By means of signs and a word or two, the artist made Todor understand that she wished him to pose as if he were selecting a squash as he had done in the market. But that was not Todor’s idea of a portrait. When persons had their pictures taken, they sat down and looked properly dignified. He was willing to sit against the wall and hold the squash in his lap, though to his mind a squash had no place in a picture. But that is how the artist finally drew him. And what did Todor care when he saw the five lev piece in his hand at the end of the sitting?
With a bright smile of thanks he raced off to buy something to take to his mother when he should go back to Sliven.
And now, if Todor could see himself in an American book, he would probably think it the greatest adventure of all.
KOSSOVO DAY
It was Kossovo Day, the 28th of June. Since sunrise people had been dancing the kola. Round and round they went, holding one another’s hands high in the air and stepping backward and forward with a swaying movement, as they turned in a great circle to the sound of a drum and a fiddle.
Any one could take part in the kola when he liked. He had only to break into the ring, seize the hands of those next to him, and fall into step; or if he had gone round until he was dizzy, he could drop out as suddenly as he pleased, and fling himself on the grass to watch the fun.
From every little hamlet in the hills the people had come in their best clothes, bringing baskets of cherries or cheese or mushrooms to sell in the town; so there were always new ones to take part when the others were tired.
Peter and Pavlo had started early, in fresh white linen suits, with gay girdles. Between them they carried a great basket of cherries slung on a pole. The money from the sale of the cherries they must take home, but their grandmother had given them each two groschen to spend on sweets.
First, however, they went to the schoolhouse, where the children were assembled to march in procession to the church. Mary was there too. She had managed to come, although she had had to bring the baby with her. Mary’s parents were Serbian, but she had been born in America and had gone to school there until she was ten years old. That was nearly a year ago. Then her father had brought the family back to his Serbian home to see his old mother. She had written to him in his American home: ‘The war is over. I live alone. Before I die, bring the wife and child, whom I have never seen,’ and she had sent money for the passage. So Mary’s father had taken her mother and her across the sea. There was no little brother then. He was born soon afterwards, and not many months later Mary’s grandmother had died, and left the cottage and the fruit orchard to her son. Now it seemed as if they might stay in Serbia.
