A Treatise on Shelling Beans (30 page)

What happened after that? After that it snowed. That much you know. How do you know I hid in the potato cellar? I didn’t hide, mother sent me in the morning with a basket to fetch potatoes. The zurek soup was already on the go, she’d put the potatoes in and for sure what was in the pot would have been enough. But she suddenly decided it wouldn’t do. Get the basket and bring a few more, son, I’ll peel them and pop them in. She always liked to make big amounts of everything, because you never knew who might show up hungry. And if not, it would still get eaten.

It took a while for me to fill the basket, then clamber up to the little door of the cellar, the place was deep and I wasn’t that strong, I had to go one step at a time, first lift the basket onto the next step up and only then climb after it. I’d almost reached the door, I had one more step to go, when out of the blue I heard shots. I put my eye to a crack in the door and I saw soldiers running and shouting, pouring something from canisters all around the house and the barn and cattle sheds. I let go of the basket, it crashed back into the cellar. Instead of rushing out and running back to the house, I hunched over till my head touched my knees. I shut my eyes, covered my ears with my hands, and sat there not hearing and not seeing.

Let me tell you, to this day I can’t understand my own behavior. I can’t forgive myself. No, it wasn’t what you think, it wasn’t fear. Fear would have driven me out of the cellar. Fear would have made me hear my heart, but in my case my heart stopped. I couldn’t hear the least murmur through the hands over my ears. I was all numb.

I don’t know how long I sat like that, like I’d frozen for good in that position, hugging my knees, hands pressed to my ears. I don’t even know when I fell asleep. Can you imagine that, I fell asleep. Is that normal? True, I’d never liked getting up early in the morning, I always had a hard time waking up. Even when I could hear mother leaning over me and saying, Come on son, get up, it’s time, even then I could never wake up. So more often than not it would be father who came to wake me up. He’d pull the covers off of me and say loudly, Come on, on your feet or I’ll pour cold water over you! After that I’d walk around still sleepy for the longest time. I’d wash and get dressed in a daze. We’d have breakfast and I’d still be in a daze. They’d have to keep reminding me to eat instead of falling back asleep. I’d still feel sleepy when I went to school. Often, the schoolteacher would finally wake me during the first lesson. Or in vacation time, when I led the cows down to the pasture it was more like they were leading me, and I was following behind, still asleep.

Anyway, when I woke up everything was covered with snow. I’d never seen snow like that before. You have no idea. The trees were a third buried in snow. Nearby in the orchard there was an old beehive that the bees had left. Father had been planning to set up a new bee yard, he kept promising himself. The hive was completely covered in snow. It was coming down in big flakes, it was so dense you could barely see anything at all. And it kept falling. You had to peer through it like you do with fog. We’d not had snow all winter. There’d been frosts, but not a hint of snow. When it had started I couldn’t tell you. But it was only when it stopped that you could see how thick it lay. It came up to more than half the height of the cellar door. Luckily the crack I could see out of was right at the top of the door. The snow shone so brightly it was hard to see through the crack.

Snow like that changes the world. For instance, when you walk through the woods among the trees all heaped with snow, you really feel like just lying down under one of the trees. Especially when it falls in big flakes, even if it were going to cover you up, you’d still lie down. Why not? Is it so difficult to imagine you’re lying there in bed, in the sheets, under a fluffy quilt, plus no one’s waking you up, while here over your head there’s, let say, a happy fir tree. That’s right, trees can be happy or unhappy too, it can happen. Like people, they’re not so different from us. I can see you don’t believe me. Let me tell you, when I was little I could tell at a glance which trees were happy and which ones weren’t. When I went berry-picking or mushrooming with mother, she’d be looking for berries or mushrooms, whereas me, I’d be looking at the trees and seeing which ones were happy and which were unhappy. Often I’d call her over to come take a look, she really had to see. She’d come away from her berries or mushrooms, thinking something must be wrong. But she never told me I was talking nonsense, that I’d taken her away from her berries or mushrooms for no reason. Try and imagine this: two oak trees next to each other, both of them just oaks, but one of them is happy, while the other one is kind of stock still in its distress. On the first tree the leaves are all atremble with the joy of life, on the other one they look like all they want to do is fall off.

These days I can’t tell which is which. I often walk a good ways through the woods, but I can’t figure it out. They all look the same to me, and whether a tree’s happy or unhappy, I can’t say. Often I’ll take the dogs out and watch to see if they know. But neither of them so much as sniffs at a tree. How can I get them to? What are they even supposed to sniff for – to see which trees are happy and which ones aren’t? You’d have to explain to them what that meant. The thing is, no one knows. Besides, the woods themselves may mean something different to dogs. In any case, for me they’re no longer the same woods.

When I got cold looking through the crack, I went back down to the bottom of the cellar. It was much warmer down there. I slept there, ate there. Oh, there was plenty to eat. Not just potatoes. Carrots, beets, cabbage, turnip. When I was
thirsty, I drank snow. I managed to push the door open a tiny bit, just enough to reach out my hand and get a handful of snow.

I didn’t count on anyone finding me there. To be honest, I didn’t want anyone to find me. Besides, who could it have been? The whole place was deserted, silent, nothing but the snow. You’ll find this hard to believe, but I was actually beginning to feel comfortable there. I felt the way I did when I was lying in the bottom of the boat in the reeds, and they’d be calling me, father, mother, my sisters, and I’d pretend not to hear. I’d imagine them scolding me later, Where on earth were you? You’re nothing but trouble. We were calling and calling.

No animal came by, no bird flew over or perched on a tree. It was only some time later that I saw a hare, though even then I just caught a glimpse of it on top of the snow. Some time after that, I don’t know how long it could have been since I saw the hare, I wasn’t counting the days – I guess I could have put one potato aside each day, say, but what for? When you count, it means you’re counting on something. Whereas me, I wasn’t counting on anything, like I told you. Anyway, after a while a deer appeared. I didn’t think it was real. I stared and I couldn’t believe my eyes. I thought I must be dreaming, because it was standing more or less where the kitchen had been. Plus it was calm, tame, you rarely see deer that calm and trusting. It stood there like nothing could scare it away. It must have been hungry, it started grubbing in the snow with its muzzle. I thought about tossing it some potatoes, it might come even closer. But I couldn’t open the door any wider. Then suddenly, though nothing had startled it, it just vanished. You know, when you look at nothing but snow, and through a crack in a door at that, everything happens in a different way. And different things happen than when there’s no snow.

I’d glue my eye to that crack in the door, and it was like looking through a stereoscope at Christmas postcards. For instance, one time a Christmas tree decorated with candles appeared where our living room had been. The candles burned so brightly that everywhere else all around became dark as night, even though it was daytime. Or suddenly, beyond the woods a star began to fall from the sky, big and glowing, with a shining tail. I had to take my eye away from
the crack, because I couldn’t stare at it for long. Then one day I looked out and the three kings were passing by. How did I know they were kings? They wore crowns. They looked lost, because they walked a ways, turned around and went off in a different direction.

One time father took me to market and we went into a store to buy notebooks. Under the glass counter top they had postcards like that, among other things the three kings walking across snow, and someone was pointing the way to them, not this way, that way. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. It was the first time I’d seen postcards. I even got up the courage to ask the clerk what you did with them.

“You send them,” he said.

I started badgering father:

“Daddy, let’s buy one and send it.”

“Who to?” He tugged me away impatiently. “We don’t have anyone to send it to. Everyone’s here.”

One time there was the sound of sleigh bells. I stuck my eye to the crack. It got louder and louder, it was clearly coming in my direction. Then, suddenly it started to move further away, till it faded completely. I never saw the sleigh, or who was driving it. Another time, carol singers appeared. They were walking in single file, one after another, they could barely lift their feet clear of the snow. In the lead was the Star, after him King Herod, the Marshal, the Jew, the Watchman, while the Devil brought up the rear. I was surprised Death wasn’t there. I thought to myself, who’s going to cut Herod’s head off? But maybe Death was there after all, it was just that Death is white, and against the snow you couldn’t tell if he was there. The way you sometimes can’t tell dreams from waking life.

Mr. Robert, ever since we first met, every Christmas he’d send me one of those cards, and I’d send one to him. We’d choose the kind I’m talking about, with Christmas trees, carolers, the three kings and so on. He’d often select one that he made fun of in what he wrote on the back. I’m sending you what’s left of our naivety, check out the other side.

One Christmas I was picking out a card for him when I saw one that was
just like what I’d seen through the crack in the door. Exactly the same. A star was falling beyond some woods, and the world lay under a blanket of snow. I bought it, bought a stamp right away, addressed it almost without thinking and sent it. Not to Mr. Robert. To this place. With no message. I mean, what message could I have sent? Ever since then, every Christmas I would send a card like that. Without a message. One time only, I wondered about signing it: Yours. But what does that mean? Whose? They never came back. How could they, I never gave a return address. Pointless, you reckon? I thought so too. But Christmas would come around again and I’d send another one. You might not agree with me, but to my mind it’s only on postcards that the world is still the way we’d like it to be. That’s why we send them to one another.

No, I didn’t think about what would happen when the snow melted. I ate, I slept, I looked through the crack in the door, and when it came down to it I wasn’t sure whether I was alive. Maybe I was simply waiting, thinking I would melt along with the snow. Why wouldn’t I? When a person isn’t sure that they’re alive, maybe they could melt with the snow.

Then out of nowhere, one day a group of partisans appeared. That morning the sun was shining brightly, the woods had become transparent, it was like the trees had parted, and I could see them coming from a long way off. You might not believe me, but I wanted them to walk on by. Shout that I was there? No way. I’ll say more, it was only then that I started to be afraid. I went back down to the bottom of the cellar, I even climbed up on a pile of potatoes by the wall. To one side there were potatoes, on the other there were the carrots, beets, cabbage, turnip. In the middle was a clear space where you could stand, put your basket down and fill it.

It wasn’t that it was because of them it had all happened. Whoever it might have been, I didn’t want to be found. They often came to the village. In summer, in winter, at any time of the day or night. In wintertime they’d stay the longest. There wasn’t a house where they didn’t make themselves at home. At times there were more of them than the people who lived there. They’d sleep in
attics, barns, in the regular rooms too if someone had more than one room. The officers always stayed in the houses. They had to be fed, and they’d tend to their wounds. Often a doctor had to be fetched, though I don’t remember anyone in the village ever bringing a doctor for themselves. People would make their own treatments, they had herbs and ointments, they drank infusions, gave rub-downs, did cuppings. And when that didn’t help, they died. There were all kinds of ways of treating sicknesses. For example, do you know what hare’s-tongue is? No, it’s actually fat. It’s the best thing for an infected wound. For burns, aloes. For rheumatism, you’d sting the affected place with nettles. Me too, I sometimes go and put my hands in nettles. Or you’d put bees on them. Even the worst broken bones, there were people who knew how to set them. Without plaster, they used firewood sticks. Or do you know what it means to say a child is dry? It’s when a baby’s born with a dislocated hip. Grandmother always mended hips like that. They’d bring her the child, say it wouldn’t stop crying. First she’d place the baby’s legs next to each other to see if the folds lined up. If they didn’t, it meant it was a dry child. At those times you had to leave the house, the baby would scream so much in her hands. But in our village no one limped. Not every illness could be treated. But treatment isn’t always about having a solution. It’s enough for someone to know there’s no solution and that’s why they have to die.

You know, fetching a doctor was easier said than done. It was a long way, plus not every doctor was willing to take the risk. One time they made father go, and we all prayed until he came back. Then he had to take the doctor back again, and again we prayed for his safe return. So sometimes people were sick of the partisans. Especially because on top of everything they drank, and you had to have moonshine to give them. They even organized little dances. Some of them played the harmonica, they’d gather all the unmarried girls, and the girls were raring to go. Afterwards one or another of them found herself pregnant.