"It is useless, - mournfully repeated Sarah. - This child will die. " She said even doomed tone, which, as I later learned, all resort negros, when, in their own words, "smell death." But the first time I was faced with such an attitude, and something inside me rebelled against the voluntary renunciation of the fight, to die this allows curly crumbs. "Let's take her for yourself - I blurted out. - Let me hold her, Sarah. " To my surprise, the old woman placed the baby in my arms. Perhaps she was just pleased to be able to relax and warm up. I tightly hugged her child and sat by the fire. And while I was holding the baby, suddenly I realized what was wrong with him. I saw his body is absolutely clear, it was tears mathematical problem - Department of disease in a small tummy. The baby was wrapped in a shawl. I unwrapped it and put his free hand on the small black belly. Almost without realizing what I was doing, I slowly began to massage. Other children continued to talk, ask Sarah about the baby and how he got to her, and of her daughter, who died in New York. Sarah took coffee and biscuits offered them a large tins.
Η χώρα των χαμένων ευχών (Το τραγούδι του χρόνου #1 )
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