[narrator has returned home as WWII ends, after 15 years of fighting as a partisan; his aunt shows him the Latin verb study sheets still tacked to the ceiling of his bedroom where he studied as he lay in bed]
“Right you Are,” I smiled. “Amo--amas--amat…How odd!” I shook my head. “How odd…”
“Eh, what’s odd about it?” asked Auntie. “Who thought at the time that it would be so long before you came back!…’
“I’m not thinking of that,” said I with a kindly gesture. " It only occurred to me in passing, that in Latin the verb “to love” is always given as an example of the easiest and most regular of the verbs. And yet in life that verb has more exception and tenses, more irregular and more difficult than any other. How very few of us can conjugate it correctly!…”
'Outside at this moment the sun was already a good fathom above the hilltops. The valley was divided lengthwise into two aspects. On the sunny side, a gentle, fertile slope still damp with dew; dreamy and blurred, it was screened by finely sifted strands of sunlight; while our steep and barren shady side was vivid and bathed in sunshine. The heath was already dry and so was the yellow, fluffy spring flower the name of which I forget. It quivers under the warm touch of the sunlight. Safe in its protection it fearlessly unfolds, opening its cups and with its perfume invites the fat, yellow, downy bumblebees--so like itself, buzzing on a low note as they seek for honey and at the same time unconciously and involuntarily lend their aid to the flowers in their loves. Such is a May morning on every clearing, along every cartroad, on every hill and grassy upland, and also at Obrekar Oaks.’
[Translated by F S Copeland; 1959 edition, Lincolns Prager or London House and Maxwell, both listed on title page.]
A novel of the countryside, of peasants, superstition, cycles, inescapable poverty and the consequences of love in war. Of a man stranded halfway between his origin in the village and his participation in the wider world of education, resistance, war, cities, betrayal. Of war’s destruction and senselessness. Imbued with the physical presence of the Slovene land.