets were much less interesting than those in the school yard. And the girls that I started staring at, and for whom I was having lustful fantasies. I was definitely entering my puberty, hair and pimples appeared on my chin and body, while my nose and a few other organs grew larger; I found it difficult to deal with this accelerated transformation of my own body, while a new kind of unrest and questions were curling up and down through that enlarged new body. Besides, I moved far away with my parents, at the edge of the city, among the orchards of Taftalidze.
    Looking from a distance, however, the map of Pajko Mahala was still leaving the same image. The house of grandpa Pavle was


1. Neighbourhood of Pajko

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