“What about it?”
“Antek’s gone,” said father in a painful voice.
“Where is he?”
“He left.”
Then a few years later Stasiek followed Antek. Though you’d have thought that of all us four brothers Stasiek was the one God intended to stay on the land. And that no force on earth could have torn him away from it. Ever since he was tiny, come rain or shine, heat or cold, he’d always be out in the fields with father. If father was plowing, Stasiek would walk alongside him holding the whip. Give her a flick, Stasiek, the damn creature’s stopping and starting. And Stasiek would flick the whip just like father told him to. When father was sowing, he had to at least tie one of mother’s shawls around Stasiek’s neck and give him a handful of grain so he could sow too. When father mowed, every time he stood the scythe upright and sharpened the blade with a whetstone, Stasiek would hold the handle for him. When he grew up a bit, one day he took the scythe himself and straight away he started mowing like he’d been doing it all his life. Me and Antek and Michał, father had to teach us for a long time, first how you had to stand, how to grip the scythe, how to take short, even steps, how to move the scythe back and forth, how to do it with rye and wheat and barley and oats, how to lay it down and how to keep it straight. And did he ever used to get mad while he was teaching us. He was forever having to tighten the handle and sharpen the blade. Our hands would be covered in blisters from those lessons. But with Stasiek, it was like he’d come into the world knowing how to do it. He just picked up the scythe and mowed.
“Stasiek now, he’ll be a proper mower soon as he gets his strength up.” Father would watch Stasiek mowing like he was gazing at the sunrise. “None of you is as good as him. He’ll probably end up better than me. I’ve been mowing all my life and I never move that evenly. He doesn’t jerk the scythe, he doesn’t leave too much stubble. If you look at his arms it’s as smooth as if he was scooping up water. And the way he walks forward, it’s like the earth itself was moving along under his feet. That’s how it is when God means someone to do something. You can see right away, even though he’s only a child. Take a break, Stasiek! Sit for a while! Drink some water! Or throw pebbles at sparrows a bit! You’ll do your fill of mowing yet!”
Or another time father was getting all worried about how little land we had, and how would he ever be able to divide it up between the four of us sons, and Stasiek pipes up like a true farmer that can find a solution to any problem:
“We can buy some more land, daddy. You said Kaczocha was looking to sell his two acres because he was going to the mill to be a miller. That would be two more acres!”
“He’s taking over the mill, you say.” Father fell deep in thought. After a moment he said: “Well, two acres is a lot of land, that’s for sure. And it’s right next to ours. All we’d have to do is plow over the field boundary.” And he cheered up right away. He slapped his knee and said to mother: “So? Maybe we could have a slice of bread each? Can you go bring us the loaf?”
“It’s the last one,” mother reminded him.
“Never mind that. Even the last one has to be eaten sooner or later.” Father was all cheerful, like he’d just had a drink, he was so pleased about those two acres of Kaczocha’s.
Mother went and brought the bread. She cut each of us a good thick slice, not a crumb more or less for anyone, we all got exactly the same. She only hesitated when she was cutting father’s slice, but she went ahead and gave him one too, though his was much thinner. She left herself out.
“What about you?” father said. “If we’re celebrating, everyone should. Or take mine. I’ll do fine without.”
He reached into his pocket and took out his tobacco pouch, then slowly, his mind somewhere else, he started rolling himself a cigarette. And when father rolled a cigarette it meant something good was happening inside him. Because he rarely felt like smoking when he was down. As he puffed out clouds of smoke, he said to mother:
“Cut Stasiek another slice. Why should we skimp on bread for him if he likes it so much. Szymek and Antek have done all the growing they’re going to, Stasiek’s only just starting. Or give him mine if you don’t want it.”
Another time he fell to thinking about something or other, and lost in his thoughts he suddenly started bad-mouthing Kaczocha:
“Damn fool decides out of the blue to be a miller. He thinks wheat rolls are gonna come falling from the sky just like that. In that job you have to carry sacks. Him, he spends his whole day staring into space and cooing at the pigeons. Out in his fields anything grows that wants to. You’d need to not have a conscience to let land go like that. One year he was cooing away so long he didn’t notice the fall was over, and he forgot to sow. Though whether he sows or no, all that grows there is wheatgrass and other weeds. His father was the same, but at least he’d mend people’s shoes. But him, he just sits there making pigeon noises. The land would need to be cleared of weeds first of all. Plow it over in the fall, then again in the spring. And early, before the soil loosens up. Because once wheatgrass takes hold, afterward nothing can stop it. It’ll eat up the grain and eat up the land. We’d need to borrow a plow with a deep share from someone and dig that sickness out by the roots. Then go over it with the harrow. But even the harrow won’t get rid of all of it. After the harrow we’ll all have to go and pick it out by hand. Then we’d lay down manure and leave it awhile. Plow it over again. And then we could plant lupin.”
“For the love of God!” exclaimed mother. “How much do you think that land’s going to give you! And what do you need lupin for if you already have manure!”
“Well, did the bastard ever even muck his fields? The land’s starved to death, if we get a drought it’ll be like walking over dry bones out there.”
“Never mind lupin.” Mother refused to be convinced. “You should sow rye right away, or wheat, put some potatoes and cabbage in there!”
“I’m telling you, lupin!” said father, getting annoyed. He stood up from his chair and walked to and fro across the room, richer by those two acres of Kaczocha’s. “Dammit, she’s going to tell me what to do with land. All you think about is what’s on the surface. But land is what’s underneath as well. There’s nothing you can do about wheatgrass if you don’t get it out by the roots.”
“Though for a plow with a deep share we’d need another horse, daddy,” Stasiek put in. “One horse wouldn’t be enough.”
“That’s a good point.” Father’s eyes lit up with admiration for Stasiek. “Good you mentioned it, Stasiek. We could maybe borrow Kuśmierek’s. He could borrow ours afterward. Or we could help him out at harvesttime.”
“I’m not helping with anyone else’s harvest!” Antek burst out. “Ours is work enough for me! I’m not gonna be someone else’s farmhand.”
“Just the once,” said father good-naturedly. “It won’t do you any harm. No one’s going to lend us their horse for free. If you don’t want to mow you could help with the binding. We’re not always only going to have one horse. If we get two extra acres we should think about getting another horse as well. There’s plenty of people have less land and they’ve got two horses. We’d find the money.”
“And where would we do that exactly?” asked mother, bridling up. “Our bedsheets are one patch on another and we can’t afford new. Antek needs a new jacket, his elbows are poking out. Stasiek’s shoes are falling apart. Plus, I’d rather have another cow than another horse. At least that way we’d have more milk.”
“Another cow we can rear from a calf. A horse, we need to buy. We’ll never be able to work all that land with just the one. We won’t borrow any more — just this once. Do you know what it means to have two horses in farmwork?” Father was completely lost in his fantasies by now. “All you’ll need to do is crack the whip and they’ll be off! It’ll make no odds whether the plowshare’s deep or they’re going uphill. And when you bring in the crop you can stack three layers of sheaves in the wagon. Or on your way to market, you’ll pass everyone, leave them in a cloud of dust. When you get invited to a wedding, if you go there with two horses you’ll be like a proper lady. With one horse it’d be like going in clothes with holes in them. Because on the other side of the shaft it’s like there’s a hole there. Having two horses is like having two healthy arms. With one it’s like you’ve got one healthy arm and the other one’s withered, or you lost it in the war.”