“Eagle!” And I squeezed till his eyes almost popped out. A few folks jumped up from their tables, but Rowan blocked their way, watch it, he put his hand in his jacket and they sat back down.
“Pietruszka, you two-faced bastard!” He could barely breathe, but he grabbed hold of my coat and clung on like a drowning man.
“Eagle.” I was so mad I lost it, I squeezed harder and harder. The barmaid screamed and threatened to call the military police.
“Smack him one. Let the godfather have it,” said Rowan, egging me on.
At this moment Birchtree ran into the pub and signaled to let us know the bailiff guy was at the market.
“Let go of me, godfather!” I shouted. But he wouldn’t. Without a second thought I punched him between the eyes. His nose started bleeding and those eyes of his went all cloudy.
“Pietruszka,” he wheezed.
“Eagle.” I whacked him again.
“Don’t hit me. Don’t hit me any more. You can be Eagle.”
VII. Hallelujah
I don’t know if God died, if he rose again from the dead, if any of that is true, but blessed eggs taste different than eggs that haven’t been blessed. And nobody’s going to tell me it only seems that way to me. Ordinarily I’m not that wild about eggs, but blessed eggs, I can eat ten of them and still keep going. I don’t need to even have them with bread, just a little salt, of course salt that’s also been blessed. Best of all is with horseradish sauce, that ought to be not just blessed but so strong it knocks your socks off.
Mother would bake babkas for Easter. They were famous, those babkas of hers. The whole time before the next harvest there could be the worst shortage of flour, there could be no flour even to make the base for żurek, but when the harvest was done and the new flour was bolted she’d always set aside enough for her babkas, then the rest had to last as long as it could. And when she brought one of those babkas down from the attic, because that was where she kept them after they were baked, father and Michał and Antek and Stasiek would sit around the table like foxes round a henhouse, and their mouths would be watering as mother cut the babka. Me, I preferred blessed eggs even over babka. And usually we’d swap, I’d give someone my slice of babka and they’d give me their egg.
If it wasn’t for the blessed eggs I could have done without Easter at all. Because what kind of holiday is it actually? It’s neither in wintertime nor in spring. Also, you never know when it’s going to fall. You have to look at the calendar every year to see where it’s marked. So you have to buy a new calendar every year if you want to know, like you couldn’t just get used to the same day once and for all. I was born on Good Friday, but I can’t say it was on Good Friday, because Good Friday is different each year. So maybe Jesus didn’t die and rise from the dead after all, if it’s a different time every year?
I like Christmas better. It’s always in the same place. You don’t have to check. Besides which, the year is finishing, and there never was a year you’d want to keep. And I love carols. Way back, when we’d all sing carols together at home, the walls would ring. Then when you went down to the village to hear them singing in other houses, you felt like the Star of Bethlehem that appeared over the stable was about to come to earth. Here there was singing, there there was singing, there was singing at all the neighbors’ and at the edge of the village, and even far, far beyond.
These days too, when Christmas Eve comes along I like to sing a little. Because carols you can sing on your own and it sometimes still seems that everyone’s singing along like in the old days. The one I like best is “God is born.” I still have some of my old voice, and when I take a good deep breath I can make the walls ring like before. The neighbors stop their own singing to listen to me. Quiet there, Szymek’s singing. On a frosty night they can hear me all the way at the end of the village. Even Michał’s all ears when I sing, like he wants it to go on forever.
Sometimes I try and persuade him, if you want I’ll teach you and then the two of us can sing together. Say after me, God is born. First the words, then later the tune. They’re not hard. God is God, obviously. Is born, you know that too. I was born, you were born. A dog is born, a cat, a foal, a calf. Anything that wants to live has to be born. Remember, in the spring we had chicks, they were born as well, except from eggs. We used to sing this one every Christmas. We’d sit around the table, it was a different table back then, me, you, father, mother, and Antek, Stasiek would be in mother’s arms. When mother was serving the food she’d always give him to you to hold, because he didn’t cry when you had him. One time he peed in your lap. God is born, that’s all there is to sing, don’t be afraid.
Though when I was a young man I liked Easter too. In the fire brigade we’d always stand watch over Christ’s tomb on Good Friday. In our uniforms with all the straps, with our axes at our side, we’d compete whose uniform shone the brightest. The whole week leading up to it we spent polishing our helmets and boots. A helmet like that, the best way to clean it properly was first with ash, then spit, then cloth, and it would shine like a monstrance, when you wore it you looked like Saint George, or maybe another saint, I forget which one used to wear a helmet. For the boots the best thing was a mixture of soot and sour cream, then rabbit skin to give them a shine. Though beforehand you had to go all over the place to try and borrow boots from someone. Because none of the young men had tall boots, only the farmers had them, and then only the better-off ones. Four of us stood watch so we needed eight pairs for the changing of the guard, plus everyone had feet of different sizes, sometimes we had to go all the way to other villages looking for boots, and they were rarely a good fit for everyone. You often had to stand there in boots that were too small for you. They’d pinch and chafe, your legs would go numb up to your knees, and on top of that people would come to look at the tomb, so they’d be looking at us as well, and afterward there was no end of gossip in the village, so-and-so was standing crooked, so-and-so was rocking from side to side, so-and-so was blinking like you wouldn’t believe. But when it came to me they always said, he was standing straight as an arrow.
Then Easter Monday would come around and Dyngus Day, and we’d go from house to house from the early morning wherever there was a good-looking girl. We’d splash the parents a bit first, because you had to, then you’d throw more water over the daughter, though not too much, so you wouldn’t get it on the walls after they’d been freshly whitewashed. Because if her folks got mad they might not invite you in for something to eat and drink. It was only later, once we’d gone around to a dozen or so houses and we were on the tipsy side, then we’d go all out. We’d toss whole potfuls, whole bucketfuls over them. Any woman that was on her way to church or from church, whether she was single or married, none of them was safe. Some of them we’d lure all the way to the well. Some of us would keep her there, others would draw the water, the girl would scream and we’d all have a good laugh.
One time Zośka Niezgódka managed to get away from us and ran off towards the river. Unluckily for her we caught up with her by the bank. She cried and pleaded with us, she said she had a new dress on, that she had new pumps, a new blouse, everything was new, because her aunt had just sent it from America, and she’d be afraid to go back home if it got wet. So we took all her clothes off. But she cried and begged even more, when she struggled her boobs jumped up and down, and down below she had red hair. Stand still, Zośka, or your maidenhead’ll break and then none of us’ll want to marry you. We grabbed her by the arms and legs and flung her in the river.