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"Mother's tear" / Author: Angel Karaliychev /traslated by Ann Wood

He was enslaved by a small autumn rain. The yellow leaf in the garden turned on. The big grape grains beneath the vineyard swelled and their skin began to crack. He dipped the purple dimmer over the bursting pot in the noise. Swing the little bird-swallow at the bottom of the pot and shudder from cold and grief. Everyone has gone. They fled to the south of his two sons. He lost his mother in the warm country. Who will warm him up on this rainy night? They left him only at the bottom of the pot, because he was a saucer and could not fly. In the summer, a fire broke out in the house, under whose roof his mother had squeezed a nest. As long as the old swallow was able to snatch his baby out of the fire, a charcoal fell into the nest and a swallow on the right wing. The naked chicken fell out of pain. When he got up, he saw that he was in a new nest, and his mother sat down with his head down. At first he tried to move the wings, but could not because the right, burned wing had withered.
Summer is rotten. Grape grains were darkened. The buds of the dimitrovets in the garden were eaten. The telegraph wires swarmed. They were preparing for the road. The wires looked like beads.
One morning the old swallow pulled down his jacket in the garden and said,
"Dear child, today we will go south. You can not fly. That's why you will stay here, here in a pot I have set you a soft feather. You will lie there. And when you get hungry, go outside and break something. The whole garden is full of fruit. Look at what a nice smoker has prone his forehead over the pot. Do not worry. We will come back again in the spring.
"Thanks, mother, you took care of me!" "He murmured the sackcloth, hiding his tears, dropping his head under his mother's wings, and quieting ...
Everyone has gone. Dark days have gone down. A small rain drowned. The varnished dimmer grew sorely over the pot. A raindrop dropped on the bottom of the color and set to fall.
- Oh, how tired I am! She sighed.
"Where are you from?" The Swallow asked curiously.
- Leave it. I went a long way. I come from the Great Ocean. I was born there. I'm not a raindrop. I am a tear.
- Did you teach? What tears? "The Swallow has risen alarmingly.
- Mother. The story of my life is short. Nine days ago, a tired and swollen swallow landed on the mast of a large ocean sailboat. I stood in the right eye of the kneeling bird. The ocean roared. A strong wind blew. With a feeble voice, the swallow of the wind said: "A breeze when you walk over the world, if you go through Bulgaria, turn to my chicken chicken and tell him to guard against the black cat that turns into the garden. I forgot to order my baby when I left. Tell him also that my heart has dried out of sorrow ...
"Where's your swallow?" The wind asked. "I left it in a cracked pot, rolled up in the garden, where lawns are blooming.
When the old swallow said these words, I stood out of her eye. The wind grabbed me and took me over the world. Nine days I was flying. Now I have fallen on this flower. How tired I am! I want to fall and fall asleep ...
The heart of the swallow canyon turned. She rose quickly, opened her beak, and took the mother's tear.
- Thank you, Mother! He whispered, lay down in the feathers, and asleep, warmed with tears, as if under his mother's wings.

Short story by Ann Wood