Where are such stalls?..

Переклад англійською Андрій Євса
Translated by Andrey Yevsa

Our Aunt Maryna fell ill. Everybody was afraid that she would die. Mother took me to visit the ill woman.
Aunt Marina was lying on the plank bed, her lips were parched and her head was covered with a kerchief. Two women were sitting beside her; they put ice on her head and spoke in low voices.
Aunt Marina’s daughter Marusya leaned sadly upon the table while the little boy, Matviyko, his mother’s favorite, was playing pranks on the pillows and crying out loudly.
He was asked not once:
“Don’t be naughty, Matviyko, your mum has a headache!”
Matviyko was as cool as a cucumber.
“Stop it now, Matviyko!” he was told at last. “If you continue to play pranks your mum will die.
“So what? Let her die,” Matviyko said.
“But how will you live without your mum; who will wash your shirt and cook meals for you?”
“We will buy another mum.”
The woman, nursing his ill mother, sighed heavily, shook her head and said:
“You will not, my son: there are no stalls where native mothers are sold.”
“Don’t they have them at the market?”
“They don’t have them there, my son.”
“And at the fair?”
“They don’t have them at the market, or at the fair, and you will not find another native mother in the whole world if this one dies.”
On hearing this Marusya put her head on the table and began to cry bitterly.
Matviyko fell silent too; he became thoughtful and then came up to his mother and offered her a bagel, which had been given to him as a present.
“Take it, mum, and don’t die.”
Mother looked at him with distressed eyes; it seemed there was a hint of a smile in them.
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