I realized it was a ruse, and I was glad. But I held my tongue. I heard the half-brother grinding his teeth. The gold blinded him completely. He was afraid to make a decision.
"We have time until tomorrow," you said. "For now, I will sit down here. There is no hurry. The night is long." But after a while, you went on: "You are planning to marry the youngest sister. I have heard that you fondle her cheeks in the hallway, like a good uncle!"
"That is none of your business!" the half-brother shouted. I too felt utterly sick. I had known nothing about it. Perhaps you had been told that by the other sister, who hated me.
"It is somewhat my business," you said. "I would rather my sister married a rich man."
Finally, the half-brother asked: "How can I be certain that you are not lying?"
"Send one of your men to the ship," you said. "But he has to take my sword along and show it to them. That is the sign we agreed on. When he has viewed the wealth, as I have described it, he can hoist a light on the mast to let you know. Then they will come and haul the treasures here. In exchange, we will take back the corpse, and you will be rid of us. But if it is not true, then you can have me killed. You are many, and I am unarmed!" The half-brother thought to himself.. I will have the treasures and kill him anyway. He is stupid; that was what he thought of you. And he sent a man with your sword to the ships.
"But first put the dead man out in the courtyard for me," you called in order to confuse him even more. "Should I trust you more then you me? Have him brought out. I want him lying here with his weapons, so that he has his dignity."
"Bring him," the half-brother ordered, jeering at you in his heart. We waited. Finally we heard them lugging the dead man. The bier collided with the door-post. They had a difficult time carrying it. He had been a big man. They placed the bier in the middle of the courtyard. You strode over to it and scrutinized the dead man.
"Very good," you said to the half-brother. "It will soon be good when I have buried you," you said to the dead man. "Let us wait." And we all waited.
"What do you intend to do after burying him?" the half-brother asked, trying to outfox you.
"That is my concern," you replied. "Perhaps I will become a farmer and till the soil on the other side. What choice do I have."
"Do you not want to take your mother along so that she can help you?" asked the half-brother. He felt so secure that he was already talking about it openly. He also wanted to look important in front of his men.
"I have no mother," you said.
"What do you mean? She is standing right here. Take a look," he replied.
"That is purely a mirage. My mother was the kind of woman who could not survive the death of such a man. For if she were still alive, I would have to kill her. But she would not do that to me."
"Did you hear?" the half-brother turned to me.
"Yes," I said loudly, not to him, but so that you would hear it. And we continued waiting. How long we had to wait. I believe half the night. It was dreadful.
The half-brother grew uneasy again. "Why can you not wait?" you said to him. "You are waiting for the wealth and for the bride. But I am waiting for death."
Finally, I spotted the light. I was the first to see it, for my eyes were fixed on the harbor. The light rose over the sea like the morning star.
"There!" I cried, and everyone saw it. They joyfully rattled their weapons.
"Soon it will be time," you said to the corpse. I heard it precisely.
"When they come, open the gates and let them in," the half-brother ordered. "But let no one out until I say so."
I listened precisely to the noises from the harbor. All of us listened. We also heard people coming up the streets. They approached slowly.
"Now do you see that I was not lying?" you asked the half-brother and then you stationed yourself by the corpse.
"Not yet," said the half-brother. "First I have to see the treasures."
"Right away!" you said. "Listen to how hard it is to carry them."
Everyone was quite hushed with expectation. But outside the courtyard, the noises came nearer and nearer and the night grew louder.
"They are coming!" the guards finally shouted at the gates and opened them.
The hinges shrieked.
"Is it time now?" I asked loudly.
"Yes," you replied.
I drained the cup of wine. Next, I went to the door of the palace, lingering there. I had to hold tight to the door-post because of the pains. But the half-brother had noticed nothing. He peered greedily towards the gates.
I saw that many soldiers were running into the courtyard. I saw you taking the dead man's sword, which they had placed on his bier, and you leaped towards the half-brother. I went to my room and stretched out on my bed.
For a while, I could listen. First there was a tumult, but not for long. "What is happening now?" I thought. "If only I knew." I listened, I listened. I did not want to leave until I knew. I resisted leaving.
Meanwhile, day must have dawned. I could no longer see it. There were many people around the palace. They shouted: "Long live the king!" And you stepped out on the stairs and said: "Rejoice, the war is over!" I felt very sorry for you. But I had to leave. I was exiled here.
"I am tired of all this, Mother," I said.
"Just sleep, child," she said, "for you must wake tomorrow."
And I slept.
I have nothing more to tell.
I will only say to the people lying around me: Go out there and look for a river. Wash yourselves so that you can recognize one another — for when they see their faces again, they will give one another names. And when the names ring out, the earth will awaken and think: Now I must let flowers and trees grow.
I would also like to tell them: One has to thank the women; for they saved us when we were fed up with one another and wanted to destroy one another. But I am not certain of my voice. Perhaps it is hoarse, I would have to clear my throat, and the words would sound false on my lips. I am not used to saying such things.
That is why I prefer standing here in silence, with my back to the city, making sure that no one goes there. This is my task. If I succeed in enduring there as long as necessary, then I will ultimately be granted an immortal name. They will say "the shepherd," and everyone who utters it will know whom he means.
However, I will have to keep an eye on the man whose face I find sinister. Someday, he will try to push me aside in order to go to the city. I could say: that is his business. For if curiosity drives him there too early, he will destroy himself Yet how much more havoc would be wrought, and everything would have been for nothing.
But perhaps it is unfair of me to be afraid of this danger and to distrust him so anxiously. It is better to believe in his other possibility. For I imagine that someday a child will be born. While the others still stand around the mother, marveling, and not really knowing what to say, he will be precisely the one who suddenly falls to his knees and cries out Just look, we have a past!
Then it will be as if the twilight receded from all things. They will see again the city behind me and hear the hymns of those who existed before us and who are always around us when we know we perceive them. They will hear the forebear's voice, distinct and infallible, and they will recognize the teacher's male voice because it is sometimes off by half a note. Now and then, my younger brother will mischievously add an exultant trill to the song, and my father will only hum along modestly. Who would want to miss this humming, which links the voices of the others?
However, the master will lead the chorus with huge sweeps of his arms. His joyous bass drowns out everything else and gives the beat. It makes the hills stretch out all around, and the heads of the trees sway in time. But the mother rocks the child in her lap, and again she says as usual: just sleep; for tomorrow you must wake.
Ah, we will have to wake and keep silent for along time, until we earn it —
But I ask forgiveness of you, who have listened to me. I believe it has stopped
raining.
An Offering for the Dead Page 11
