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And so on, one step after another, and another, but each one entirely new and exciting, promising yet another, still even more exciting step, Aska passed from one field to another, through one clearing to another, into dark forests, and under damp passages between beech trees covered with huge, mature leaves. Her blood froze and her thin legs could not move.
Ivo Andric – Aska i Vuk by Jasmin Jusuf Jusufović | Free Listening on SoundCloud
They were small, modest steps for a body destined to die soon, but they were enough to befuddle for a moment the astonished wolf. But every time when her mother went to school to ask about her grades and performance, the teacher would go on and on about how Aska could do much better if she were not so distracted.
Finally, what would the rest of the sheep community say if they heard that her daughter had taken just such a path? Who knows if it was true or not, as is the case with every story such as this one? When the shepherds heard the woeful voice of Aja and sensed the apprehensive mood passing through the flock, they selected among themselves two younger men and sent them into the woods for the lost, wayward lamb.
Neither of them now measured either the time or the length of the path. The ways of art were dubious, deceptive, and hard, and dancing was the hardest and most deceptive ico arts, even a disreputable and dangerous one. Aska finished the first class of ballet school with the highest marks and was about to begin the second class. It was the start of autumn; the sun was strong but beginning to fade and there were brief, warm showers that made a happy rainbow over the wet, sunny fields.
That day Aska was very happy and very carefree. Over the green meadow, through tight passages, between grey, hard beech trees and above anfric smooth and brown carpet of leaves that fall year after year in layers, Aska, the lamb, danced, no longer a lamb, not yet a ewe, light and lively, like white milkweed carried by the wind, becoming grayish when she entered a patch of fog, becoming abaze like a stage show when she entered a meadow covered by sun.
Her mother, teary and happy, fussed over her daughter, and all the sheep and rams gathered around to witness the wonder.
Aska i vuk
Aja, a big ewe with thick fleece and round eyes, gave birth to her first lamb, who looked like all newborns, a fist of damp wool starting to bleat. This end, though, azka starting to look less and less attainable every second because the dance was overwhelming him and making him forget all else.
This reconciliation became even easier when little Aska showed a great gift and aptitude for dance as she progressed. How did a young, white, pretty lamb wander so far astray as to step right into his jaws?
I can tear her apart at any moment, whenever I would like.
Death was standing in front j her, an enigmatic but still certain, horrible, incredible fact. Surely, it was the only firearm on the Sloping Meadows, and it served more to raise the fortitude and confidence of the shepherds than to be a real threat to the wolves. But her abilities and knowledge were limited to just that.
No sheep from a good family had ever followed such a path, and so on. And one day, the event that Aja was so afraid of actually happened. First one, then another, and then a third. In time, Aska felt better and even became an obedient daughter and fine student, and with time the prima ballerina on the Sloping Meadows.
Running through the bright, green fields, one after another, Aska inhaled the scents of the old bent beeches covered with mosses like the opiate of a story about an extraordinary event. There was great joy on the Sloping Meadows. She performed newer and newer figures, figures that no school and no ballet teacher had ever before imagined. When she would come upon a hill, she would plunge herself down its slope, pretending she was a brazen skier going down a hill made from smoothed-over, dry leaves, just as fast as when a person runs his thumb across the piano keys: When she thought that the wolf was coming to an awareness of who he was and what he was, Aska hastened her dancing and courage.
Still today, after many years, this famous ballet is performed on stage where art and the will to resist prevail over all evils, even death. She wondered what, after all, could be so wrong with art?
Aska fell like a hit bird in flight during a stopped movement, and the wolf ran into the forest like a green shadow. This is how the well-meaning, worried mother spoke to Aska. One of them had only an old bludgeon, but a stout one, and the other carried a rifle, if we could even call it that.
Aska claimed that no one in their family had ever been anything anddic a docile sheep-housewife. They passed through dark fields between flocks and corrals.
Aska and the Wolf
The younger one had tied the back legs of the wolf together and easily dragged his bloody, long body down the hill.
They, though, did not have to go far. Aja sharply admonished her otherwise well-behaved, intelligent, and beautiful daughter. Aska never talked about her encounter with the beast, or about her dance in the forest. This gave the terrified Aska a tiny bit of time, when she thought there was none left, and the time was so short that it did not seem like time at all.