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He reached the village in the dark. Their house was at the edge of the forest. From a distance he saw some thin smoke coming from the chimney. His heart would leap out of his chest.
He got off the horse in his father’s yard. Milkana, standing on the doorstep, ran scared by the stranger, locked the door, and shouted from the window,
“We are poor people, Aga! Go on your way. You cannot stay here”.
Stoil jumped off the horse, threw the fez on the ground, made the sign of the cross over himself and in a choked voice shouted,
“Milkana, it’s me, Stoil, your husband! Didn‘t you recognize me!...”
As if wings carried Milkana out. She threw herself in Stoil’s arms. They stood hugging each other for a long time in the yard. The evening wind, hidden in the bushes, rushed to dry the tears from their faces.
The PlovdivLit site is a creative product of "Plovdiv LIK" foundation and it`s object of copyright.
Use of hyperlinks to the site, editions, sections and specific texts in PlovdivLit is free.