A few pupils approached him, shook his hand, and wished him success in his new life. Christina didn’t move away. She kept crying out, “It’s terribly unfair. We have to go out into the playground, hold up signs, and proclaim that there will be no such injustice in our school.”
The boys who gathered around him weren’t willing to go so far. They stood where they were. The bell rang and interrupted that commotion, but Christina didn’t stop raising her voice. She said that their class was cowardly. “You can’t expel a good friend and a good student just because he’s not a Christian. We’re commanded to value people not according to their origin, but according to their character and virtues.” For a moment she didn’t seem like a girl, but like a fighting woman.
Before long the teachers entered the classrooms, the doors were closed, and the silence of discipline was felt in the corridor.
Yanek left quickly, and he arrived home short of breath.
All that night Christina’s face never left his eyes. Though they exchanged no words, it seemed to him that he had conveyed a lot of himself to her. For her part, she also conveyed a lot to him. That night he heard her voice clearly, and it was addressed to him. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“What are you sorry for?”
“Because I didn’t talk to you.”
“You did speak, and I also spoke, but it was speech without sound, so that no one would hear.”
“Don’t feel sad. We will get to speak a lot.”
Suddenly she extended her two hands to him and said, “Since they expelled you from school, you’ve been with me. No hour passes when you’re not with me. I pray in my heart that your exile won’t be long.”
Around noon Yanek asked, “Grandpa, should I make cornmeal porridge?”
“An excellent idea. Thank God we’ve been provided with that good food. Kiril knew what we needed. Do you know how to make cornmeal porridge?”
“I know. I liked to watch my mother cook cornmeal porridge. I watched her hands.”
“You’re blessed!”
That way of talking brought tears to Yanek’s eyes. He stepped aside so that Grandpa Sergei wouldn’t hear him crying.
Within half an hour the porridge was ready. Yanek served Grandpa a full plate and sprinkled bits of cheese on it. He also took some for himself.
Grandpa tasted it and said, “Excellent porridge. It’s been many days since we ate hot and tasty food like this. Even simple food is a gift from on high. People tend to undervalue the food they’re used to.”
After the meal, Yanek thought of going to the store to buy tobacco leaves, but he didn’t go, because they had run out of money.
Yanek doesn’t say, “There’s nothing to be done.” Once Grandpa rebuked him for saying, “Nothing can be done,” because there was a note of despair in saying that.
Grandpa Sergei is tall and solid, and before he went blind he was probably even taller. People tend to be moody, but moods don’t influence Grandpa Sergei. Before folding the sack and laying his head on it, he said, “Let us pray that God will favor Kiril and free him from his melancholy. He was a brave soldier and stormed the enemy fearlessly. Let’s pray that his courage won’t fail him this time either.”
While he was talking, a peasant approached them and asked, “Are you wanderers?”
“True,” Grandpa Sergei stood up and answered.
“Isn’t it hard to wander?”
“Hard,” Grandpa Sergei answered with a single word.
“Don’t you have a house?”
“No.”
“I don’t understand how people can live that way.”
“We live,” answered Grandpa Sergei, “we’ve learned not to complain.”
“But still, who helps you?”
“God.”
The peasant was dumbstruck by the word that had just been flung at him. He stood where he was for a moment, then, without asking anything else, he went on his way.
Grandpa Sergei asked for a cup of tea, and after sipping it and puffing on his pipe he said, “Our life isn’t splendid, but it has a purpose.”
“Grandpa Sergei, when did you start wandering?” Yanek asked cautiously.
“When your father went bankrupt and lost all his money, and I had nobody in the town, I didn’t want to stand in the street and beg, so I decided to go out to the villages and sit in church doorways on Sundays.”
“At first was it hard to wander, Grandpa Sergei?”
“Absolutely. But the solitude brought me close to God. I learned to trust him and to love him.”
15
Yanek prepared vegetables, bread, and cheese for supper. Grandpa Sergei was content, but gathered into himself. Tomorrow was Sunday. In the morning they would fill their bundles and packs and go to the church. This was a very difficult time for Grandpa Sergei, to sit and wait for gifts from flesh and blood was shameful.
Yanek got up early and took his morning run. He prepared a cup of tea for Grandpa Sergei and lit his pipe for him.
Grandpa Sergei was in a good mood, and he jokingly said, “Let’s go to church, and we’ll do it like soldiers obeying an order. More than once my unit was sent to clean the garbage that had piled up along the roads. It’s a nothing job, just to keep the soldiers busy, so they won’t get lazy. We’ll do that, too. But in our hearts we’ll know that it’s a contemptible task and not done by free will.”
After a short pause, Grandpa Sergei added, “God sent you to me. What would I do without you?”
“You don’t have to thank me. I have to thank you.” They reached the church, stopped, and sat next to the path that led to the entrance. Yanek took off his cap and placed it on the ground.
The first worshippers passed by without noticing them. Yanek got to his feet with his cap in his hand and was about to call out, “Don’t ignore the helpless,” the way beggars and cripples do, but he restrained himself. Grandpa Sergei forbade him to ask out loud. There was only One whom one addressed and asked for mercy.
One of the worshippers bent over and placed a small bill in Yanek’s cap. That little donation pleased him. He hoped that other contributions would follow.
The prayers in the church lasted for a long time. When it was over, the worshippers came out and distributed a few more small bills. Some of them also came to Yanek.
Yanek was disappointed. Grandpa Sergei noticed his disappointment and said, “Thank God, we have plenty of cornmeal and it will nourish us. You mustn’t be ungrateful.”
Without delay they set out. On the way they met a peasant who was resting in the shade of a tree. Grandpa Sergei asked, “How’s the war going?” At first the peasant didn’t understand his question, and, once he understood it, he said, “People say the Germans are going from victory to victory, and some people say that the Russians have recovered and launched a counterattack.”
“Didn’t they take the Jews away from here?” Grandpa Sergei asked.
“They took them to big pits and shot them.” The peasant spoke in an objective manner.
“How do you know?”
“I saw it with my own eyes.”
“They killed them for no reason?”
“They killed them because they were Jews.”
Grandpa Sergei didn’t ask any more questions. Without saying goodbye to the peasant, they went on their way.
At first Yanek hadn’t understood the peasant’s words, but once he did, his leg muscles froze, and he could barely drag them. In the end he couldn’t restrain himself and asked Grandpa Sergei, “Are the peasant’s words correct?”
“Peasants tend to exaggerate. Their imagination soars.” Grandpa rushed to put out the fire.
“Do the peasants hate the Jews?”
“Yes,” he said.
From then on he didn’t ask. They stopped beneath a tree. Grandpa Sergei sensed that Yanek was tired, and he lit his pipe by himself and sank into his thoughts.
Yanek wanted to ask Grandpa Sergei about the Jews, but he didn’t. The peasant, the way he looked, the way he sat, horrifi
ed him, and only now did he feel the dread it sowed in him.
In the end Yanek overcame his reluctance and said, “Grandpa Sergei, I’m afraid.”
“Of what? Of whom?”
“Of the peasant we talked with.”
“What about him frightened you?”
“What he told us about the Jews.”
“You mustn’t be afraid, my friend. Fear diminishes you.”
Yanek understood that his spirits had flagged, and he had to be strong so he could help his parents and grandparents when they returned from exile.
He was tired and fell right asleep.
In his sleep he was in school. The two class bullies were teasing him, calling him “Jew” and shouting at him: “What are you doing here? Go to the Jews.” Yanek stared at them, and with a sharp movement that Grandpa had taught him, he knocked them both to the ground. They lay there and it was apparently hard for them to get up. They were amazed.
Many months had passed since he’d been in school. Suddenly Christina rose from the bench, stood, and said, “Yanek, where have you been? You’ve changed a lot. I almost didn’t recognize you. Your new height suits you.”
“I’ve been exercising,” he answered.
“Wonderful,” Christina said. “Will you be with us now?”
“Not yet. I have to finish training.”
Christina was wearing a blue sweater that Yanek was particularly fond of. Her pretty face had gotten much prettier since he saw her last.
When he woke from his sleep, the sun was still on the horizon.
16
They reached the village of Karilovka toward evening, when the flocks were returning from pasture.
Grandpa asked as usual, “What do you see?” Yanek quickly answered, “No change.”
“And what color is the sky?” asked Grandpa Sergei.
“Reddish green.”
“Do you think it’s beautiful?”
“Very,” Yanek quickly answered.
“Still, there is a change. The sky isn’t colored reddish green every day. Every minute something in nature changes. It’s too bad we ignore these marvelous changes. A man like me, who can no longer see the wonders, knows what is denied to him. But thank God his imagination shows him what he once saw.”
This time they had collected very little, and they wouldn’t be able to buy fresh food. But one mustn’t be discouraged. There was cornmeal and there was still a piece of cheese, and there was tea.
Yanek made cornmeal porridge and served a full bowl to Grandpa Sergei. Grandpa tasted it and said, “Excellent,” and Yanek filled a plate for himself and sat down.
They were tired from the road and got ready to go to sleep. Suddenly a tall, thin man appeared out of the darkness. His hair was long, and he immediately started to blame the wanderers, because all the troubles came from them: disease, the poor harvests, strange deaths, rain at the wrong time. Everything was because of them. Wanderers not only stole, they also frightened children at night. They should be put in prison.
Grandpa Sergei listened and he immediately realized whom he was dealing with. He rose to his feet and said, “Where did you got those falsehoods from?”
“What do you mean? Everybody says it.”
“And I tell you that they’re falsehoods.”
“They are true,” said the man, beginning to jump up and down like a boy.
“The Bible says, love thy neighbor as thyself. You’re supposed to love every man, whether he lives at home or wanders, or is a cripple. You have to love everyone.”
“Why didn’t I remember that?” he said, and grabbed his head.
“Now you’ll remember.”
“It’s forbidden to forget the commandments that are written in the Bible,” he said, and childish amazement covered his face.
“You won’t forget now,” said Grandpa Sergei.
“What should I do?” he asked.
“Do good,” Grandpa Sergei spoke to him softly.
“True.”
“Now go to sleep, it’s late already.”
“I’ll go,” he said, and started running toward the village.
They had run into all kinds of people on their way, but they hadn’t met such a strange man before.
Yanek served a cup of tea to Grandpa, lit his pipe for him, and for a long time they sat without speaking.
Now Yanek saw the long, bright summer evenings in the garden of his house, the colorful suppers. He and his parents spent most summer nights together, sleeping in the cellar.
The separation had come swiftly, so swiftly that Yanek had barely felt it. Father came down to the cellar at midnight and woke him. He said they had to go immediately and look for Grandpa Sergei.
“Grandpa Sergei will watch over you until we come back.”
Yanek remembered seeing Grandpa Sergei standing at the door of the storeroom in the lumberyard, listening with his blind eyes.
They searched for him all night long, and there were moments when they were about to go back home, but suddenly his father saw a man sitting under a tree and smoking a pipe. He recognized him and called out, “Sergei.”
That had been more than a year earlier. Since then Yanek had changed. He was taller, his shoulders were broader, his walk was steady. He had outgrown his shoes twice. He leaped easily. Grandpa Sergei insisted on daily training. Recently he had been teaching Yanek how to box. Grandpa Sergei, despite his disability, had often knocked down peasants who were taller than him.
Grandpa Sergei fell asleep. Yanek folded a sack and lay his head on it. He immediately saw Christina before his eyes, not as he had seen her all those years in school—pretty and quiet—but as he had seen her on the day he was expelled, a girl with great strength in her. Now he also heard her voice: “Injustice is disfiguring the world, and at this moment it’s making us ugly,” she raged. Her strength of character added to her beauty. Everyone was surprised, but no one said anything. A few children giggled. Yanek was embarrassed and frightened, and all the way home Christina’s words trembled in his ears.
When he climbed up the stairs to the house, his mother came out and asked, “What’s the matter?”
“They expelled me from school.”
“For how long?”
“Forever.”
“Did they say why?”
“No.”
His mother almost burst into tears, but she restrained herself. In the end she recovered and said, “Don’t worry, my boy. You were always an outstanding student, and you still will be. Soon they’ll be sorry they expelled you. Soon they’ll ask your forgiveness.”
That was only the beginning. In just a day their pretty little town turned into a trap. The Jews weren’t allowed to leave their houses at night. Gendarmes and soldiers burst into the houses, plundered everything of value, and after the robbery, they took the old people and children away.
17
The next morning Yanek woke up early and went out for a run around the fields. When he returned, Grandpa Sergei was still sleeping. Yanek climbed a tall tree, quickly reached the top, came down easily, and immediately started to get the campfire ready.
Had it not been for Kiril, who had supplied them with a quarter of a sack of cornmeal, their situation would have been desperate.
At noon he would go to the peasant woman, whose name he had forgotten, and buy some dairy products from her with the money they had collected.
“Most of beggars’ time is given over to the needs of food and clothing, and they don’t make time to contemplate their souls or the purpose of life. We have to be careful not to sink into that muck,” Grandpa Sergei warns.
When Grandpa Sergei speaks about matters of faith, he grows taller, his forehead shines, and it’s evident that he’s connected to another world. Once he had said with enthusiasm, “Yanek, open your eyes and look at all the wonders that surround us. A flowering tree is no trivial matter. It speaks to us the way a calf in a field is pleased to see us from a distance.”
When Grandpa Sergei w
oke up, the water was already boiling, and Yanek started to prepare a cup of tea for him.
“How did you sleep, Yanek?” he asked.
“Well.”
“Did you have dreams?”
“I had some, but I forgot them.”
“I believe I’ve already told you that God also talks to us in dreams.”
Yanek poured a cup of tea for Grandpa and lit his pipe for him.
“Good tea,” said Grandpa Sergei.
Then Yanek went to buy dairy products. Most of the peasants—men, women, the youth—had gone out to harvest the grain. Only old men and women stayed back to watch over their houses. It was quiet. From the stables and cowsheds the whinnying of horses and the mooing of cows could be heard.
Suddenly Yanek stood still and said to himself, “I will always remember this quiet sight.”
No sooner had the words left his mouth when, astonished at himself, he moved his feet and set out for the house where he had bought bread, dairy products, and vegetables a few months ago.
The members of the family were in the fields, and an old woman stood at the gate and asked, “What do you want?”
“I wish to buy dairy products.”
“How much do you have?”
“Twenty marks.”
“I’ll bring you a slice of cheese and a jug of yogurt.”
“Be generous, please, and add some bread and vegetables, Grandma.”
“For a twenty-mark bill you want fresh and tasty produce, and, as if that weren’t enough, you have more demands?”
“Grandma, give with the generosity of your heart.”
“It’s a good thing you can accept what I’m willing to give.” Yanek didn’t rush back to the tree. The silence and the blossoming trees captivated his eyes and reminded him of vacations with his parents in pleasant little guesthouses in the mountains, the long walks, the tasty meals in the shade of tall trees.
What had they spoken about during those long, quiet days? He didn’t remember. He was reading adventure books by Jules Verne and westerns by Karl May then, and they were his world.
Since leaving the house he had changed. He had forgotten his name from home. When Grandpa Sergei says, “Yanek, would you please . . .” It seems to him that he has always been called Yanek.
Long Summer Nights Page 5
