King of the Fields

by Isaac Bashevis Singer

  Kosoka said that she came from a remote region—from a tribe known as Tatars. Many tribes lived in that region—Kalmucks, Cossacks, and others with unpronounceable names. A woyak had captured her when she was still a child and she had lost her virginity. The woyak rode with her over the steppes; he stole, looted, sometimes murdered. He stole a horse, was caught, and finally hanged—while Kosoka was forced to stand by and watch. She was sold to another man, who sold her again. By the time she was fourteen, she had had many men. Twice she became pregnant, and twice she miscarried. She bore one infant, which she threw into the garbage pit. Kosoka had slanted eyes—black and fiery—white teeth, and shining black hair. She spoke Russian, Polish, Tatar, the languages of those who roamed the steppes and taigas and tundra. Some of her captors taught her to speak their own language. In all of them Kosoka could intone incantations, invoke devils, babuks, demons, imps. She came from a region where they ate horsemeat and milked mares. The men bought their wives with sheep. She boasted that by witchcraft she could stop a cow from giving milk, hens from laying eggs. She could make bees abandon their beehive, she could make a rooster stand still as if glued to the ground. She could close up a woman’s womb, cause men to lose their vigor. Nosek had bought her from a pockmarked old woman with a blind eye and a lump on her forehead as large as a goose egg. The truth is that Kosoka herself helped to arrange the sale. She took twelve coins for herself and gave only six to the old woman.

  Kosoka was a born storyteller and remembered everything she learned from the old Tatar men in the evenings as they sang by the fire. Nosek had no patience with her small talk, but Cybula liked to ask her questions and listen to her rambling answers. She sang mournful tunes which resembled the yodeling of the Lesnik shepherds in the mountains. She told him stories of men with curved swords and women whose faces were veiled. Kosoka’s father was an old man who had a long white beard and two wives, one old and the other young. When Kosoka was six, because of some sin that the young wife, Kosoka’s mother, had committed, Kosoka’s father chopped off her head.

  Cybula became quite attached to Kosoka and her stories, even though he suspected that they were not all true. But Cybula decided that even if she was lying, he loved to hear and to be with her. When he asked for Nosek’s permission, Nosek said, “Do with her what you like, but don’t make her pregnant, because then she would lose all value to Krol Rudy.” Cybula told Nosek that he had taught himself to spill his seed on her belly and between her breasts. All the while Cybula lay with her, Kosoka went on chattering. In the heat of passion, she sometimes cried out and said that soon she would die. She wanted her soul to fly to the end of the world, where darkness covered the earth and her mother’s spirit awaited her. At other times, her lust caused her to sing whining songs which she herself did not understand. She liked to tell how the woyak—the one who was hanged—used to whip her. When she said or did something to annoy him, he beat her with his stick. Later he licked the blood off her body. He told her that he had eaten the flesh of his enemy and had killed his own brother. Kosoka could read in the palm of a man’s hand what his destiny would bring. She foresaw Cybula’s end, but would not tell him what it was. She told him things about his dead wife, Yasna, and about Kora and Yagoda which she could not have known on her own.

  After long delays and after the artisan who worked on Nosek’s carriage had broken every promise, it became clear that the carriage would not be ready before spring. They had to leave. Nosek decided to spend three days buying as many goods as the horses could carry and then return to the camp. They had come with three horses, and now they had seven. Nosek traded Krol Rudy’s silver and gold to a goldsmith for seeds, horses, hammers, nails, pitchforks to rake and pile hay, and shears to shear sheep. Nosek was planning to raise sheep as well as cattle. Requiring no effort at all, meadows surrounding the camp grew lush grasses and leaves. Horses, oxen, cows, sheep could graze and grow strong during the summer months. Only hay—their winter feed—would have to be provided.

  The innkeeper, Dworak, and his wife, Pociecha, had often said that the tradesmen and craftsmen of Miasto swindled Nosek, sold their merchandise at the highest value and bought his at the lowest. Now that Cybula and Nosek were planning to leave, the innkeeper promised to secure from the tradesmen the goods for which high payments had already been made. Cybula and Nosek would come back for these goods and the carriage in the spring. Dworak seemed to be an honest man, but some gossip told Nosek that he, too, was dishonest. After Miasto, Cybula could see that the few Lesniks who stayed behind in the mountains refusing to join the Poles were right. He resolved to join them as soon as he could.

  (5)

  Several days before Nosek and Cybula planned to leave Miasto and return to their camp, Nosek gave Cybula two gold coins to buy gifts. For Laska Nosek had bought a gold bracelet. Cybula could not decide what gift to buy Yagoda, and he settled, finally, on shoes. He never forgot how beautiful Laska had looked in her shoes when she came to see him off. But to have shoes made for Yagoda required the measurements of her feet. Cybula knew only that Yagoda’s feet were small, smaller than her mother’s or Laska’s or those of his dead wife, Yasna. Several times he had passed the huts where the shoemakers worked, and he now made up his mind to enter. It was a cold, dreary day. The sun was about to set in the west, throwing a reddish light on the snow through a gap in the clouds.

  A small shoemaker sat on a low bench in the room, cutting a sole out of a piece of hide. He was short and dark-skinned, a type seldom seen in Miasto. His eyes were black, as was his beard. He wore a sheepskin hat. He could not have been a Pole, nor did he resemble one of the Lesniks. He might have come from Kosoka’s land. He was so absorbed in his work that he did not look up and see Cybula. Suddenly he started, put down the hide and the knife, stretched out his hands, and began to wash and rub them in the snow outside his door. He wiped them on some rag skin and stood facing the wall. What was he doing? Could he be urinating, Cybula wondered. But no, he stood for some time with his head bowed and murmured to himself. From time to time he rocked backward and forward. After a while he raised his hand, made a fist, and clapped the left side of his chest. Cybula looked on with amazement. Cybula decided he must be a sorcerer or a madman. The little shoemaker stood before the wall for a long time. Then he bowed down low and took a few steps backward. Only then did he raise his eyes and see Cybula, but he still continued to murmur. Cybula said, “What are you doing? To whom are you speaking? I want to order a pair of shoes for a girl.”

  The man mumbled a while longer. Then he said, “Where is the girl? I must measure her feet. Besides, night will soon fall. Come back with her, pan, tomorrow morning.”

  The man spoke the language, but it sounded strange. The words came out clipped; his voice was not the voice of the Miasto people. He added, “Soon I will close my door.”

  No one had ever addressed Cybula as pan. He asked, “How did you know I was a pan?”

  “Ah, we know, we know. You live at the inn with the other pan, the one who bought horses and ordered a carriage. People think Miasto is big, but where I come from it would be thought of as very small. The merchants here are not honest. You two were cheated. But don’t tell them that I told you. They will kill me immediately, those ruffians. They are evil people—thieves, robbers, murderers. They serve idols, not the true God. They carve a piece of wood or a stone, then bow to it and worship it. It is a lifeless idol, not a living God.”

  “Who are you? What is your name? Do you come from Miasto?” Cybula asked.

  “No. My name is Ben Dosa and I am a Jew.”

  “What is a Jew?” Cybula asked.

  “A son of the people whom God chose above all others, and to whom he gave the land of Israel. But our forefathers sinned, and they were driven out of the land.”

  He said all this without stopping, using words which Cybula did not understand. He had already learned from his talks with Kosoka that those who came from foreign regions spoke a mixed-up tongue and scrambled words.


  “What is the name of the place you come from?”

  “Ah, pan, you would not know it. It is a city and it is called Sura.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Far far away. The land is called Babylon. It is never as cold as it is here. And there is no snow, only rain.”

  “Why did you come here?”

  “I did not come by my own will. There I was a merchant, not a shoemaker. I boarded a ship intending to go to Sidon, but bandits took all my possessions and sold me to Canaanites who sailed the seas. I labored heavily for them, and they forced pig meat on me, which I am not permitted to eat. I worked for them for many weeks and months until I became ill. When a slave falls ill and can no longer work, the Canaanites throw him into the sea. This is how all idol worshippers behave. They are beasts. I thought my end was near, but God the Creator of all things took pity on me and I recovered. And so they dragged me from place to place, until we reached the region where the Vistula flows into the sea. There I was sold to men who spoke Polish; I was handed from master to master until I was brought to Miasto to become a shoemaker. My master takes the money I earn and gives me bread, sometimes a radish, an onion, a cucumber. I cannot eat the meat he gives me because it is unclean.”

  “What does that mean, unclean?” Cybula asked.

  “It means that the animal was slaughtered against God’s will. We call it trayf or n’velah.”

  “Who is this God?” Cybula asked.

  “The creator of heaven and earth, as well as of man and all the animals,” Ben Dosa said.

  “Where is he?” Cybula asked.

  “He’s in heaven, on earth, in the depths of the sea, in the heart of all good men, on the mountaintops, deep in the valleys.”

  “Was he on that ship where they made you eat pig meat?”

  “He is everywhere. Come back tomorrow with the girl.”

  “The girl is not here.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Back in the camp, in the mountains.”

  “How can I make shoes for her if I don’t know the size of her feet?”

  “She has small feet, the smallest in the camp.”

  “What is she—a child?”

  “No, an adult.”

  “I cannot make the shoes you ask for. What one man calls small another calls large. I have to take measurements, otherwise the shoes will come out too loose or too tight. I will have taken your coins and given you nothing. I would be cheating you.”

  “Well, then come with me to our camp and take the measurements there,” Cybula said.

  The man sat up excitedly. “Do you really mean this, pan?”

  Cybula thought for a moment. “Yes, really. We have many animal skins, but we have no shoemaker. Our women make shoes for themselves from the skins of animals, but their crude work cannot compare with the shoes made here in town. We need a shoemaker. We can give you a hut and provide you with food, and if you wish, you can take one of our sisters or daughters to be your wife.”

  “Ah, I am not permitted to eat your meat, and I am not permitted to take for a wife a woman who worships idols. Besides, I left a wife and children back in Sura.”

  “I see. But they are there and you are here,” Cybula said.

  “Yes, but God is everywhere,” Ben Dosa said. “He sits in heaven on his throne of glory and sees all that happens here on earth. He knows even what thoughts a man has deep in his heart. Flesh and blood can be deceived, but not God, who is eternal and lives forever.” A while later he added, “Come tomorrow, pan. Perhaps I’ll go with you to the mountains, if they let me free. This town is full of evil men. Perhaps God has sent you to me.”

  5

  The Mutiny of the Woyaks

  There was frost on the ground, but the sky had cleared and the sun was shining as Cybula and Nosek made the return journey to their camp, with seven horses laden with goods Nosek had bought—most importantly a supply of seeds and a stock of weapons. They were also bringing back a man, Ben Dosa, and a woman, Kosoka. Nosek let himself be persuaded to take the shoemaker along, this man who was also a tailor and furrier. He even claimed to be well versed in the art of writing on parchment. He carried a scroll around his neck, with letters and words he wrote. As a young boy he had learned many skills, including mathematics. Although he mixed words of his own language into the Miasto Polish, he could more or less make himself understood. In his homeland Ben Dosa had been a kupiec. Now he spoke not only Polish but even some Niemcy language, the language of the Germans. He said he had learned it while a captive, before he was sold to the Poles.

  The camp could use a man like Ben Dosa. He showed Nosek how the traders cheated him at Miasto, and taught him how to avoid being cheated again. True, he frequently mentioned the nation that was exiled for its sins, the temple which wicked men destroyed, the God whose name he was forbidden to utter, and other strange things. But what was this to anyone? They bought him and his cobbler’s tools for two gulden, not much more than the cost of a horse.

  Because the snow had hardened and the road was slippery, the four travelers preferred to walk. As Ben Dosa took cautious steps on the frozen ground, he praised God and enumerated his good deeds. When he ate a bit of food, a piece of bread, an apple, he blessed God before and after eating. Does he really not see what I see, Cybula wondered. Perhaps he pretends not to see.

  Temporary and perilous though men’s lives were, the mountains, valleys, and waterfalls were radiant on this fine day with permanence and certainty. The mountain snow sparkled in the sun. Here and there a melting trickle of water twisted down the rocky slopes. Under the snow the pines and firs shone green with their freshness. The breezes which blew from the woods brought the smells of spring into this winter day. Most of the birds had flown to warmer lands, but a few remained in the wintry blueness, flying on outstretched wings, bobbing up and down in the heights. In Miasto the snow was soiled with trampled refuse and mud. But in the mountains the snow spread out as pure as it fell.

  For a while Cybula felt hopeful that a world as splendid as this could not be cursed. But soon something within him whispered that bad news awaited them in the camp. What could it be? Had Yagoda left him for someone new? Had the other kniezes incited Krol Rudy against him, plotting to behead him when he arrived? Cybula could no longer keep these dark thoughts to himself. He blurted out to Nosek, “I’m afraid to return home. Sometimes I wish I could go straight to the mountains, back to the cave.”

  Nosek looked at him, astonished. “What are you thinking about? They know in the camp that a journey like ours takes time.”

  “Something has happened there.”

  Ben Dosa suddenly joined in: “Do what Jacob did.”

  “Who is Jacob? And what did he do?” Cybula asked.

  “Jacob is the father of all the Jews. When Jacob left his uncle Laban with his wives, his concubines, his twelve tribes, afraid that his brother Esau might attack him, he divided his family into two groups, so that if one was attacked the other could save itself.”

  Ben Dosa used so many foreign words and unfamiliar terms that Cybula could not grasp what he meant. He snapped at Ben Dosa, “Please use clear language, not the babbling of the Niemcies!”

  “This is not babbling. It is the holy tongue in which the Torah was written.”

  “I still don’t know what you are saying.”

  “Let us not all arrive together,” Ben Dosa said. “If you have enemies in the camp, don’t let them destroy everyone at one stroke.”

  “Not bad advice,” Nosek said. “If you agree, Cybula, I’ll ride ahead with two horses while you remain behind. Although I cannot believe that someone means to harm us.”

  “We have plenty of time to make our plans.”

  As Cybula uttered these words, he guessed what had gone wrong in the camp. The winter wheat was not sown, it was eaten instead. And if the summer wheat was not sown on time, there would be no fields this year. Cybula decided to say nothing. Why reveal his suspicions when they might turn out to be f
alse? Cybula wanted to tell Ben Dosa to mind his business, but restrained himself. After all, Ben Dosa’s advice was good. Cybula regretted that he had blurted out his worries, and yet at the same time he felt somewhat eased. From time to time he threw a glance at Kosoka. Alone with him she was a talker, a chatterer, but she held her tongue when Nosek was present. She regarded Ben Dosa with a sort of anxious curiosity.

  Ben Dosa carried his tools in a sack on his back. Several times Cybula urged him to let the horses carry them, but Ben Dosa refused, saying the sack was not heavy. No matter what one said or asked of him, he answered with sayings from a holy book. He sometimes made Cybula wonder. He had lost his home, his family, was exiled in a foreign land, was never able to eat enough because so many goods were forbidden, unclean. Yet despite this, his face expressed peace and assurance, and his gaze was gentle and keen. Who knows? Cybula thought. He might be a sorcerer, or even a stargazer.

  The horses’ uphill climb in winter, with Kosoka and Ben Dosa and the heavy loads, was difficult. It took much longer to go uphill than downhill. Both men and animals left tracks behind them in the snow, inviting robbers and murderers to follow. Yet no harm came to the travelers. They were now close to their destination and could easily enter the camp that night, but Cybula and Nosek preferred to spend the night in the woods and wait for daybreak.

  Early the next morning the first hint of trouble was revealed. Cybula came upon the field and saw that it was neither plowed nor sown. Then he caught sight of Kora. She seemed to be waiting, as if expecting his return. He looked at her and stopped in his tracks. Her skin was sallow, her cheeks hollow; she looked haggard, emaciated, prematurely old. She was barefoot. When she saw him she cried out, clasped her hands to her head, and began howling like an animal. Cybula stood and gaped. Before he managed to utter a word, Kora clapped her hands together and shrieked, “They are here, they have come back! My heart did not deceive me!”