A Papa Like Everyone Else Page 8

  The road narrowed. To the left stretched a dense forest. The trees were so crowded that only pale slivers of sunlight filtered down, shrouding the road in perpetual gloom. The wind moaned and fluttered eerily through the topmost leaves.

  Something equally scary lay in the hillside to the right, for here were the mysterious caves in which the villagers aged their wine. It did no good for Gisella to tell herself that she knew there were just barrels of wine in there. She could not quiet her fear. How do I know? I can’t be absolutely sure. Horrible creatures like witches and hobgoblins always live in hidden places like these dark caves. Any minute now she expected to hear the squeak of hinges and the stealthy opening of a little cave door. The frightful things would spew forth, screeching and laughing with glee!

  Gisella could almost feel their hot breath upon her; the grasp of their clammy claws on her quivering body. They were dragging her up there, pushing her through one of the doors and hurling her down, down, deep into the dark bowels of the earth! Once she was in their power, they would not let her go. Never again to see the light of day! Never again to see Mama or Szerena!

  Panic possessed her! She found herself panting and yet not able to take in enough breath. She began to run, driving the geese before her. This set loose loud squawkings of protest from the flock. She was somewhat comforted by the familiar sound, but she kept on running, her bare feet heedless of the sharp rubble along the path.

  She was past the forest—past the forbidding caves. She tried to calm herself. Nothing had happened. She was safe. But now a new terror loomed ahead—the cemetery!

  If she could just get by that, everything would be all right. She shuddered. All the dead were in there. A brother and a sister were buried there since before Szerena was born, but every time she came by, she imagined she could hear them calling to her. Against her will, she found herself listening. She seemed to be all ears. Something sounded sort of whispery. What was it? Clapping her hands tightly over her ears, she went stumbling on.

  At long last, the path opened wide. Before her, spread out like a huge checkerboard in the broad sunlight, were the squares of land belonging to the villagers. Gisella threw herself on the warm earth, trembling with relief. The geese were glad to stop their mad rushing and soon settled down to eating.

  Gisella lay absolutely still as the bright sunshine seemed to penetrate into her very being, melting away all trace of her fright. You ought to be ashamed, she scolded herself. Acting like a baby scared to death of everything. Look at Szerena. She’s been bringing the geese here every day since the reaping. She’s not afraid. Well, maybe when I’m as old as Szerena, I’ll be brave too.

  Suddenly she recalled Mama saying that every child has a guardian angel who watches over her all through the day and night. The thought heartened her. She sought out a shady spot at the field’s edge, near a little stream, and sat watching the geese happily searching for leftover morsels.

  Time passed peacefully. Gisella drowsed in the golden sunlight, while the geese ate their fill.

  After a while, she looked up at the sky. It was getting late. Time to go home. Mama would be expecting her. Still she loitered. Guardian angel or no, she had to retrace her steps through the dreaded places.

  She could put it off no longer. Clucking and calling, she rounded up the geese and once again pressed them forward with her stick. Finally she had them all on the road. She took a deep breath, stiffened her body resolutely, and plunged ahead.

  The open fields were soon behind her. They were approaching the cemetery again. Suddenly the geese stretched their wings wide and started running furiously ahead! “No, geese! No!” Gisella screamed after them. “Don’t you go off and leave me here alone!”

  But even as she shouted, they disappeared in a cloud of brown dust. “What shall I do? I’ve lost the geese! What will Mama say?”

  She ran and ran till her heart inside her ribs was beating like some wild thing. Past the caves, past the forest of trees she sped, her anxiety over the geese erasing all remembrance of the unknown terrors lurking along the way. She was past the old man’s house, but there was still no sign of the geese! How was she ever going to face Mama?

  Finally, she raced up the path to her house. “Mama!” she gasped. “The geese! They’re gone!” I tried — but—they—flew away!”

  Mama’s arms were around her. “It’s all right, silly,” she soothed. “They’re here. The geese are all here. They’re resting very nicely by the barn.” Her dark eyes smiled down on the sobbing Gisella. “Don’t you know you never have to worry about geese? They know their way home better than we do.”

  Gisella’s small body gradually ceased trembling. Her tears ceased to flow. Everything that had happened seemed to melt away. Instead she found herself wondering—how did the geese know exactly which house was theirs?

  “I worked pretty hard today,” Szerena interrupted her thinking. “After helping Mama cut the flax, I beat and beat the stalks. My arms feel like they’re dropping off. It was lucky there was a strong wind. It carried off the chaff straightaway. Well, there will be plenty of seeds for next year’s planting. Only next year we won’t have to bother because we won’t be here. Mama will have to sell the seeds. After we eat,” Szerena chattered on, “you can help us tie the stalks into bundles. After all, you had it easy all day just sitting around with the geese.”

  Easy! It was horrible! Gisella longed to scream out. But she held herself in check. She wasn’t going to complain. She had fought off her fears. Wasn’t that really being brave? She took a deep breath. Next time—maybe—she wouldn’t be quite so scared.

  Next morning Imre came with his wagon and carted the sheaths of flax to a marshy pool not far away. For ten days the bundles were left to soak in the stagnant water until the tough stalks grew soft and pliable. Then they were ready to be brought back home.

  With skirts tied high above their knees, Mama and the girls waded barefoot into the water. Tiny water snakes slithered in every direction as they lifted the bundles. “Watch out for leeches!” Mama warned. “Don’t let them stay on you too long!”

  It was almost impossible to prevent the thick shiny worms from attaching themselves to one’s legs. “A leech!” the girls would yell, and Mama would come instantly and carefully tear the leech off. The spot where it had clung itched. Sometimes it left a red mark or even a drop of blood.

  When Imre finished piling up the dripping stalks onto his wagon, Mama joined him up front. The girls climbed onto the rear, feet dangling over the edge. As the horse clippety-clopped along the dirt road, the water dribbled through the floorboards and wove a thin wavy trail all the way home.

  The following day Mama borrowed a flax chopper from a neighbor. This consisted of a narrow table at one end to which a long wooden knife or chopper was attached. While Gisella fed the chopper a few stalks at a time, Szerena worked the handle of the blade up and down, breaking apart the woody outside and releasing masses of grayish green and white threads. These were tied into bundles and piled on the ground like a heap of pony tails.

  Next, with a comb made of long nails hammered through a piece of wood, they combed the pony tails till the threads lay straight and smooth. Finally, the threads were wound into skeins which Mama stored away in the attic.

  On long winter evenings, when the women of the village were not busy with the canning, preserving, and drying of food, they would gather in one another’s houses. Bringing their spindles, they would sit and gossip and spin the fibers to make them ready for weaving.

  ELEVEN

  A white silence had covered the landscape. Everything looked dazzingly clean and untouched. Gisella and Szerena trudged through the snow to the schoolhouse, each carrying schoolbooks and a large piece of wood. The frosty air nipped at their cheeks making them shine like rosy apples.

  Zsiga was the monitor for the day. Stationed at the door, he would not let them pass until he brushed their high boots free of snow with a twig broom. He seemed to be enjoying his task so much
, Gisella was envious. “I wish I could get to be monitor someday,” she whispered to Szerena.

  The fire in the potbellied stove was already blazing. Throughout the school day, it would devour chunk after chunk of wood. It was the children who kept the wood pails filled, for in order to gain admittance, each child had to bring a piece of firewood daily.

  Usually the youngest pupils seated up front grew drowsy from the intense heat, while the oldest, like Szerena, in the back row, shivered from the cold drafts. Gisella was luckily in the middle and found it fairly comfortable.

  Lessons commenced. The children of various ages bent over their work, each group waiting patiently for its turn to be heard. Clutching her pen, a frowning Gisella tried valiantly to form beautiful letters in her copybook. The teacher was very strict about penmanship.

  Suddenly she heard the name “Kalman!” rip out. Up bobbed her head. Oh, dear, not again! Kalman was always getting into trouble. There he was, standing sullenly at the teacher’s desk.

  “Of course, you don’t know,” the teacher was saying sternly. “You haven’t studied. By now, you should know your multiplication tables backwards and forwards.”

  She was a new teacher. She had been with them for only a few months. Gisella thought she was very pretty, with her round face and curly brown hair. But she didn’t look a bit pretty now. She looked positively horrifying, her body drawn up so straight and tall, and her face set tight. She pointed toward the door. “Go and get a switch.”

  Kalman bundled himself up and shuffled out the door. A hush fell over the room as everyone waited.

  In a few moments, he was back with a long branch. Without a word, he handed it to the teacher and bent over.

  Chalks halted on slates. Pens and pencils remained poised as the children watched fearfully over the tops of their copybooks. The switch lashed across Kalman’s backside. Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh! Each time Kalman hopped forward like a rabbit, but he didn’t utter a sound.

  Gisella winced with each blow. She could almost feel the pain whipping across her own back. Sobs began bubbling up out of her. Everyone turned to stare.

  “Why are you crying?” The teacher demanded. “A boy who doesn’t do his work deserves punishment. Get on with your work, or I shall have to punish you, too!”

  Gisella dug her fists in her eyes, choked back the tears, and returned to her penmanship. Behind the teacher’s back, Kalman flashed her a glance of gratitude.

  Later, homeward bound, as the line of children walked two by two, Szerena whispered to Gisella, “That teacher! She gets you so scared, if she asked you how much is one and one, you wouldn’t be able to answer! Am I glad I won’t be back in this school next year! No matter what teachers are like in America, I’m sure they’re not nearly so mean!”

  All through the winter, the long evenings were enlivened by neighbors gathering at one another’s homes to help with special chores. One night the women came to Mama’s house to spin the flax. Hour after hour they sat, pulling on the threads with one hand and twisting them together with the other. The continuous threads were then wound on a spindle. Fingers had to be kept constantly moistened with the tongue. This interfered with talking, so Szerena read aloud favorite scary folktales from a storybook.

  The little house was snug and warm. The heat from the stove lingered on in the thick walls, and the double sets of windows helped to shut out the cold. Lying in bed, Gisella listened raptly while her eyes dwelled on the shadows which, in the flickering light of the lamps, bobbed weirdly along the walls. They seemed frightening, even witchlike. Gisella was both sorry and relieved when the evening task came to an end.

  Next day Mama took the spun yarn to the woman whose loom did all the weaving for the village. It took weeks, but finally Mama got back a tablecloth, some dish towels, and sheets for the bed.

  The precious linen was laid away in the shiny black chest. “Till spring,” Mama told the girls. “Then we’ll wash them and spread them out on the grass to dry, and you’ll see how the sun will turn every piece a creamy white. We’ll have fine new linen to take with us to America,” she finished with a pleased expression.

  The next get-together occurred several weeks later. Mama brought from the storage room the bags full of goose feathers collected over the summer.

  “Oh, good!” Gisella clapped her hands. “We’re having a feather-picking party tonight!”

  “Yes,” Mama nodded. “I’d better get busy and prepare something extra special for the women.” She bustled about happily, and in a little while, the house was full of the most appetizing smells.

  Promptly at five the women arrived. “Umm, umm!” Muncie Neni sniffed appreciatively. “What smells so good here?”

  “Stuffed cabbage?” Zali Neni cried.

  “Naturally,” Mama replied with a laugh. “It’s my best recipe.”

  Muncie Neni smacked her lips. “So let’s get to work everybody,” she ordered. “The sooner we do, the sooner we eat.”

  They seated themselves in a circle, each with a bag of feathers beside her. Dipping into the bag, each woman scooped up a handful of feathers and dropped them into the lap of her apron. Holding one feather at a time, she stripped the feathery fringe from the central rib and deposited it in a large sack in the center of the circle. The skeleton rib was tossed aside into a large pot.

  As Gisella worked away at her sack of feathers, she found herself thinking about how useful geese are. Their meat was good to eat, rendered goose fat was delicious for frying or spread on bread, people used their soft down and feathers for filling pillows and warm puffy quilts. Gisella’s mind wandered back to last summer when Mama and Szerena had carefully plucked the down from the backs and chests of the geese. Afterward, the geese floundered about pink-skinned and naked-looking. Did it hurt them? Mama said no. Still they squawked indignantly while it was being done. They acted so uncomfortable, as if they were ashamed to be parading around without any clothes. Of course, it didn’t take very long before they were all covered again with fresh down, and then she was glad. The new growth felt even softer and fluffier than the old.

  Szerena broke into her thoughts. “Careful! Don’t mix in any of the ribs. They belong in the pot!”

  By now, wisps of fluff were floating all over the house. They tickled nostrils, swam into open mouths and eyes, and settled down on hair and clothing like fresh snow. At the end of about an hour of this, Mama called a halt. “Time to eat!”

  Bags, sacks, and pot were quickly pushed aside. Aprons were shaken free of feathery tufts. In a jiffy, the table was set, and Mama ladled out portions of steaming sweet-and-sour cabbage rolls. In the midst of all the gay banter, the door suddenly opened, and in marched Andros with his zither tucked under his arm.

  “Hah. Leave it to Andros!” Zali Neni cried. “He knows the right time to come!”

  “Of course!” Andros agreed with a grin, seating himself at the table. “I could smell that delicious cabbage all the way from home.” He shoveled a big forkful into his mouth. “Oh, is this good!” he grunted. “The rice and meat stuffing is light and tender. Not heavy, like my mother-in-law’s.” He winked at Mama. “Maybe the secret is that you have put some of this light, fluffy down and feathers in your stuffed cabbage. No?”

  There were bursts of laughter from all.

  Gisella and Szerena ate with relish, too. Such a feast! Excepting for the Sabbath, when Mama always managed to provide chicken or goose, meat seldom appeared on their table.

  Now glasses of hot tea were served. And lastly, dried kernels of corn that had been boiled in sweetened water. Gisella and Szerena dearly loved this confection. When Mama poured a small mound into their palms, they fell upon the sugared morsels until not a speck was left.

  The meal over, Gisella and Szerena cleared away the dishes, while the women resumed their work. Andros set his zither across his knees and began strumming. He played a quick succession of merry tunes, rollicking dances, and love songs. The entire group joined in the choruses, singing at the t
op of their voices.

  As the jolly evening progressed, the big sack grew bulkier and bulkier. Soon it was bedtime for Gisella. She curled up contentedly under the covers, while all around her the feather-picking bee continued. Despite the lively conversation and music, she drifted off into sleep.

  All of a sudden she was jarred awake! For a moment she lay still, wondering what had happened. Was the party over? It must be. The room was dark. . . . Then what had aroused her? The answer came from the barn—excited cacklings and squawkings, the insistent mooing of the cow! What was all the commotion about?

  Gisella’s toes moved gently to touch Szerena, but her hand reaching out for Mama found only emptiness.

  “What’s the matter?” Szerena asked, her voice heavy with sleep.

  “Where’s Mama?” Gisella asked. “Mama!” she called out into the darkness.

  Szerena bolted upright. “Mama’s not here!” she cried. “What’s all that noise from the barn?”

  “I don’t know.”

  They could hear boots crunching on the snow. The door burst open, and a rush of icy air swept in. “Mama?” the sisters whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “What is it, Mama? What’s the matter?”

  “It’s a fox. He must have gotten through a loose board of the barn, and he’s after our fowl. I struck at him with a broom, but I couldn’t chase him out. I’m going across the street to get Mari’s father. Szerena, throw on your coat. Take the broom and bang away at the side of the barn till we get back. Gisella, you stay in bed!”

  In a flash, Szerena was in her coat and boots and running toward the barn. Gisella sprang from the bed, pushed aside the curtain, and pressed her nose against the cold glass.

  The moon shone silvery white on the soft snow. Gisella could clearly follow the animal’s tracks which made a path toward the barn. She could see Szerena whacking away furiously with the broom. From inside the barn, the clamor rose to a terrifying crescendo. “Oh, the poor things!” Gisella cried, hopping up and down. “What’s taking Mari’s father so long?”