Yanek set out to run around the fields. “Don’t rush, just keep a steady pace,” Grandpa Sergei instructed him.
When he returned from the run, his leg muscles hurt, and he collapsed on the ground, short of breath and exhausted. Grandpa Sergei told him to massage his legs with some oil. “This is the first step of the way, Yanek. A sound body will protect you and your soul. The soul is soft and delicate, and only a strong body can wrap it up and protect it.”
“Can you see the soul?” Yanek asked.
“No, just as it’s impossible to see God.”
Yanek went out on a morning run every day. At first the runs exhausted him, but gradually he learned to overcome the muscle cramps.
The next task Grandpa Sergei imposed on him was to climb trees. This task also wasn’t easy at the beginning. For days he learned to use his arms and legs well, to grasp the branches properly and move from branch to branch. Sometimes he hung from one branch in order to swing himself over to a nearby tree. Grandpa Sergei stood at the foot of the trees and asked, “Where are you? Now what are you doing?” Yanek tried to tell him exactly.
That month Grandpa Sergei also told him to look for logs and train in picking them up.
After two months of tough training, Yanek felt the muscles of his body, and when boys threw stones at him, he went toward them angrily. The first confrontations were hesitant, but as time passed, fear abandoned him.
Grandpa Sergei often repeated his instruction: “You have to keep training. Every workout adds to your strength. Most people are cowards. Daring and firmness scare them. Too bad they’re not afraid of God.”
One night, two boys tried to steal their bundles. Yanek woke up and leaped at them. In a few minutes he overcame both of the robbers. Grandpa Sergei was pleased by Yanek’s quickness and the way he had acted.
When he was young, Grandpa Sergei had been in a special army unit. He was a daring soldier, a champion long-distance runner and weight lifter, a model soldier. Because of that they promoted him to the rank of master sergeant. If he’d finished high school, they would have sent him to the officers training course.
His long military service had made him a nocturnal creature whose hearing was sharp and who caught scents before other people did. His sense of taste was also fine, and he could always tell what was fresh and what was spoiled and thus inedible.
After he went blind, his other senses grew more acute. Sometimes he would stop in the middle of a field and say, “Rain is on the way. We have to find a tree with thick leaves.” There might be no signs of rain around them. The sun could be in the middle of the sky, without wind or clouds. But Grandpa Sergei’s forecast was always right. The sky would quickly be covered with clouds, and rain would fall.
Blindness spoiled his life, but it didn’t affect his faith in God and in good people. When Grandpa gropes with his cane, he looks hesitant, but his voice is clear, and even his silence has great strength. All his conduct shows he was a commander. When they met one of Grandpa Sergei’s former trainees, he couldn’t get a word out of his mouth because he was so moved. Finally he asked, “How are you, sir?”
“Fine,” Grandpa Sergei replied.
“I miss my time in the army,” said the man, almost bursting into tears.
“Everything in its own time. When a man is young, he climbs mountains and ties ropes over chasms and welcomes every danger eagerly. When you’re older, you have time to think.”
“Thinking drives me crazy, sir.”
“Say to yourself: For my part I did the best I could, and the rest is in the hands of heaven.”
“I haven’t attained that high level, sir.”
“You have to accept life quietly, Gregor,” Grandpa Sergei spoke softly to him.
“How can I accept it quietly? My wife drives me crazy, and my daughters have strayed from the right path.”
“As I said: quietly. If not, you’ll go crazy. You evaluate the situation, weigh the possibilities, and in the end you decide to act.”
“Once, sir, I knew that way. The army and dangers taught me patience.”
“Even today you can say: I’m doing what’s right in God’s eyes, and the rest is in the hands of heaven.”
Gregor sighed and said, “I’m so glad I met you, sir. You restored me to the fine days of my youth. I was proud to be under your command. We were all proud of you. Together we were sent to godforsaken places to save people from avalanches and flash floods. Our togetherness was amazing. We would get to dangerous places by foot and try to do everything possible—and even the impossible. Life meant something.”
“Gregor, my friend, don’t be angry at me if I tell you that life means something today, too.”
Gregor bowed his head and didn’t answer.
For a long time Gregor sat next to his former commander and didn’t utter a syllable. Finally he turned to Grandpa Sergei and said, “Sir, not a day passes when I don’t see you before my eyes. May God help you. Who deserves His attention more than you?” Without adding another word, he went on his way.
5
Summer days are long. Yanek sits for hours and observes the colors of the sky. Grandpa Sergei puffs on his pipe, and he asks, “How’s the sky?” Yanek answers, “There’s still a lot of light.”
Mostly, they’re quiet, but from time to time Grandpa Sergei is roused from his silence and tells about his army days, his fellow soldiers, the training, raids, and rescues. Not every soldier is accepted in the rescue unit. The tests are hard. You need stamina and resourcefulness and determination. Anyone who doesn’t meet those standards is rejected. Grandpa Sergei reminded his soldiers that service in the special unit was a great privilege. Frequently he would praise a soldier with these words, “You’re a soldier in every cell of your body, and at the same time you’re moral, and you’re not arrogant.”
When Grandpa Sergei tells about the time of his military service, his eyelids tremble, and his forehead gleams, and it’s clear that his memory is showing him clear pictures.
“Was it hard in the special unit, Grandpa Sergei?” Yanek asks cautiously.
“Hard, but good,” answers Grandpa Sergei. “I was young and strong, and I leaped like a panther. All my life was ahead of me, and I had no worries. Those were the most beautiful days of my life. I would come home, and the whole village cheered for me. In time my uniform got full of medals. The village children would look at me with admiration and list my medals according to their importance. On Sundays, in church, the village notables would approach me and shake my hand. To tell you the truth, my heart was proud.”
“Grandpa Sergei, will I be in the army, too?”
“I assume so, but you have many years before you’re drafted. How old are you?”
“Eleven.”
“You have a lot of years before you.”
Grandpa Sergei tells his stories briefly, without many details. Yanek listens and doesn’t bother him with unnecessary questions. He stores up every story that Grandpa tells in his memory. Yanek loves his voice and the tobacco smell that wafts up from his pipe. When Grandpa Sergei gets excited, he swallows some of his words, and Yanek doesn’t catch the whole story, just a few images, but they’re retained.
Meanwhile, it’s time to get fresh supplies. Yanek goes to a peasant woman from whom he bought before. On the Sunday before, the churchgoers had been kind, and they had received generous contributions. Now Yanek had enough money to buy things. The peasant woman recognizes Yanek and calls him by name. She brings cucumbers, tomatoes, little onions, and potatoes from her garden, and she adds a loaf of brown bread, a jug of milk, and a slice of cheese. The peasant woman names a price, and Yanek immediately answers, “Too expensive. I don’t have that much money.”
“How much can you give?” asks the peasant woman.
“I have a fifty-mark bill.”
“I won’t give you the labor of my hands for fifty marks.”
“That’s all I have,” Yanek answers.
“For fifty marks I can’t give you
the loaf of bread or the jug of milk.”
“I’ll go to another farm,” says Yanek.
“At another farm you’ll get rotten vegetables and sour milk.”
“You’re an honest woman. Last time you gave me fresh produce,” Yanek flatters her.
“Everything I have is fresh, but not for free,” says the peasant woman.
“I’ll go,” says Yanek. “Last time you sold for fifty marks, and you were satisfied.”
“Go. We’ll see whether anyone will give you fresh produce like mine.”
“I’ll go,” says Yanek.
“Fine,” says the peasant woman.
“Take away whatever you want, except for the bread and cheese,” Yanek suggests.
“I’ll also take away the jug of milk.”
“Please leave the jug of milk.”
“Go away. I don’t want to see you again,” says the peasant woman with feigned anger.
In the end Yanek hands her the bill and adds two smaller bills, puts the supplies in his sack, and, with the jug of milk in his hand, he heads for the gate.
“May God bless you,” he says.
The peasant woman doesn’t respond to his blessing, a sign that she’s still annoyed.
Grandpa Sergei hears Yanek’s steps as he approaches and calls out, “Yanek.”
Yanek removes the sack from his shoulder and tells him what he has brought.
Grandpa Sergei’s blind eyes smile. He had also taught Yanek how to bargain, what to say and what not to say, and the main thing, to be calm and avoid eagerness.
“How did the negotiations go?” Grandpa Sergei asks.
“They were long,” Yanek answers.
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her I’d go to another peasant woman.”
“Brave guy,” says Grandpa Sergei, and pats him on the shoulder.
Yanek places a few potatoes in the campfire and hands Grandpa Sergei a piece of bread, cheese, and tomatoes. They sit and eat. The bread is fresh and tasty, and the tomatoes are juicy and sweet.
The supplies will last for two or three days, and then they’ll pack up their things and set out on their way.
In the summer wandering is easier: they go from village to village. Some villages are quiet and pleasant, but other villages are hostile to wanderers and beggars and kick them out with threats.
“Don’t worry, Yanek, God will make an accounting with them.”
6
They thought they would stay here until Sunday, sit at the church door, and wait for charity. But Grandpa Sergei decided they’d better leave the place and move on. A few young men had passed by them and mocked them, and a woman, not a young one, had even shouted at them, “Get out of here.”
The next day, after breakfast, after Yanek made his daily run, climbed a tree, and did gymnastic exercises, they went on their way. On the road they saw blossoming trees, white rabbits, and even a cherry tree with ripe fruit. Grandpa Sergei didn’t allow Yanek to pick the fruit, even if the trees were on public land, so people wouldn’t say, “The wanderers steal.”
Before arriving in a village, they wash in the river. The water is warm in the afternoon. They remove their clothes and go in. Grandpa Sergei, despite his age, has a hairy, sturdy body. But he doesn’t swim. “Blind people mustn’t swim,” he says with a slight laugh.
They reach the village in the evening. The tree they had stayed under on an earlier visit has already sprouted thick foliage. The renewed encounter makes them happy. They remove their packs and bundles, and Yanek tells Grandpa Sergei what his eyes see. Meanwhile he builds the fire. They still have a bundle of potatoes, which Yanek quickly places in the campfire.
A half hour later the meal is ready. Yanek serves a potato to Grandpa Sergei, with a wedge of cheese and some cucumber, and along with that, a cup of warm, brown tea. Grandpa Sergei eats slowly, and after he’s finished his meal, Yanek lights his pipe for him. He sits next to him and observes his movements, which are quiet and given over to his reflections.
“Should I go to the tobacco store and buy some more?” Yanek asks.
“No need. I have more than enough,” answers Grandpa Sergei.
For a long time they sit without saying anything. Regarding speech, Grandpa Sergei has principles: there’s no need to talk; act, don’t speak. Speech only causes a fuss. Better to listen. Listening will teach you something.
Since joining Grandpa Sergei he’s obeyed these instructions carefully, but now he can’t restrain himself, and he asks: “Grandpa Sergei, where haVe they sent the Jews to?”
“Who knows? But don’t worry, your father is smart and resourceful.”
After a pause he adds, “They’ve always driven the Jews out. In the last war they also drove them away, but they came back and fixed up their houses.”
“What harm have the Jews done to make people hate them?”
“It’s better not to ask questions we can’t answer.”
At night sleep takes him to his house, and there everything is as it was. In the afternoon Yanek comes home from school, and Father returns from the lumberyard. Mother has cooked lunch: borscht with sour cream and cheese blintzes. After lunch Father lights a cigarette and sips tea.
“How was the test?” Father asks, and Yanek answers, “I got ‘excellent.’”
Upon hearing Yanek’s answer, his father’s face glows, and Yanek, full of pleasure and dread, wakes up from the dream.
Grandpa Sergei is already awake, with a cup of tea in his hand, spreading pleasant-smelling smoke.
“How did you sleep?”
“Well. I was at home. The house was as it always was.”
“Were you pleased?”
“Something didn’t seem right to me.”
“You were dreaming. Dreams aren’t reality.”
“What are they?” Yanek asks.
“In a dream, among other things, God shows us what we must do.”
Yanek doesn’t understand all of Grandpa Sergei’s explanations. When Grandpa Sergei talks about God and about His actions in this world, most of what he says is incomprehensible to him. But not to worry—Yanek has decided within himself—he’ll make an effort to listen. Maybe he’ll also disobey his father’s instructions and ask for some details so that the obscure things will be clear to him.
7
This is how a new day begins: Yanek goes out for a run around the fields. Now he is light on his feet and within an hour he returns to Grandpa Sergei.
Grandpa Sergei greets him and asks, “How did the run go?”
“Everything was fine,” Yanek answers with a grownup voice. Without realizing it, Yanek has adopted Grandpa Sergei’s words and gestures. He answers briefly, like a soldier executing an order.
Here they’ll stay for two or three days. Soon he’ll return to the peasant woman, Mary, and he’ll buy vegetables, milk, and bread again. Grandpa takes two twenty-mark bills out of his pocket and says, “Bargain with her like a brave soldier.”
Yanek remembers the short, sturdy peasant woman, Mary. She hardly utters a word, but she’s as stubborn as a mule and won’t reduce the price she’s stated by even a penny.
Yanek makes his way to her at a run, opens the gate, and here’s Mary standing at the door of her house.
“Good morning, Mary,” he calls out loud.
“What do you want?”
“Vegetables, dairy products, and bread, like last time.”
“I’ll show you what I have in the garden.”
After some delay, she returns holding a basket: two red tomatoes, a bundle of radishes, green onion, a few cucumbers, and potatoes. She enters the house and brings half a loaf of bread, a jug of milk, and a piece of cheese. She lays it all down on the bench at the entrance.
“What’s the price?” asks Yanek.
“No less than forty marks,” she surprises Yanek pleasantly.
“Could you add some salt?”
“I’ll give it to you.”
Yanek pays, places the grocer
ies in the sack, blesses her, and is about to go.
In the end she says, “Don’t forget to return the jug.”
“I won’t forget,” says Yanek, and sets his legs in motion.
Grandpa Sergei is pleased with the price and asks, “What happened?”
“I guess she got confused,” says Yanek.
Upon hearing his answer, Grandpa Sergei chuckles. They eat breakfast without speaking. After the meal and after drinking their first cup of tea, Yanek lights Grandpa Sergei’s pipe, and Grandpa Sergei sinks within himself.
That night Yanek dreams he is at home: everything is in its place. Only his mother’s movements are slow, as after an illness, but her face is unchanged. His father’s movements are also unusual.
“What’s the matter?” Yanek managed to get those few words out of his mouth. His father and mother looked at him and his father said, “We have returned from a very long journey. We suffered a lot. If only we could understand why we suffered. It’s hard to speak about it. Maybe it’s better not to talk.”
“Father, but you haven’t changed.”
“Inside, my dear. We changed a lot.”
Yanek wants to tell the dream to Grandpa Sergei, but he can’t find the words to tell it. Since he’s been with Grandpa Sergei, the words have grown fewer in his mouth, and it’s hard for him to compose a sentence. In his heart Yanek knows that the dream was trying to tell him something.
Grandpa Sergei, drinking his fill of tea and puffing on his pipe, lays his head on the sack and fall asleep. Yanek likes to look at him while he’s asleep. It’s not the sleep of an old man, but of a soldier after a day of training and a trek. His years of military service are impressed in every one of his movements, in every non-speech of his. Once he said something surprising, “The army prepared me to be a soldier in the army of God.”
“How, Grandpa Sergei?”
“I stick to the Ten Commandments as to the Order of the Day. Once I liked going to church, but since I took to wandering on the roads, they don’t allow me to enter the church. But there’s nothing bad without something good in it: I learned to live without splendid prayer, but to pray within myself.”
Long Summer Nights Page 2
