Black Spring

by Alison Croggon

  “Why are you so cross about Damek?” she said. “He is as close to me as my brother, and I’m so happy that he has come home! Don’t spoil it, Tibor, please. Surely you should love him as I do? I have told Damek that he has to love you, and it’s not fair if it is only one way…”

  Looking cornered, Tibor swallowed and spread out his hands in mute protest. I watched as Lina exploited all her charm, hoping in my heart that he would find it in himself to resist, but he could not; a mouse might as well hope to bewitch a snake. As soon as Tibor had been persuaded that his happiness depended upon Lina’s (which, to a certain extent, it did) all was lost. She sat back in her chair and, smiling brilliantly at him, told him that Damek would call in later that morning.

  “He said nothing of any visit to me,” said the poor man, in some confusion. I suspected that the previous night he might have told Damek never to darken his doorstep again.

  “But he did say so to me,” said Lina. “And he never breaks his promises. You mustn’t go out this morning; you must stay and say you’re sorry and make friends, or I shall be so unhappy!”

  I did almost laugh when I showed Damek into the sitting room later that morning, for him to discover Lina and his rival bent over the table, talking over plans for the farm. His brows contracted in a frown, and he looked sharply at me, as if this situation were my fault. I would not be bullied by him, and met his gaze sternly. For his part, Tibor looked uncertain and embarrassed. Lina, unconcerned by the moods of both men, smiled in welcome and invited Damek to sit down, and so the three of them sat together making stilted conversation for the next quarter-hour, until Tibor suddenly remembered an urgent task and hurried out of the house. I saw his face as he left, and felt sorry for him; he wore the expression of a trapped animal.

  After that, Damek came every day, always leaving at nightfall to play cards with Masko. Sometimes he and Lina went for long walks, although they heeded my pleas about not repeating their adventure in the rain: Damek had at least that much concern for Lina’s health. A strained civility continued between Damek and Tibor, but Damek’s constant presence at the manse began to spark gossip in the village, and I judged it only a matter of time before it reached Tibor’s ears. In short, although there was a truce, I thought that it would not continue long. I told my fears to Lina, but she laughed at them; she said she didn’t care about the opinions of some silly old women and that everyone concerned was perfectly happy, an observation which did not coincide with mine.

  I began also to hear rumours that Masko was losing hugely to Damek; it was said that Damek had a luck with cards that was diabolical. It was about then, I think, that the stories began about his pact with Satan: he had sold his soul, it was said, in return for the riches of the world. After that, his friendship with Masko was no mystery to me: I didn’t doubt that part of his revenge was to strip from Masko the riches that should have been Lina’s. I’m sure Lina knew of his plan, as she never protested his leaving the house, and always waved him off with a smile which held an edge of malice. Unlike Damek, who was as rapacious for wealth as any man I’ve met, Lina never cared a straw for money, but she was as invested in revenge against Masko as he was.

  Things continued in this unease for a fortnight or so. Then it happened that Old Kiron, the latest victim in the vendetta, was shot on the hill above the manse. Tibor found his corpse early in the morning, and brought the body home on his horse. It was laid out in the front parlour, where no one sat except on formal occasions, until the family could come to claim it. Kiron’s son arrived a little later, pale and speechless, with his wailing sisters. They were escorted by Damek, who had met them on the pathway. Lina refused to leave her room until the body was gone, as it is bad luck for a pregnant woman to see a corpse, and so Damek stood with the family as they wept over the dead man, and helped Tibor to place him on a rough bier, to be pulled home by the family donkey.

  Tibor accompanied the family to their house, as a mark of respect, and Damek and I watched them down the path.

  “Damn it, I’d forgotten this barbarity,” said Damek. “Is this still the same vendetta as when I left? You’d think enough blood had been spilt. And enough coffers filled. It’s enough to make you spit!”

  I mumbled something indifferent in return; in truth, I was a little shocked at his voicing so directly sentiments which, even if I felt them, I did not dare to say.

  “I hate this place, Anna,” he said then. “I hate it with all my heart. Look at it! Those mountains there, ugly as sin, and these barren plains, and a climate straight from hell – I swear that if it were not for Lina, I would never have returned. I don’t understand what binds her here. Why will she not leave?”

  “But Damek, she is married!” I said, shocked again. “And she is with child! You cannot ask—”

  “Marriage to that witless fool is no marriage. Even Lina knows that. So what if she is with child? I’ll wait, Anna, until she’s had the babe, but after that she has to reckon with her desires. I’ll not be cheated by anyone, not even Lina.”

  I couldn’t think of any response, though felt that his statements required strong objection; and before I could shape a rebuke, Damek had leapt up the stairs to tell Lina that the corpse was gone, and that she could now come out of her chamber.

  XXX

  After that conversation, I watched Lina and Damek with a lively suspicion. While Damek’s intentions were clear, Lina’s were much less so: she pursued her intimacy with Damek as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and expressed surprise or anger at any objection to it. Tibor made no comment one way or the other, but only the most determinedly self-deceiving could take his silence for consent. As the days went past, he left earlier and earlier in the morning, and came home later and later at night. Often when he came home he stank of raki, and Lina – who was keen enough for his company when Damek was not there – was often resentful of his absence, accusing him of neglecting her and mocking him for drinking with the peasants. This would generally escalate into a row, which sometimes continued into the following day. Usually they had made it up by breakfast time, and everyone was briefly content, only for the same pattern to repeat a day or so later.

  What I could not work out was Lina and Damek’s present relationship. While Damek had made his position unambiguous to me, I could not be sure that he had been as frank with Lina. When she said Damek was just like her brother, and scoffed at the vulgar minds of anyone who claimed otherwise, I swung between thinking her disingenuous, and believing that she said only what she thought was the truth. For all the conflict between Tibor and Lina caused by Damek’s presence, they seemed – when they were not bickering – as fond of each other as ever; Damek’s scornful estimation of his rival never seemed to infect Lina’s view of him. In short, I was as painfully puzzled as I was full of trepidation. I began to look forward impatiently to the birth of the babe, as Damek’s absence would then be enforced, and there would be some peace.

  The impending birth clearly was weighing on Damek’s mind as well. In her final month, Lina’s body swelled: before then, her belly had been obvious, but had never impeded her movement. I think that Damek had, after his first shock, been able to wipe it from his mind. Now she complained of a sore back, and had trouble rising unassisted from a chair, and was afflicted by severe tiredness, which caused me much concern. It seemed to me that all the extra exertion that she had indulged since Damek’s return was now presenting its payment, and with interest. On the positive side, her exhaustion forced Damek to leave the manse earlier than he planned several days in a row.

  “When will she have this brat?” he asked me one afternoon as I showed him out, after Lina had dismissed him with especial petulance. “The Devil curse it! The damned thing is a parasite, and it steals her away from me.”

  I bit my tongue, knowing it was of no use to rebuke him for his sentiments, and said she had a few weeks to go yet, all being well. He snorted, and took his cane and strode home in a black mood.

  I returne
d to Lina’s room, where she was lying on a chaise longue, her eyes shut. When she heard me come in, she sat up and asked me to pour her some water. The energy that had driven her over the past weeks was now all dissipated, and without its force, she seemed more frail than ever.

  “They tire me so, Anna,” she said. I nodded, but said nothing. “Always pulling me, this way and that! If I as much as mention one, the other throws a tantrum! It drives me to distraction!”

  I ventured that this was the logical result of the situation she had herself set up, and that perhaps it would help if she saw a little less of Damek.

  She struggled to sit up straighter and then, to my surprise, seemed to think this over. “See less of Damek! Oh, Anna, how little you understand! What good would that do? He would be fretting and pawing the ground, like a bull in a stall, and I would feel it in my bones. I cannot be calm if he is so vexed. Why can’t he be satisfied, like he should be? We are together, after all, and that is everything that either of us have ever wanted.”

  I regarded her with some astonishment, and after a short time of reflection, decided that now might be as good a time as any for some plain speaking.

  “Mistress Lina, you must know that Damek wants you for his own. He will not be content until you belong only to him. He will never regard Mr Tibor as anything else but a rival; and in my view, Mr Tibor has some grounds for feeling alarmed and jealous.”

  “Tibor is being a child,” said Lina. “I don’t listen when Damek speaks like that. It is foolish and selfish of him, Anna, do you not think?”

  “It is,” I said. “But it is also foolish and selfish to so disrespect your own husband. It is no wonder that Damek thinks as he does, with the encouragement you offer him.”

  Lina was roused out of her lethargy. “Encouragement? Disrespect? Anna, why do you speak to me as if you were one of those village crones nodding over their knitting? You’re as bad as Tibor and Damek. Both of them are like the farmers that squabble over three almond trees, or a goat. I am not a creature to be owned, or a piece of land to be arbitrated by some upland wizard. I don’t expect Tibor to understand anything else… I love him dearly, but he is what he is. Damek knows better! If he has my heart, what need has he of anything else?”

  “Your heart belongs to your husband alone,” said I. “Did you not listen to the vows you made in church?”

  “And all this time I thought you had some understanding… Listen to me: Damek and I are but one being – to speak of our separation is nonsense! I might as well tear the heart from my own breast! I cannot wake, but he is in my thoughts; I cannot sleep, but he is in my dreams. When I thought he was dead, I died: now he is back, I can taste my life at last.”

  “If you feel such things, you should never have married Mr Tibor,” I said hotly. “That is more selfish than anything I have ever heard in my life!”

  “Selfish? But I love Tibor.” She stared at me as if it were astonishing that I should think otherwise. “He is tender, and he cares for me so. He is like a calm lake. Remember in the south, when we used to go swimming in that shady pool near the house, with the willows dropping their branches in the water? It was always so peaceful, with the doves cooing in the trees, and the ducks splashing, and everything so green and soft and the water so clear. Tibor is like that. And maybe when winter comes, the pool will freeze and the trees will be all naked, and I’ll not love him any more; but now he is a haven, Anna, and I need him. But Damek – Damek is like the rock beneath my feet – I cannot escape him, any more than I could escape my own soul. I know he is selfish and I know he has no God. He doesn’t care for me, any more than the mountain cares for the storm, or the storm for the mountain. He is myself, Anna, the bedrock of myself – there is no tenderness there, no pleasure, only necessity…”

  “Then you did wrong when you married Mr Tibor. And you do wrong by your child, and by everyone around you.”

  Tears shone in her eyes, and for a long moment she was silent. “If I am wrong,” she said at last in a low voice, “there is no right, either.”

  “You are wrong, Lina, and you know you are wrong,” I repeated, feeling no pity for her tears. “You have made your bed, and now you must lie in it.”

  “Don’t you preach to me, Anna.” Her eyes flashed with a sudden, deadly rage. “Or patronize me with your threadbare proverbs.”

  I protested that I was speaking sense, and that she knew it; but this only made her so angry that she was white to her lips. She screamed at me to get out of her sight. I saw there was no benefit in staying, and cursing my over-eagerness, which had done more harm than good, I turned tail and fled.

  XXXI

  The following morning as I rose from my bed, I looked out of my bedchamber window and saw the Wizard Ezra in the distance, walking towards the manse. I stared for a long time, to be certain, but his figure and gait, and the stunted body of his mute, were unmistakable. It was still first light: the sun was a pale phantom through the early haze, and mist lay in shallow pools on the ground, so that the wizard was wading knee-deep through a white sea. It looked uncanny, as if he were floating footless above the ground.

  I dressed hurriedly and ran downstairs, my heart beating fast. I had not spoken to the wizard since my return; in truth, I had barely seen him, aside from glimpses on my errands to the village. As I hovered in the kitchen stoking up the fire in the stove and waiting nervously for his knock on the door, it occurred to me that perhaps he was on some mission to the hills behind the manse, perhaps to investigate the death-site of Old Kiron. This seemed more likely than his coming all the way on purpose to the manse, since vendetta is true wizard-business. I told myself to calm down, and began to fill the kettle for a tisane to steady my nerves. But no: there was a loud rap on the front door that made me jump so badly I spilt the kettle. I threw down a cloth over the water on the floor and hurried to answer his summons.

  He stood on the front doorstep clutching his blackthorn staff, looking no different than he had looked when I had first gazed on him, when we returned to Elbasa all those years ago. I had the strangest sensation, as if history were being repeated: it was as if I were my mother, standing terrified to her marrow by the front door of her home, gathering herself to defy him. I wiped my hands on my apron to gain time, greeted him respectfully and asked him his business.

  “I will not come in,” he said, as if I had invited him. “I want to speak to you.”

  “To me, sir?” Involuntarily I met his eye, but he was not looking at me unkindly.

  “I hear you are a woman of virtue and good sense,” he said.

  If I had not been so frightened, I might have laughed at this description. Not that it was entirely inaccurate, mind, but it was so much a man’s description of a woman he barely recognizes in the street. Instead, I mumbled something inane, feeling my face burn, and waited. He surely had not stridden all this way to tell me that.

  “I also know that you have known Mistress Alcahil since you were milk sisters.” For a brief moment I wondered why he spoke so of Tibor’s mother, before I recollected that it was Lina’s married name.

  “Aye, sir, we have known each other since we were children,” I said cautiously.

  “She will trust you as a messenger, then. I wish you to tell her something. Tell her the peace she sought from me will be withdrawn, if she continues as she does.”

  I understood him, but I asked him what he meant all the same, ready to bristle in defence of Lina’s honour.

  “You tell her. I’ll not tell her myself. She barely deserves the warning.” He turned his face and spat, and then, without any further speech, gathered his cloak around him and walked back the way he had come.

  I watched him and his mute until they vanished in the mist and trees, and then I realized that my knees were trembling. I went back to the kitchen and mopped up the water I had spilt. Then I made myself a tisane, and sat coddling it until the rest of the household began to descend and I had to attend to the business of the day. I wondered about Ezra’
s claim that Lina had no witch powers, and if it were really true, and what the wizard wanted from her, and whether Ezra had also spoken to Damek. The wizard’s words seemed to be freighted with an ominous weight beyond their immediate meaning, a shadow which I sensed, even if I failed to understand it. I felt that I stood shelterless and alone on a wide plain, watching as giant thunderheads rolled down from the Black Mountains, their looming darkness veined with giant lightnings, to bring a storm beyond my imagining.

  I told Lina of the wizard’s visit after breakfast, just after Tibor had left the house. Things were still a little stiff between us after the scene of the night before, and after that and my fright that morning I was in no mood to humour her. A momentary scepticism crossed her face, making me suspect that she thought I was making it up to drive home my argument, but she thought better of voicing her disbelief. Instead, she thanked me with a distant politeness and walked heavily across the room to rest on her divan, drawing her shawl around her shoulders, and picked up a book. I saw that she was only pretending to read, and took it as a sign that she was more disturbed by what I had told her than she allowed. But it could have been simply tiredness and distraction: her face looked puffy and pale, and her movements were sluggish and awkward.

  Once I had seen she was comfortable, I went back to my chores. From her appearance that morning I thought, without knowing anything about it, that she must be very close to her time, and wondered whether we ought to call the midwife up from the village, and whether to alert the doctor as well. As so often with Lina, I found myself torn between concern and irritation, fear and love. I was, after all, no older than she was, but lately my responsibilities felt as heavy as those of a mother for a small child. It might have been bearable if I had the experience and wisdom of another twenty years under my apron, but I didn’t. I knew myself unequal to the task in every way.