Don Bacho & Bedina Daagdo ... -

Bedina arrived, leaning lazily against his donkey, Gogi. "Bacho, that wardrobe is larger than my house. Why not just burn it and tell people it was stolen by a ghost?" "It’s an heirloom," Bacho insisted. "We carry it."

Bacho, realizing the wardrobe was now a projectile, dove into the mud. The wardrobe didn't just fall; it soared. It hit the rocks below with a sound like a thunderclap, exploding into a thousand splinters of oak and antique dust. DON BACHO & BEDINA daagdo ...

The sun was barely kissing the peaks of the Caucasus when Don Bacho stood outside his stone hut, scratching his chin. He had a problem: a giant, ancient wooden wardrobe that had belonged to his grandmother. It was heavy, smelled of mothballs and history, and needed to go to the village at the bottom of the valley. Bedina arrived, leaning lazily against his donkey, Gogi

And so, they walked back up the mountain, leaving the "dropped" history behind, already planning how to tell the village they had fought off a pack of wolves to save the empty air. "We carry it

Bacho looked down at the wreckage, then at his muddy hands, and finally at Bedina. He started to laugh—a deep, booming mountain laugh. "You’re right, Bedina. It was getting heavy anyway."