The other Veronica will have left home
with a purseful of sestertii.
Morning will be fine, the sky cloudless.
The merchant will offer her a length of azure silk
and wool at a discount.
They will exchange a few words about the weather,
that it has not rained for a long time
and how the Cedron now is only a turbid scrap of water
that crawls down the dry riverbed. How
there are less fish from the Galillee
and the cost of salt has gone up.
She will take the wool.
Summer will be dry, the pasture poor,
and the following winter harsh.
Some sage, horseradish to go with the meat.
A basket of almonds,
oil for the feast. And linen.
Security will be tight. A soldier
on every corner, a checkpoint in every square.
At the city gate, the guards
will examine everything
except the linen.
Flax strengthened with hemp
and washed white with soapweed.
Double-width, finely woven, not for a shroud
but for two fair shirts.
She will take the fabric and do with it
as she sees fit.
When her grandchildren ask her what it was like,
she will remember everything, even the price of linen
and the smell of spring.
Ona druga Veronika gre ven
z mošnjičkom, polnim sestercev.
Jutro bo lepo, nebo brez oblačka,
trgovec ji bo ponudil sinjemoder kos svile
in volno po znižani ceni.
Rekla bosta nekaj besed o vremenu.
Da že dolgo ni deževalo
in kako je zdaj Cedron le kalna sraga vode,
ki se vleče po izpraznjeni strugi. Kako
je vse manj rib iz Galileje. In sol
vse dražja.
Vzela bo volno,
poletje bo suho, paša slaba
in mraz drugo zimo.
Nekaj žajblja in hren, za k mesu.
Merico mandljev,
olje za praznik. In platno.
Varnost bo poostrena. Na vsakem vogalu
vojak, nadzorna točka na vsakem trgu.
Pri mestnih vratih bodo stražarji
pregledali, vzeli v roke vse,
razen platna.
Lan, ojačan s konopljo
in obeljen s koreninicami milnice.
Dvojna širina, drobno tkan, ne za prt,
temveč za dve fini srajci.Vzela bo tkanino in naredila z njo,
kot se ji bo zdelo prav.
Ko jo bodo vnuki vprašali, kako je bilo,
se bo spominjala vsega, tudi cene za meter blaga
in vonja pomladi.
