“Has the priest been yet?”
“He has,” sighed Mrs. Wróbel, and at the same moment she started in on Józef: “Józef! Józef! You need to be going! I keep asking him and asking him.”
I was about to say to mother:
“Mama, where’s death?”
But she tugged me by the hand and we left. Outside, the sun was nice and warm and Kozieja was leading a calf up the road, and the calf was prancing around in such a funny way that I started to laugh, and mother did too, and anyone that was coming down the road stopped and laughed as well.
“Kneel down,” father grunted.
I dropped instantly to my knees, the chain rattled around my neck.
“Say all the deadly sins,” he said. “Beat yourself on the chest. Ask God to forgive you. And say three Hail Marys so Our Lady will help you as well.” He knelt next to me. He clasped his hands on his stomach, half closed his eyes, and started praying. The sparrows were chirping above us all around the barn, as if they were mad at being disturbed. I repeated all the seven deadly sins like father told me to, but none of them resembled the sin I’d committed. I wondered to myself, what’s father hanging me for if it’s only the deadly sins that God doesn’t forgive?
All of a sudden the barn door creaked softly. I turned my head and in a patch of light at the edge of the threshing floor I saw mother. I looked over to father, but he seemed not to have heard her, he was still praying, his hands on his stomach, his eyes half closed.
“There’s no wrongdoing so bad you can’t forgive your own child,” said mother. “And he’s your child. Bad or good, he’s yours.”
I suddenly twisted my whole body around toward mother, the chain rattled again, and I called out:
“Mama, what’s father hanging me for? I can just go climb the highest poplar across the dike and throw myself off!”
“Even if you kill him, he’ll still be yours.” This time it was like she hadn’t heard me. “Except you won’t be his father anymore, you won’t even be a human being.”
At that moment father’s hands parted on his stomach and came to rest heavily on his knees. He seemed to be holding back tears under his half-closed eyelids. After a moment he wiped his eyes and said in a tired voice:
“Take him away. I’m going to kneel here awhile yet.”
Another time, mother took me with her on a pilgrimage after the harvest. A whole crowd of people went from our village and from other villages. Old folks, children, men, women, young girls and young men, married folks, single family members and whole families. The priest was there, and the organist, and Franciszek the sacristan. There were banners and the picture of Our Lady from our church. We walked from dawn till dusk with two breaks for a rest and one for dinner. Though some people wouldn’t have rested at all, they’d have just kept on walking and walking. At night we mostly stopped in the villages, though one time we slept in the woods in the open air, and another time in haystacks that belonged to a manor. The breaks were also breaks from singing, because they sang the livelong day. Some folks even ignored the organist, who was supposed to be leading the singing, and they sang on in the breaks, mostly the people up front.
People went hoarse from all the singing, and after a couple of days it was nothing but rasping and croaking and barking till it hurt your ears to listen. The organist, it was like one of his lungs had dried up, he kept ordering more and more frequent breaks and he’d cough longer and longer after each hymn. But people didn’t pay any mind to his coughing either and when he didn’t begin the singing they’d start up themselves, and the organist had to join in whether he wanted or no. The keenest singer of all was Zdun. Maybe because people said he should have been the organist, if he’d only been a bit younger. Because apparently it used to be that if someone wanted a Veni Creator to be sung at their wedding so you could hear it all around the church, they’d always pick Zdun, and only the organist would accompany him. On the way back home Zdun actually lost his voice from all the singing and he had to communicate with people in sign language. My mother went hoarse as well, for two months afterward she kept drinking chamomile tea for her throat. It wasn’t really surprising, given that the whole way we were walking in a cloud of dust. Twice there was a bit of drizzle, otherwise it was nothing but sunshine, and people got lumps in their throats from the dust and dryness.
I didn’t sing because I didn’t yet know the hymns, but my throat was dry as well and I kept spitting the whole time. Mrs. Orysz was walking in front of us and she moved farther forward because she said the Pietruszkas’ kid wouldn’t stop spitting. Mrs. Waliszyn actually got into an argument with mother, saying I’d spat on her skirt, she showed it and said, see, are you telling me the little brat didn’t spit on me, take a look. Then he’ll try to tell me I sat in some shit in the dust. I spat on Mikuta’s boots as well because he happened to be passing by and he got in the way of my spit. But it hit the tops, he didn’t feel it and he just carried on walking.
Mother gave me a rosary so I could say a few Our Fathers and Hail Marys instead of daydreaming. To begin with I carried it in my hands. But it felt awkward, like I had my hands tied together. Besides, even if you carry a feather for long enough it starts to feel as heavy as a whole chicken, or a goose or duck. So the rosary got to feel as heavy as a chain. I hung it round my neck and my arms immediately felt like wings.
We happened to be walking past a fruit orchard. There were raspberry apples shining in among the leaves. I could see mother was lost in song, her head held high, her eyes half closed, because we had the sun in our eyes. Below, the cloud of dust came up over our knees. To make matters worse Kolasa was walking next to us and he had a stiff leg from the war, it was like he was dragging that leg deliberately through the dust. Everyone was always moving away from him and telling him to go walk at the back, but he insisted on being in the middle.
To begin with I drifted away a bit so I wouldn’t be right next to mother. Then I moved to the edge of the procession, and from there I slipped into the orchard. At that moment they were singing O Mary, we greet thee, and no one noticed me. Besides, everyone had gotten used to people disappearing off to the side to go to the toilet, they could have thought that’s what I was doing. I ran to the apple tree with the most fruit and started picking as fast as my hands would go. I’d gotten an armful when I suddenly heard a shout through the trees:
“Get him, Azor! Catch the thief! I’ll teach you to steal apples, you little bastard!”
But before Azor could reach me I was already back in the pilgrimage. The dog ran to the edge of the orchard and stopped in its tracks dumbfounded, because he’d been chasing one person and all at once he saw a whole swarm of people, all of them singing into the bargain. Instead of barking, he started this terrible howling. A moment later the farmer appeared out of the orchard, he shouted something and waved his walking stick and I thought he was about to chase me through the procession. I decided that if push came to shove I’d shelter under the banner. But all of a sudden he came to a halt too and fell silent, maybe it had occurred to him that he ought to go on a pilgrimage as well, because he’d racked up a whole lot of sins, that was for sure.
“Quiet, Azor, quiet,” he said, calling the dog to heel. He took his hat off, and we walked on.
Later, two women up front started an argument, one of them said the other one had stepped on her heel so hard she’d made it bleed. Actually you couldn’t even figure out who’d done what to who, they were jabbering so loud you could barely hear one of them saying the other one walked like a cart horse, the other one said the first one waddled like a duck, one of them sang like she only wanted Our Lady to hear her, the other one sounded like kasha boiling in the pan. The first one said the other one’s husband ran around after other women, but you couldn’t blame him because who could stand being with a dragon like her. The other one said the first one went chasing after other men herself. They were virtually at each other’s throats, so maybe it wasn’t just because of one stepping on the other one’s heels. People from way the other end of the procession started calling out: