King of the Fields

by Isaac Bashevis Singer

  While the windstorm howled outside, and Kora prepared to risk her life at the camp, Cybula wanted to remain sitting by the fire and daydream. What was there to do on such a day? He stood on the brink of disaster, but in his mind he conjured up all the pleasures of life: young women, nights of passion, a palace, a carriage, servants, horses. The children who ran about playing were now all his. With the woyaks killed, he was fathering a new generation. All the women in the camp were now his concubines or wives and bore his children. He had become a patriarch, the father of a new kingdom of the fields. He even lay with his own daughters and tried out his daughters-in-law before they married his sons. Now great stretches of forestland had been cleared, and the camp was surrounded with fields, gardens, orchards. The camp had become a town, like Miasto, with tall buildings, a high tower, workshops …

  He fell asleep, and when he opened his eyes, the wind had died down. The air that streamed into the cave was ice cold. By the light of the fire Cybula saw that Kora was wearing his sword. She had covered her bare arms and legs with skins. Yagoda sat by the fire and roasted a rabbit she had brought from her former burrow.

  Kora was ready to return to the camp. He stared at her, and she smiled at him through the shadows that fell on her face. He asked, “Are you really going?”

  “Yes, I am really going.”

  “Why must it be today?”

  “Because the sky is covered with clouds and at night the moon will not shine.”

  “Even if you don’t die of the cold, the woyaks will surely kill you.”

  “No, my krol. The gods are with me.”

  Part Two

  * * *

  8

  Krol Cybula

  The cold and harrowing winter, one long night strewn with nightmares, was over. After spring came, Cybula wondered how they had endured the bitter cold. The sun now shone brightly and warmed the camp as well as the large plot of land that had been planted with summer wheat. The women’s revolution, led by Kora, had succeeded and the camp was at last free of the woyaks. Kora and her followers had slaughtered ten of them. The women stole into the woyak huts one night and slashed off their heads with swords, or smashed them with the stones they used for grinding wheat. Kora had agreed to spare Krol Rudy and Nosek, who were not oppressors, and because she knew Cybula did not want Laska made a widow and Ptashek an orphan. Krol Rudy himself lay ill and half-crazed. With ten woyaks dead, the four woyaks who had been injured but not killed by the women gave up the fight when they realized their power was broken. They took to the road to loot and kill elsewhere when they recovered from their injuries. Kulak and Czapek luckily escaped death by not going to their beds that night; they had caroused all night and drunk themselves into a stupor and, while the massacre proceeded, snored away on the floor of the barn. When they were sober enough to understand what had happened, they joined forces with Nosek and Cybula.

  Women now dominated the camp, because few males were left—apart from children, old men, and a remnant of Lesniks whom Cybula had persuaded to come down from the mountains. The women crowned Cybula against his will. It was foolish, he said, to be krol of an assembly of women, children, and old men. He asked the women to choose a queen from among themselves, or else wait until Krol Rudy died and appoint Laska queen. But the women placed a pumpkin on his head, lit several wax candles, and declared Cybula krol.

  Kora, Laska, Nosek, Kulak, Czapek, Ben Dosa, and one of the returning Lesniks became Cybula’s kniezes. The next morning the entire camp went barefoot to the fields to plow. Kernels of wheat had apparently been left in the fields after the last harvest, because here and there green shoots had already sprouted. The women wanted to chase Krol Rudy from his cabin. Cybula persuaded them to let the former krol remain.

  Cybula was well aware that the camp’s true ruler was no one else but Kora. Since he considered their newly established kingdom little more than a game, he thought, Why not let the children play? He even suspected that Kora had a queer passion for the bodies of women as well as for the bodies of men. Ben Dosa reminded him that Miasto was surrounded by a wall, and Cybula then and there decided that their camp would have a wall, too. The region was rich in rocks which could be used for construction. With every rock they cleared and every tree they cut, they would gain another plot of land for fields. Nosek, who was able to count, multiply, and divide, calculated that for the camp to construct a wall which no enemies could destroy would require many years.

  Ben Dosa argued that the work should begin immediately, without delay, and that one of the most important things was digging wells. Isaac, the son of Abraham, had a special passion for digging wells. He also told them the history of Beersheba. This little shoemaker with the dark face, the dark beard, the sparkling black eyes, spoke not only of God, heaven, and Jerusalem but also of matters they could all understand. He argued, for example, that what was done in Miasto could be done in the camp as well, and even the camp could become a town. Almost everything needed was available here: land for fields, pasture for cattle and sheep, gardens for vegetables, orchards for fruits, while the rivers teemed with fish and the forests with animals and birds. They could trade in food and goods, but to become a true city the camp would need money. To trade goods there had to be measures in gold, silver, tin, or copper. They would have to put prices on all merchandise. The people of Miasto, and those of the surrounding estates, needed meat, skins, wool, flax, honey, wheat, timber. Not far from Miasto tree trunks were bound together and made into rafts, then sent down the Vistula, which flowed into the sea. Merchants from lands where many people lived and many languages were spoken paid for the timber with articles of iron, copper, glass, and brass, as well as woven carpets and clothes, and even beautifully fashioned jewelry. Ben Dosa said that in those cities there were men who practiced every craft: tailors, shoemakers, blacksmiths, carpenters, furriers, bricklayers, spinners, weavers, carvers, dyers, tanners, braiders, polishers, and so on. The Mishnah listed thirty-nine crafts which could not be practiced on the holy day of rest. One of them was writing. Yes, in Babylonia, in the land of Israel, in Egypt, Syria, and in many other lands, there were scribes who copied words on parchment. It was necessary to study God’s commandments day and night, so that believers could keep away from sin. He suggested that when the boys of the camp reached a certain age, they be sent to craftsmen in Miasto to learn their trades. He also suggested that tradesmen from other towns be brought to the camp. The unmarried men could find wives among the camp’s women, settle down, raise families. Thus would the camp increase its size, while the danger of being attacked would lessen.

  The camp never grew tired of hearing Ben Dosa speak. Even the children, who did not always understand, came to listen. The women had only one thing to say: What a pity it was that he refused to marry one of them—he could father a whole generation of clever children! But Ben Dosa abstained from women. He permitted no woman to befriend him. He often reminded them that, in the distant land of Babylon, he had a wife and children. And even if he were free, he could never marry a woman who did not with all her heart and with full understanding embrace the Jewish faith.

  Of all the divine laws which Ben Dosa explained to them, the one about circumcision seemed to the Lesniks strangest. Why cut the flesh of a boy only eight days old? Why shorten a part of a boy’s body when everyone knew it must grow with the years? Whenever Ben Dosa mentioned this commandment, the people laughed, and even the children snickered.

  (2)

  During the long interval that stretched between the sowing and the reaping, Kora began to prepare for Cybula’s public marriage to her daughter, Yagoda. The days were sunny and warm. The forest teemed with animals that, foraging for food, often came so near the camp that women and old men could shoot them with bows and arrows. Other animals fell into their traps. Early one morning Cybula shot three deer. The boys of the camp vied with each other hunting birds, field mice, squirrels, rabbits, hares. They went to the stream with their nets and caught fish.

 
The women of the camp often mocked the meek and helpless Yagoda. They took her for a fool. When they met together, she was the chief subject of their gossip. What did Cybula see in her? Why did he lust for her? She was small and scrawny, she had neither breasts nor buttocks, her arms and legs were thin, her bosom flat. She was most likely barren or else long ago she would have borne his child. She was not by nature a big talker. Some of the women suspected that Yagoda was deaf. When they asked her a question, they often got no answer. If Yagoda became the krolowa, some women said, the camp would be disgraced. But still they prepared for the approaching wedding. Girls and women gathered in a meadow where cows, goats, and sheep grazed, and danced the dances of days gone by: a water dance, a quarrel dance, a babuk dance, a goat dance, the dance of the dying bird, and the Baba Yaga dance, which in former times was performed when they offered the goddess a sacrifice.

  Dancing with one another, without men, held little pleasure for the women. Some women swept the old Lesnik men into the circle, where they barely managed to stay on their feet. One girl, in high spirits, danced with a he-goat, whom she dragged into the circle by its horns. Cybula came out for one round of dancing, but he danced with no one but Kora. For a while the old entertainer awoke in Cybula, and once again he told jokes, and mimicked the fools and ne’er-do-wells who had long ago descended into the hollows of the earth. He even tried to turn somersaults, and the camp roared with laughter. Several women laughed so hard that their laughter turned into crying.

  Krol Rudy no longer left his hut in the daytime, but when Laska came out to join the merrymakers, she danced with both her stepmother and her father. Yagoda, for whose wedding the camp was preparing, hid in her hut and refused to come out. Someone in the camp likened her to a field mouse. When she left her hut to go to the forest to pick mushrooms, she hurried by so quickly that she did not stop when people called her name. In the forest she looked for spots where there were no other women. And yet, at the same time, she showed herself to be a skillful huntress. The women finally agreed that the only thing alluring in Yagoda was the shape of her mouth. Her face was small, her cheeks sunken, her neck as thin as a bird’s, but in her full lips and in her chin lay a hidden lust.

  Because of Cybula’s wedding, Ben Dosa was laden with work. All the camp’s women had ordered shoes. He spent many long hours taking measurements of women’s feet, while at the same time murmuring prayers to help him withstand temptation. Some of the women lifted their skirts above their bare knees, revealing their thighs and even their bellies. Often they said to him, “Don’t be a fool, Ben Dosa. Come lie in my arms.” And Ben Dosa would murmur, “Forgive me, but God forbids it.”

  “What god? The gods also carouse and play.”

  “Only idols and demons do. The God of Israel is holy.”

  Ben Dosa no longer worked in the hut in which he lived and taught reading and writing. He had built a small workshop for himself nearby, and planned to build a shop where he could sell articles from Miasto, and buy pelts, honey, pig’s hair, and wool. While he cut skins and scraped wooden heels, Ben Dosa studied the Torah, rocked back and forth, and prayed to his invisible God. How could he make these heathens understand God’s existence, God who cared for every person, every gnat, every leaf on a tree? Their fate was to live out their lives in darkness. Yet was it their fault that they had never heard of God? Ben Dosa felt that the person most capable of understanding his thinking was Cybula. But Cybula was completely immersed in everyday tasks and always succumbed to the females who kissed him, caressed him, tickled him. Nosek’s thoughts, on the other hand, revolved around food, tools, horses. There was a rumor that Nosek liked men better than women. Well then, where could he learn that his conduct was sinful?

  It was strange, but in Kosoka—a half-breed of Tatars—a spark of godliness stirred. She never ceased to ask Ben Dosa about God, the angels, the Torah, the soul. She wanted to know what a commandment was, and why something was a transgression. Simple and ignorant as she was, her thoughts sometimes astonished him. Although she was not Jewish, she refused to eat the flesh of a pig or to do any work on the Sabbath. Although Ben Dosa tried to dissuade her from embracing the Jewish faith, she strove with all her strength to be like a daughter of Israel. When she revealed her desire to become his wife, it aroused a suspicion that she wanted to become a Jew only to win him as a husband. Yet after all, it is said that sometimes even from a sin a good must come.

  (3)

  It was Nosek’s idea that the camp should build a house for Cybula. Many of the trees which the women chopped down lay in piles in the forest. It was not necessary to trim them, Nosek said, or to shape them in square blocks. They could be heaped one on the other as they were, and tied together with leather ropes. The camp possessed axes now, and saws, planes, hammers, nails. The woyaks who were killed left behind the horses which Cybula and Nosek had bought in Miasto. Those horses could now be used to carry lumber. When Nosek finished speaking, the women-filled camp became eager to show how well and quickly they could work. When the building began, Ben Dosa, Nosek, Kora, Czapek, and Kulak worked side by side with the others. They dug up clay and cut wood. Laska left her child with an old woman, Mila, and came to lend a hand. Kosoka also wanted to participate, but the women pushed her away. Ben Dosa immediately came to her defense, saying, “What have you against her? What evil has she done to you? The Torah teaches us to love the stranger in our midst. When King Solomon was building the temple in Jerusalem, King Hiram sent him spruce trees and craftsmen from the city of Tyre. They were heathens who helped build a temple for the Almighty, and the Almighty looked upon their work with favor.”

  “She is not human,” one woman shouted. “Her eyes are slanted!”

  “Slanting eyes are as good as eyes which do not slant. We are all descendants of Adam and Eve.”

  “Speak to us in the language of humans, so that we can understand you!” an old Lesnik called out.

  “Whose language am I speaking—oxen’s?”

  Not only adults but children lent a hand to the building. Yagoda’s hands were too small and delicate for most of the work, so Kora gave her a bucket of water and told her to circulate and dole it out to the builders who needed it. Cybula constructed a ladder, and together with Nosek and Czapek, he put up a roof. Later they intended to construct an oven, but meanwhile they left an opening for the chimney. The workers themselves were impressed with what they had accomplished. Both Ben Dosa and Nosek exhibited a marked talent for construction. They knew exactly where to place a door and where to cut a window. They laid a heavy foundation so that the house would not sink in the mud or sway in the wind. The women sang while they worked, and some of them shamelessly exposed their breasts. They laughed uproariously and spoke obscenities. Perhaps they have not yet tasted the fruit of the tree of knowledge, thought Ben Dosa. At the end of ten days, Cybula’s house, such a one as the camp had never seen before, was completed.

  Though the camp had believed itself forsaken by the gods and condemned for eternity, that spring saw hopefulness return. The seeds in the field sprouted. Fruits ripened on the trees. The hens laid eggs and the cows calved. Cybula’s wedding with Yagoda became a joyous and festive holiday, with singing and dancing. There was mead to be drunk, and with the flour from the previous year’s harvest, women baked pretzels and cakes. Fresh fish from the stream were boiled in clay pots or roasted on hot coals. At his wedding Cybula danced with every woman in the camp, and Kora with every man—including Gluptas the fool. Ben Dosa’s new shoes, for those who wore them, made their feet appear slender and sleek. Their dancing was so joyous and lively that it lifted the spirits of even the old and the crippled. The old women who sewed pelts for the camp had made a dress for the bride, and when Cybula danced with Yagoda the dress billowed and whirled around her. Some of the women clapped their hands, some laughed, others smiled. No celebrating Lesnik could forget their brothers and sisters who had perished at the woyaks’ murderous hands. Four Lesniks—or Gorals, as those who had come down fr
om the mountains were now called—grabbed Cybula, lifted him high over their heads, and continued their dance. Several women did likewise with Yagoda. Hymns were sung to the gods, the goddesses, to Cybula, Yagoda, Nosek. Some children tried to lift Ben Dosa, but small as he was, he was too heavy for them. They kissed him and shouted in unison: “Rabbi! Rabbi! Rabbi!” Ben Dosa placed his hands on their heads and blessed them as if they were Jewish children: “May God make you like Efraim and Menashe! May you be like Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah.” And he promised to sew shoes for them all before the winter came.

  Several women became drunk, and one of them removed her dress and, jiggling her breasts, invited the men to come to her. One of the mountain men, a Goral, tore off his trousers. Cybula demanded that those who overexcited the camp be removed, but it was too late. A storm of emotion broke out which could no longer be contained. Men who moments ago had appeared old and frail now roared in loud voices, waved their arms, and shook their fists, grimaced and gesticulated. It was difficult to know whether it was joy that moved them or grief. Intoxicated women fell over each other, convulsed in fits of laughter and tears. Ben Dosa feared that the joyous celebration would turn into violence. One woman had already pulled his beard and spoken to him offensively. Another threw her arms around him and tried to push him down to the ground. Suddenly he heard Kosoka’s voice calling him, and he saw that someone was slapping her face and pulling her by the hair. Ben Dosa ran and tore her from her attacker’s hands. He spoke in Polish the words Moses uttered when he saw that a Jew had attacked another Jew: “Why wouldst thou hit thy brother?”