“Greetings to you, Krol Cybula, father of my beloved Laska,” he shouted. “Greetings to you, worthy guest, whoever you are! I have been ill for a long time; therefore, I was forced to turn over my crown to my beloved father-in-law, Cybula, who is younger than I am, wiser, a mighty hunter, a leader who is beloved by all—mostly by our women. But I have not forgotten the people of this camp. After all, it was I who brought you the blessing of the fields. This good deed no one can take away from me. Now I hear that one of our people, one who speaks our language, has arrived to bring us tidings of a new god. We Poles have our own gods, but we are ready to serve another if he can help us, and …”
Krol Rudy fell silent. He had forgotten what it was he wanted to say. Then he shouted, “Kulak, let me down! I want to stand on my own feet! I don’t want to ride on your back as if you were a horse.” Kulak squatted on the ground and two men came to help Krol Rudy. Some of the Lesniks who had been kneeling arose and gathered around Bishop Mieczyslaw, who began to tell them the story of the ten virgins who went out to meet their grooms, carrying their lanterns. Five of the virgins, who were clever, remembered to fill their lanterns with oil. The five who did not were left alone sleeping in the dark when the grooms arrived in the middle of the night. Krol Rudy wobbled unsteadily on his feet, forcing Kulak to prop him up, but when he heard the bishop he slapped his knee and roared with laughter. “And the bridegroom was left with only five virgins, ha? Well, it’s better than nothing!”
10
The Altar of Sacrifice
During the middle of the night, when Kosoka entered his hut, Ben Dosa fell silent. He had assumed that she had already fled to Miasto, but here she was, standing on the threshold of his hut. She was thinner and she had the pallor of one recently arisen from a sickbed. Hot tears filled Ben Dosa’s eyes, and he swallowed the lump that lodged in his throat and said, “Blessed be God who brings the dead to life.”
“I wasn’t dead. It was worse.”
“What do you mean?” Ben Dosa asked.
“Ah, Kora dragged me off to Swiniarka, the pig woman. They put me in the pigsty, tied me to a beam, and left me in that filth without food. They wanted to sacrifice me to Baba Yaga. I prayed to the God of Israel and he saved me.”
“How?”
“Cybula opened the door and untied me. He took me to the stream and I washed myself. He wanted to lie with me, but I told him I belong to you.”
The blood drained from Ben Dosa’s face. “You belong to God, not to me.”
“You are my god.”
Ben Dosa was speechless. He wanted to tell her that her words were blasphemy, but he did not know how to express this. He also did not want to cause her more pain. He asked, “Where have you been all this time? I prayed for you.”
“I fled to the forest. If Kora and Swiniarka catch me here, they will tear me limb from limb. But they are all asleep. I yearned for you, my teacher. I’ve come to beg you to forgive me for what I’ve done. I wanted to be like Ruth.”
“The ancients were closer to God than we are,” Ben Dosa said. “Moreover, the stories we are told about them are full of mysteries. From Ruth, for example, King David descended, and she must have been pure and righteous to be worthy of such honor. Ruth only lay at Boaz’s feet, while you, my daughter, committed a grave transgression.”
“Yes, I know. That is why I came to beg you to forgive me.”
“I forgive you. Why are you still standing at the door?” Ben Dosa hesitated to ask her in, but her life was in danger and saving a life preceded all other laws. Kosoka had sensed Ben Dosa’s hesitation and said to him, “If you wish, master, I’ll go away.”
“Where will you go? They will try to kill you. Come inside and shut the door.”
While Kosoka had been gone, Ben Dosa had had a chance to think over the Law. Had she been Jewish, her transgression would have been much graver, but these laws did not pertain to women who were not Jews. If she was truly and properly to convert and become a pious Jewish girl, then he would be permitted to marry her. Ben Dosa had even begun to regret that he had sent her away in anger. He pointed to a small bench and motioned to Kosoka to sit down. “You are not sick, God forbid, are you? You look weary.”
“No, I am not ill.”
“What did you eat while you were away?”
“Ah, in the forest there is always food to be found.”
“I thought about you often. Your intention was good. You wanted to be kind to me, as Ruth was to Boaz. But you did not have a Naomi to guide you. I fell into a rage, and anger causes men to blunder.”
“Did Cybula give you the money to go and look for Jews in other lands that keep Torah?” Kosoka asked.
“No, not yet. He put it off until after the harvest. But there are evil doings going on in the camp. They are again preparing for a human sacrifice. This Cybula is a clever man, he is also compassionate, but they draw him into their mire. One of those who believe in the man called Jesus Christ has come to the camp and completely turned their heads. He has lured them into the web of false belief.”
“Let us flee together,” Kosoka whispered.
“I gave my word to Cybula to remain until the harvest. But you, my daughter, run, hide. Should they catch you, God forbid, they may …”
“They will not catch me. When will you start out to search in other lands for your people?”
“Cybula promised to let me go immediately after the harvest.”
“I’ll go with you.”
Ben Dosa considered her words for some time. “So be it. But you must promise that, while you are not properly converted, you will do nothing wrong.”
“I promise.”
“Since your life is endangered in this camp, you should flee from it without any hesitation,” Ben Dosa said.
“I want to go with you.”
“If they see us leaving together, they may drag you back, God forbid,” Ben Dosa said.
“I’ll wait for you on the road that leads to Miasto.”
“How will you know when I will be there? I am in their hands.”
“I’ll come to you every night.”
Dawn was breaking by the time Kosoka left the hut. Ben Dosa did not openly promise it, but she could understand from his words that he intended to marry her when they reached a Jewish settlement where she could obtain the learning she needed in order to follow a righteous path. It was too late for Ben Dosa to return to his wife and his children. He had lost his hope that the Almighty would carry him back home, despite the verse that reads, “God’s salvation will come in the blinking of an eye.” His wife had insisted that he never confront her with a rival. What would she say to one like Kosoka—conceived, born, and raised in uncleanliness, a child of generations of savage idolaters?
“Father in heaven, I’m caught in a net, but I am in your sacred hands!” Ben Dosa cried out.
(2)
The last day of the harvest signaled the beginning of a great celebration, to last for three days and three nights, and end with the casting of lots for the sacrifice. Kora was the priestess who would offer the sacrifice, sprinkle the blood on the altar, burn the flesh. She had never spoken to Cybula of Kosoka—neither of her imprisonment in the pigsty nor of her release by someone unknown. Inasmuch as she kept a secret from him, Cybula decided not to forewarn her that he knew of her schemes. He would show her at the last moment who in this camp was the krol.
The first day of the feast was hotter than anyone in the camp could remember. On most mornings cool breezes blew from the mountains, but on this day the air was stifling and still.
Cybula was awakened by shouts—the shouts not of one man but of a mob, like those he had heard on the night when the woyaks had attacked the camp. Several children flew by him and he tried to stop them, but they scurried away. One girl turned and shouted back to him, but Cybula did not catch her words. The pans attacked, it’s a new bloodbath, he thought. Then he realized that these were not the sounds of a massacre. He heard peals of laughter, cheers, ap
plause, as if the camp had started festivities in his absence. All of a sudden he saw Ben Dosa staggering, stark naked, his head and feet bloodied, half his beard gone. He shouted some unintelligible words at Cybula, speaking in his native tongue. He ran up to him, almost threw him to the ground, letting out a terrifying howl. With all his strength Cybula pushed Ben Dosa off and shouted, “What happened? Who did this to you?”
“Ko-so-ka!”
And Ben Dosa began gasping for air. Blood frothed out of his mouth, and several of his front teeth fell to the ground. Cybula bent over him, shivering, and asked, “Kosoka attacked you?”
“They captured her!” And Ben Dosa spat out a lump of congealed blood.
In a flash Cybula understood. Kora had captured Kosoka and had dragged her to the sacrificial altar as an offering to the gods. When Ben Dosa had come to her aid, he was himself attacked. As Cybula helped Ben Dosa to his feet, his heart filled with sorrow and rage. This was Kora’s doing. He began to stride toward the din and clamor. “I’ll kill her!” Cybula said to himself. “It will be Kora’s death or mine.” He considered going to the hut for his sword, but thought they might kill Kosoka before he got there. He continued to pull Ben Dosa after him. As the two men reached the edge of the forest, the shouting grew louder and louder. When the camp saw them approaching, the noise instantly died down. Cybula began to wave his arms and to shout, “Wait! Wait! Wait!”
Someone ran toward him; it was Kora. She hugged him in her arms and shouted, “Cybula, don’t do it! Don’t interrupt our celebration!”
He shoved her aside, and Kora stumbled and fell. “You filthy monster!”
In the center of the crowd Cybula caught a glimpse of the pile of stones which served as an altar. In a depression between the stones, as if entombed, sat Kosoka. She was naked, her hands bound behind her back, her face bruised and swollen. Someone had cut or torn off her hair. For a moment she seemed to Cybula to be dead. Her eyes were closed; they looked like two slanting slits in her face. Near her, on a stone, lay an ax.
It is too late, Cybula thought. Now the silent crowd came back to life. They shouted at him, cursed him, threatened him. Several Lesniks came up behind him and tried to pull him away from the altar, but Cybula gave them a powerful kick and they fell to the ground. He heard someone call him traitor. Two Lesniks were holding Ben Dosa, and fists were raised. Many in the crowd held stones in their hands, and Cybula was well aware of the danger that faced him. He was a hairbreadth away from being stoned, from dying along with Kosoka. Her round head nodded and a moan escaped from her lips. He turned around to face the crowd and roared, “Kill me, too! Murderers, fools, madmen!”
“Cybula, don’t interfere with our holiday,” Kora wailed again.
“Baba Yaga wants a sacrifice!” a woman shouted.
“Let us sacrifice her! Baba Yaga yearns for her!”
Cybula moved with a strength and a boldness which surprised him. He flung down the stones which imprisoned Kosoka and kicked over the bucket that was meant for her blood. He seized the ax and waved it at those who tried to pull him away from the altar. An old woman rushed up to Kosoka and tried to revive her. Cybula shouted to the crowd, “Baba Yaga, huh? Where was Baba Yaga when the woyaks came to butcher you? And what do you want from Ben Dosa? He made shoes for us. He taught our children to read and to write.”
“He killed God!” someone shouted.
“God cannot be killed!” Cybula shouted back. “The bishop himself said that whatever happened happened long long ago.”
Ben Dosa coughed, whined, spat blood. Cybula caught a glimpse of two naked women behind him with flowers over their breasts, trying to help Kosoka off the altar. Naked men roamed about as well. Again he spoke to the crowd: “You want blood, that’s what you want. When you are not yourselves slaughtered, you want to slaughter others.”
“Cybula, you yourself promised me to cut off her head,” Kora called out.
“I promised, huh? You lie with me on the pelts and babble foolish things. Why must you kill, when death comes in any case? A few years from today our bodies will rot in the earth. Worms will eat us, or else we’ll turn to dust.”
“Our duchas will live.”
“They will be as dead as our bodies. No spirit has ever come back to tell us what happens down there in the hollows of the earth. There is only one god, his name is Shmiercz, the god of death. He takes everyone to himself and he needs no sacrifices from you.”
“Pravda, pravda, pravda—True!” voices shouted.
“He is the god over all gods. When he comes, all worries cease, all sorrows, all pain. We can kill ourselves, but we have no right to take the lives of others. Do you understand?”
“Tak, tak, tak!”
“If you want me to be your krol, leave the two strangers alone.”
“We want you, we want you!” the camp shouted as one. “Only you! No one else!”
“Cybula is our god!” a woman shouted.
“Tak! Tak! Tak!”
“Niech zye Cybula!”
“Niech zye bag krol—Long live our god the krol!”
All at once people began to fall on their knees. Several men hesitated, but then they, too, knelt down. Kosoka lay on the ground, bleeding, and only Ben Dosa remained standing. Someone tried to force him to kneel, but Ben Dosa, in a hoarse voice, cried out, “I kneel only before God, not man!” And he raised two blood-covered arms to bear witness to the truth of his words.
(3)
Yagoda had fallen asleep. Through the window, rain trickled into the room. Although their roof was new, water dripped down from the ceiling, collecting in a bucket Cybula had placed near the bed. He himself had worked on the roof, plugging up the cracks with clay, but the rain had apparently washed the clay out. After the extreme heat of the day, the air suddenly turned cold. Cybula looked at Yagoda and covered her with a pelt, so that she would not be chilled and begin to cough. He covered himself as well. His hands and feet were cold and he warmed them against Yagoda’s belly, her breasts. Yagoda slept soundly and did not awaken. Cybula lay half dozing, half daydreaming. The contradictions in his own conduct baffled him. He had spoken of killing Kora, yet he risked his life to save a Tatar girl who wanted to embrace Ben Dosa’s faith. He had wanted to wipe out the whole camp, and yet he fretted over sheaves of wheat which the rain would cause to rot. In the end Shmiercz would take them all into his dark abode deep under the earth. And yet another god, a god of life, would see to it that the entire species did not disappear.
Cybula fell asleep and dreamed that he was pursuing a large animal, larger than a bear. On its back rode yet another animal. While Cybula fired his arrows at his prey, the other tore and bit chunks of its flesh and fur. Every now and then the creature looked back at Cybula, laughing at him, spitting venom and froth. Cybula could hear himself saying to Ben Dosa: “You like to speak to us of your merciful God. What has this animal done to suffer so cruel a death? Was it because it did not keep the Sabbath?” In his dream Cybula laughed, and this laughter woke him.
The rain had intensified, coming down in sheets. Lightning flashed, and Cybula saw that the bucket of rainwater had overflowed to the floor. The roof had sprung another leak, and water dripped from the ceiling in yet another corner. Cybula rose and went in search of a bucket; he thought he heard the front door open. “It was only the wind,” he said to himself. Cybula opened the door to the front room and saw in the darkness the form of a man, perhaps a woman. Suddenly he heard his own voice asking, “Who is it?”
“Father, it is I.”
“Laska, why did you come in the middle of the night?”
Laska moved closer to him. “Tatele, a terrible thing happened.”
“What?”
“Krol Rudy, my husband, is dead.”
For a moment Cybula said nothing. “When did this happen?”
“Just now. Kulak woke me up.”
“Yes, yes.”
“I went to him, but he was no longer breathing.”
“Was h
e ill?” Cybula asked.
“No, Father. He ate and drank with Kulak last night. He died in his sleep.”
“A good way to die, the best way,” Cybula murmured.
Again lightning flashed and Cybula saw that Laska was entirely naked, soaking wet, her hair dripping water. A fatherly embarrassment came over him. “Why did you come in the pouring rain, and with no clothes even to keep you dry?”
“To whom would I go if not to you? What shall I do now? Shall I come to reap tomorrow?”
“We’ll reap without you—if there is any reaping. This rain is not likely to end soon.”
“Father, what will become of me?”
“What will become of you? We will bury him, or burn his body, and there will be one more widow in the camp. You and Nosek are on friendly terms, aren’t you?”
“Father, what are you saying!”
“I know everything.”
“Father, he doesn’t want me.”
“You two ride horses together.”
“He is teaching me to ride, but he doesn’t want me. He told me openly he needs no woman.”
“If he doesn’t, he is lucky.”
“I need a man.”
Cybula could scarcely believe his ears. He had never heard a daughter address her father in this manner before. A new generation had arisen, a generation laden with impudence. He wanted to scold her, to send her away, but he restrained himself. He said, “You know what kind of men we have in the camp—barking dogs who have no teeth to bite with. If you want one of them, whoever it is, I am sure he will oblige you.”
“Father, this is not the time for your jokes.”
There was more lightning, followed by thunder. Cybula said, “Daughter, there will be no reaping, not tomorrow and perhaps not the day after. There can also be no burial in this deluge. I envy your husband, he knew when to die. All that awaits us here is a long famine, a long and difficult ordeal.”
King of the Fields Page 17
