Nikoloz Gostashabishvili. Translation
The introduction
You know, New Year is every child's favourite time in Georgia,I guess, so that many of them just wait for it the whole year. Well, we had this smalll story learned at school, that I translated into English. It's something, that will tell you about those children at New Year's Eve and how they lived in general.
The story
I remember when I was a child I desired soon to dawn last night of New Year. I remember the last night of New Year in our small village, where we were around our mother: two sisters and three brothers. At that day we didn’t want no trap, no snowball, no jumping into the snow and no running. We were waiting for tomorrow. All that we remembered was tomorrow and all that we were desiring was tomorrow. What we had to do outside when there were many fruits and sweets inside. We were fussing in rooms: there was everything. There were almonds and walnuts cleaning for Gozinaki, there was honey shaking us its finger: come and regale your mouths.There was our mother melting honey in a fireplace and it seemed that honey was talking: wait till tomorrow, today I’m melting for you. We were creeping between everything and we were glad if we could taste honey there might be laugh and fight of angry mother. We knew, that mother and father weren’t really fighting to us and we were fumbling in the room searching something to eat. The eldest child of us wasn’t older than 12.
Many years have passed after that and many things it has carried away. My mom and dad died, two brothers and a sister died, too. Only we: a brother and a sister stayed on the Earth. Now we have grown grey and when the New Year comes it makes me look back with tears. I see how glad my parents are and how glad we are. I hear talk of my little sister and brother, I hear wise, lovely conversation of my parents. Today these are only sweet dreams. Today there are only five graves in that small village, where I remembered many things and there is buried everything, that my heart burnes on. There are buried my mother, father, two brothers and a sister and also my childhood, happyness, that passed and never will come back.
This happy time passed and never will come. It went away and my heart suffers from different pain, from different sorrow, but sometimes man don’t even exchange it into gladness. It’s sweet the moan of pain, it’s sweet the tear of that sorrow. This moan cools my heart burn like breeze and these tears are watering my withered heart for it’s reviving. Somebody has said: take delight is a pleasant pain, and my pain looks like that exactly.
Most of all I remember one last night of New Year. I don’t know why we didn’t want to sleep, probably because that we were waiting tomorrow or we were playing.
Our mother had many times said: go, my children, fall asleep, but we didn’t want to go to bed and we were entreating her: don’t make us go, we don’t want to sleep. Mother was cooking Gozinaki and Alvakhazi, there were basins packed with almonds, nuts and honey. Our father was walking up and down with pipe in his hand. Our little sister was walking between basins and somehow she stumble on one of basins and honey was spilled. Mother was very offended and she told father with irritation: for God’s sake, take these kiddies away from me and tell them a fairy tale, may be they fall asleep or leave me alone.
My father knew very good fairy tales and we loved to listen to him very much. We liked, that mother instructed father to tell us a fairy tale. We ran to him and some were on the arm, some were on the hem of Akhalukhi.
_ Please, daddy, tell us a fairy tale, _ we cryed out from everywhere.
_ Our mother doesn’t want us to be there and tell us a fairy tale, we don’t want to sleep.
_You’re my mister. let’s go.
Father went into another room and we went after him. There was fire put on a fireplace. There was a long ottoman accross the fireplace, our father set down on that ottoman and we sat down around him. Our little sister layed on the ottoman, put her small head on his hands and looked him with her black eyes, and it seemed, that she really wanted to listen to a fairy tale. But she and the third brother always was asleep when our father was telling a fairy tale, actually.
father began: “ I have told, that tatars were enemies of Georgians. We had no rest of their invades. And we were fighting to them by our force. Everybody loves mother country, my children, and when it is in trouble it’s difficult not to sacrifice oneself. Many people sacrificed themselves and many people became famous with their bravery and with their devotion for their country. I’ll tell you a story of one person and remember it.
Nowadays
The things are a little different now, however, that excitement of waiting for the day to come has not faded away and it's still in childrens' hearts. Though , many things have changed, and, I guess, they have changed for better.
Photo gallery
Want to have your own Erasmus blog?
If you are experiencing living abroad, you're an avid traveller or want to promote the city where you live... create your own blog and share your adventures!
I want to create my Erasmus blog! →
Comments (0 comments)