Black Spring

  The day Young Lina was born, Masko’s health took a sudden and dramatic turn for the worse: he suffered some kind of fit at the card table. He was carried as a dead man to his bed, and the doctor was roused from his sleep to attend to him. The following day he was recovered enough to leave his bed, and he dismissed the doctor with impatience and returned to his drinking, which he claimed did him more good than any quack’s potions. I guess that alcohol served to numb his physical pain; he had always been a heavy drinker, even by the standards of his peers, but now he called for raki from the moment he awoke and drank steadily until he fell down in a stupor in the evening.

  His decline from that day was alarmingly rapid. His only interest was gambling, and since Damek was now available all day, he played cards with him for as long as Damek would sit. My mother told me he would scream for Damek like a madman every morning until they sat down at the table and dealt the pack. Damek would play on until Masko fell facedown on the table, unconscious from exhaustion and raki. After each game, Damek would insist that my mother fill a basin with warm water, and he would wash his hands thoroughly with soap, as if he had been doing something filthy.

  Certainly Masko was no pleasure to be around. He stank as if his body were rotting from inside and, unless he was gambling, he was in a constant rage. My mother often visited the manse simply to escape: the Red House had become a purgatory. Once I took Irli down to help with the cleaning, which was too much work for my mother alone, and as I left the house, I saw Masko for myself. I was shocked at the change in him. He had lost weight, and his skin seemed to be hanging off him in great folds and was pocked with suppurating boils.

  One morning, about ten days after his fit, Masko was in the breakfast room, shouting as usual for Damek to come and play cards. My mother told me how no one could find Damek, and how Masko had worked himself into a blind fury by the time he finally appeared. Damek was dressed in black from head to foot, and such was his expression that Masko was silenced by the sight of him. It was, my mother said, as if the Devil had entered the room. Masko had in truth thought Damek was his friend: he had spent drunken nights lamenting the perfidy of others and sentimentally toasting Damek’s loyalty. Damek had played his part, never once revealing his real feelings. In that moment, Damek removed his mask, and I think that Masko recognized his fate before Damek said a single word.

  Damek told Masko that he would not play with him, as he did not game with paupers. He threw down a sheaf of papers onto the table. Masko picked up the document with hands that trembled so much he could scarce hold it, and he read it and read it again, as if he didn’t understand what it said.

  “You own nothing. I have won everything, even the clothes on your back, you filthy thieving slug,” Damek told him. “You own less than the poorest beggar in this village, and all that you stole is now restored. Now, get out of my house before I kick you out.”

  My mother told me that Masko turned a sickly grayish green and was too shocked to say a word; and then he just burst into tears. She said that she didn’t know what to do: she loathed the man, but she couldn’t leave him like that — he was still the master, after all . . .

  She tried to get him to lie on a sofa as he sobbed and shook. Damek told her to throw him out of the house, as he would not have such vermin on his carpet. When my mother ignored him, Damek irritably repeated his orders. She objected that it was not his house, and so he showed her the deed, made out to Damek, and when she protested that he could not throw a sick man out into the snow, he said that Masko should be treated with the mercy that he had shown others.

  Masko heard it all but had nothing to say on his behalf: he just sat and wept. My mother swears she has never seen a man so broken. At last, at my mother’s insistence, Damek agreed to wait until the doctor arrived, and a place was found for Masko in a village house, more from the respect felt for my mother than from any compassion. That household’s hospitality was not of long duration, as Masko died that night, and everyone in the village said he had his just deserts. So he met his death, unpitied and unlamented, unless you count that impulse to common decency felt by my mother and myself. So Lina’s curse was fulfilled, and she and Damek had their revenge.

  My mother — and I honor her for it — was horrified by Damek’s behavior that day and never regarded him with the same eye afterward. To pretend friendship where there was none for so long — for even she had believed Damek’s professions — and to throw a mortally sick man out into the snow, revealed a ruthlessness that transgressed her deepest principles. Masko may have deserved such a mean death, she said, but that was for God to determine, not Damek. Ever after, she believed Damek was a demon and crossed herself whenever she saw him.

  Even so, it must be said that Damek’s ownership of the Red House improved my mother’s lot considerably. For all his capacity for cruelty and vengefulness, he was a fair master. The servants who had left the Red House were reinstated and others hired, and she found herself all at once the head of a substantial household. My mother’s first task was to burn all Masko’s clothes and linens, which cleansed the air considerably, and Damek’s next order was to empty the house of Masko’s belongings, which were either sold or given away. The former master’s old furniture was taken out of storage and his pictures replaced on the walls, and when next I visited, the Red House was restored to its original comfort. With the many willing hands, this took less than a week.

  Once the house had been fumigated of Masko’s presence, Damek took over as master of the house and, it turned out, lord of the village. Many years later, he told me that he had taken the precaution of seeing the king before he came to Elbasa and had made sure that Masko had worn out his royal usefulness, and that Damek would not be frowned upon as a replacement. This did not surprise me: by then I had learned how cold-blooded and meticulous Damek could be in pursuit of his revenge.

  News of Masko’s fate spread quickly, but it took a day or so to reach us: the first winter storm meant there wasn’t much congress between the manse and the village, and when the skies cleared again, the ground was six inches deep in snow. My mother tramped through the drifts to see me: she was much shaken by what had transpired and made the walk despite the icy wind, which belied the mild blue sky. She sought tea and a comforting ear, and I willingly gave her both.

  Lina was upstairs resting, and Tibor had gone out to help the village men in clearing the roads. Keeping the village pathways navigable is the major labor through winter, and a necessary one. Although it is inevitable that the outlying houses will be cut off during the worst storms, we attempt to keep the pathways clear for as long as possible. I confess that year I thought it would be no bad thing if we were isolated, since Damek would not be able to visit. I had just said as much to my mother when Damek himself walked in the back door, stamping his feet on the floor to rid his boots of dirt and ice.

  My mother and I stared at him in amazement.

  “Don’t gawp at me like a pair of old crows,” he said impatiently. “I came in the back door so I wouldn’t have a stupid time-wasting argument with Tibor, and I’m in no mood to put up with you two.”

  “Tibor’s out clearing the roads,” snapped my mother. “And you should be too. They need all hands.”

  “I don’t remember the Lord Kadar ever digging snow,” said Damek. “You should remember who I am. I need to see Lina, and at once. Is she in her room?”

  “I don’t think she needs to see you,” said I.

  He didn’t deign to respond, and casting his greatcoat on the settle, leaped up the back stairs. My mother and I exchanged glances, and I followed him, attempting to persuade him that he should not disturb Lina, as she was sleeping. He took absolutely no notice of me and didn’t even knock on the door of the room before he entered.

  Lina was awake and dressed and was lying on her couch, staring out of the window. When she saw Damek, she started up and flung her arms about him.

  “I knew it was you!” she said, her eyes sparkling. “Tell me, Mas
ko is dead, isn’t he? I dreamed and I saw him drowning, and then I dreamed again and he was lying in the snow like a fat blue pudding, all naked. I’ve never seen anything more disgusting, awake or asleep. I’m sure he’s dead.”

  “Yes, he’s dead,” said Damek shortly. “But —”

  “I’m so happy, Damek! At last — I have so longed for this. Did you make him suffer? Oh, I hope you ground that worm into the dirt. . . .”

  I felt almost ill with shame and disgust. After my mother’s distress, I was in no mood for such unholy glee. Lina had much reason to hate Masko — more than I knew at the time — but even so, justice is one thing, and joy in another’s suffering quite another.

  “Yes, he’s dead,” I said. “And if you were a good Christian, you’d be praying for his soul instead of gloating over the poor man’s suffering. You were cruel, Damek, and you know it.”

  “No crueler than he was,” said Damek, turning on me a look of contempt. “Save your pity for a better target. That man deserved every pang he suffered, and more. Anyway, that’s not why I’m here.” He grasped Lina’s shoulders and looked seriously into her eyes. “Lina, you have to leave with me, and now. Ezra means to kill you.”

  Lina pushed away his hands. “Don’t be ridiculous, Damek. The Wizard Ezra can’t harm me.”

  “He has already cursed you.”

  “I feel nothing. He cannot hurt me, Damek. I am stronger than he is, and he knows it. And you can’t come in here telling me what to do —”

  “I’m serious, Lina. Come away with me — we can make it south before the hard snows, if we leave now. Come to the city with me — remember how often we talked of the things we would do? We can do it. But we have to leave now.”

  For a moment, I saw raw longing in Lina’s eyes, and she wavered, but then she laughed, and the moment passed. “Damek, I will do what I choose, not what you choose. I am married! I have a daughter! I’m not leaving them just to please you.”

  “You must leave now or die here,” said Damek. “There was a gathering of the clan yesterday, and you have been declared a witch. They have said that you are to be killed and your body burned. Ezra has already begun the purification rite, and I judge that he will be here within the hour. It was only the barest chance that I found out at all. . . .”

  “So?” Lina looked scornful. “I’ll make them pay for even daring to think of harming me.”

  Damek stared at her in disbelief. “Did you hear what I said?”

  “I heard. But I’ll not run from those peasant wizards. I’m no coward.”

  Damek opened his mouth to argue and then thought better of it. He turned to me. “Anna, start packing a trunk. We can go by the back route — I have a horse and sleigh with me for the luggage, and my carriage is ready to go when we reach the Red House. Haste!”

  Such was the urgency of Damek’s command, I found myself running to Lina’s wardrobe and pulling out some warm clothes. I was by no means as sanguine about the Wizard Ezra as Lina was, and his news put me into a near panic. Lina turned on me like a furious dog.

  “Put those back! Don’t be such a hen, Anna! Damek, you get out of here. This is my house, and I’ll thank you to remember it!”

  “I’ll not have you dead, Lina!” said Damek. “Did you not hear what I said? Do you really think you could outface all the Usoferteras? It’s not just Ezra; it’s the whole clan. And do you think the king is a friend to you, when he thought your very birth was an insult? He tolerates you at best. The slightest trouble, and he would order your death. Do you think you’ll see next spring if you stay here?”

  “I’ll be as alive as you.” Lina’s lips were set in a stubborn line, and her eyes flashed dangerously. “I’m not your damned goat, to be hauled off where you want, when you say. I fear no wizard and no king. Now, get out of my house.”

  Damek knew that expression as well as I did: in this mood, Lina could not be moved, even if the house were on fire.

  “You can’t mean that, Lina,” he said, and he stretched out his hand to hers. She turned her back on him.

  “Get out, I said.”

  Damek stood irresolute. I think it had been a long time since anyone had resisted his will, and he did not know what to do.

  “Listen, Lina. I came here for two reasons: to kill that louse Masko, and to get you —”

  “I’m glad you destroyed Masko,” said Lina. “But I’m not something you get.”

  She turned to face him, the light in her body again, and my skin prickled into goose bumps. I swear I saw sparks in Lina’s hair and that it floated about her head as if she were underwater.

  “I said, get out. Both of you.”

  She didn’t speak loudly, but it was impossible to resist her order. Both Damek and I found ourselves on the other side of the threshold, looking in at Lina, who seemed now the only luminous object in a room that was suddenly full of shadows. And then, without any human agency, the door slammed shut in our faces.

  For a few moments we were both silent from astonishment. Then Damek turned to me, trembling with rage and fear.

  “I could shake her to pieces,” he said. “Her pride will kill her. Why will she not listen?”

  He began hammering on the door and calling Lina’s name as I vainly tugged at his arm to stop him. When she didn’t answer, he rammed it with his shoulder, and at last the bolts gave and he fell into the room.

  Lina didn’t seem to have moved: she still stood in the center of the room. Damek threw himself toward her, intending perhaps to pick her up and carry her out by main force, and she simply lifted her hands in a gesture of prohibition. It was as if he’d run into a wall. He fell stunned to the ground.

  “I said, go away.” Lina’s voice was hard and expressionless.

  Damek looked up, and to my surprise I saw tears in his eyes. “Why won’t you listen?” he said.

  “I’m not the one who is deaf,” said Lina.

  “I couldn’t bear it if you died,” he said. “Without you, the sun is dark in my eyes. Without you, the world is a desert of thirst, with no spring anywhere. Without you, I have no soul, no life. Don’t you understand?”

  For a moment Lina faltered, and I saw doubt fleet over her expression. Then she smiled, and it was such a smile as I picture on Satan’s face as he looks over his cohorts in hell: sweet and beautiful almost beyond imagining, and yet expressive of a diabolical will.

  “I’ll not die,” she said. “And even if I did, do you think you would be rid of me? Do you think I would not beat in your heart, Damek, and look out through your eyes? Why do you keep demanding what is already yours? Are you so greedy?”

  Damek slowly scrambled to his feet. “Come with me, Lina,” he whispered. “I beg of you.”

  “No.” She turned away, dismissing both of us. “I’m tired. Come back tomorrow, and we’ll talk.”

  Damek glared at her with sudden hatred. “Damn you, then,” he said. “Damn your stupidity and damn your petty arrogance. Damn you to hell.”

  He turned on his heel and walked out of the room. I heard his footsteps receding down the stairs, and the slam of the door as he left the house.

  Lina stood still as stone, listening to his departure. And then she swayed and fell to the floor in a faint, even as I ran to catch her.

  My mother had come upstairs when Damek left, and she helped me carry Lina to her couch. We set about chafing her cheeks and waved hartshorn under her nose, but she did not revive. After a half hour of no response, we became anxious: her breathing was faint and her face was bloodless. I ran downstairs and told the groom to ride for the doctor, instructed Irli to mind the door, and then ran up to her room again. I poked up the fire and we undid her stays gently and dressed her in warm nightclothes and laid her in her bed. At last this roused her: she blinked and opened her eyes.

  “Anna!” she said. “How strange! I thought I had fallen into the well.”

  “You should take care of yourself,” said I. “You are still sick.”

  “Nay,” she sai
d, and struggled to sit up. She could not and lay back on her pillow. “Why am I so weak? Where did Damek go?”

  “You sent him away,” said my mother. “And quite right.”

  She seemed stricken by this news. “I sent Damek away?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Don’t try to sit up, Lina; you should rest.”

  As we spoke, I heard with relief a hammering on the front door. “That’ll be the doctor,” I said. “He must have been close!”

  “I don’t want to see the doctor,” Lina said petulantly. “There’s nothing wrong with me. . . .”

  I ran onto the landing so I could speak to the doctor before he saw Lina, and I heard voices rising from the hallway. My heart stopped. It wasn’t the doctor: it was the Wizard Ezra. Irli must have let him in. I cursed myself: in my anxiety over Lina, I had completely forgotten Damek’s warning. How could I have been so thoughtless? Irli was only a child, and she couldn’t be expected to defy a wizard demanding entrance. I stood frozen on the landing, gripped by total panic. Then I ran back into the chamber. There was no way of bolting the door, as Damek had broken it earlier, and my first confused thought was to move Lina into another room.

  “It’s the Wizard Ezra!” I hissed at my mother as I hauled off the bedclothes and attempted to pick Lina up.

  My mother went pale and crossed herself. Lina pulled herself up, supporting herself on the bedstead, and stared at me.

  “Ezra?” she said. “In my house?”

  “Hurry,” I said, desperately trying to push her out of the room. I could hear heavy footsteps on the stairs already.

  Lina swore obscenely and shook me off. “I don’t care about Ezra,” she said. “Stop behaving like an old woman, Anna.”