Rustic childhood stories Marian Nastase

When I was a child, I really enjoyed listening to the old stories. The time of the stories was in the autumn, when the grapes from the vineyards were beginning to ripen. 
Each family in the village had a plot of vineyards on Holey Hill. Even now I remember the elders from the village climbing Holey Hill, one by one, two by two…. Since Holey Hill is quite steep, from time to time they would stop, look back in the valley, over the village, and admire the beauty of Tutova Valley. Once at the top of the hill, everyone would go visit their vineyards. 
The vineyards of my parents had a slightly higher position, from where all the other vineyards could be seen. Next to ours, Moș Prisecaru also had his. He was a wise old man, he knew many stories, so the elders, after visiting their vineyards, would come and gather around next to Moș Prisecaru's, beginning to tell the memories of their young years, from the war.
Each had taken part in at least one of the two world wars. They all had marks on their bodies. Moș Prisecaru did not have a leg below his knee. He was wearing a wooden prosthesis. It was very heavy. It was tied in leather straps to his body, and, leaning on two crutches, he could barely drag his foot up the hill - or through the vineyard. Another elder did not have a hand below his elbow, and the rest of his hand was tied with a string around his neck. Most of them said that they had pieces of shrapnel, either through a rib, or through a leg, or through a hip… Their clothes were very old. But clean. They had gentle faces. But also harsh. They were glad to be alive. To be able to go up the hill to the vineyard. To be healthy.
We, the children, would also be present, sneaking through the vines and nibbling on yet another ripe grape. All very well until any of the elders would notice us - and then they would whistle after us, and we would run like fire through the vines. Sometimes they would take their crutches and come after us to catch us. Then it was woe betide us not to flee: we no longer cared where we fled; the important thing was to escape. With our ears untouched.
We would often forget that, on the side of the vineyards, on the coast, there were thistles. And, as we were barefoot, we would run four or five steps, then we’d had to sit, because we couldn't run anymore. Sometimes, out of the desire to escape, we would also put our palms down - and then we would wake up with our soles, behinds and palms all full of thistles. And that's how, from time to time, some of the elders would catch us - and pull our ears.
The stories of the elders were always impressive to me. In fact, these stories were memories of their lives. From the army, from the war… All their stories from the pre-war army period were funny - and they had a lot of fun together telling these stories. However, when it came to memories from the war, from the front, during the battles they had fought, they were becoming sad. At this point, most of the time they would refrain from telling stories anymore.
At some point, one of them would intervene and change the subject, saying: “Well, good people, we have gone through many difficulties, but what will they, our children, do, because the end of the world is near: the year 2000 is coming”. To which Moș Prisecaru would also intervene and say: “Well, good people, it isn’t quite like this actually. The end of the world will not be in the year 2000. I have a book at home - and I read it often. And there, in the book, it is written..."