XVI
MR. SHIMERDA LAY DEAD in the barn four days, and on the fifth theyburied him. All day Friday Jelinek was off with Ambrosch digging thegrave, chopping out the frozen earth with old axes. On Saturday webreakfasted before daylight and got into the wagon with the coffin. Jakeand Jelinek went ahead on horseback to cut the body loose from the poolof blood in which it was frozen fast to the ground.
When grandmother and I went into the Shimerdas' house, we found thewomenfolk alone; Ambrosch and Marek were at the barn. Mrs. Shimerda satcrouching by the stove, Antonia was washing dishes. When she saw me, sheran out of her dark corner and threw her arms around me. 'Oh, Jimmy,'she sobbed, 'what you tink for my lovely papa!' It seemed to me that Icould feel her heart breaking as she clung to me.
Mrs. Shimerda, sitting on the stump by the stove, kept looking over hershoulder toward the door while the neighbours were arriving. They cameon horseback, all except the postmaster, who brought his family in awagon over the only broken wagon-trail. The Widow Steavens rode up fromher farm eight miles down the Black Hawk road. The cold drove the womeninto the cave-house, and it was soon crowded. A fine, sleety snow wasbeginning to fall, and everyone was afraid of another storm and anxiousto have the burial over with.
Grandfather and Jelinek came to tell Mrs. Shimerda that it was timeto start. After bundling her mother up in clothes the neighbours hadbrought, Antonia put on an old cape from our house and the rabbit-skinhat her father had made for her. Four men carried Mr. Shimerda's box upthe hill; Krajiek slunk along behind them. The coffin was too wide forthe door, so it was put down on the slope outside. I slipped out fromthe cave and looked at Mr. Shimerda. He was lying on his side, with hisknees drawn up. His body was draped in a black shawl, and his head wasbandaged in white muslin, like a mummy's; one of his long, shapely handslay out on the black cloth; that was all one could see of him.
Mrs. Shimerda came out and placed an open prayer-book against the body,making the sign of the cross on the bandaged head with her fingers.Ambrosch knelt down and made the same gesture, and after him Antonia andMarek. Yulka hung back. Her mother pushed her forward, and kept sayingsomething to her over and over. Yulka knelt down, shut her eyes, and putout her hand a little way, but she drew it back and began to cry wildly.She was afraid to touch the bandage. Mrs. Shimerda caught her by theshoulders and pushed her toward the coffin, but grandmother interfered.
'No, Mrs. Shimerda,' she said firmly, 'I won't stand by and see thatchild frightened into spasms. She is too little to understand what youwant of her. Let her alone.'
At a look from grandfather, Fuchs and Jelinek placed the lid on the box,and began to nail it down over Mr. Shimerda. I was afraid to look atAntonia. She put her arms round Yulka and held the little girl close toher.
The coffin was put into the wagon. We drove slowly away, against thefine, icy snow which cut our faces like a sand-blast. When we reachedthe grave, it looked a very little spot in that snow-covered waste. Themen took the coffin to the edge of the hole and lowered it with ropes.We stood about watching them, and the powdery snow lay without meltingon the caps and shoulders of the men and the shawls of the women.Jelinek spoke in a persuasive tone to Mrs. Shimerda, and then turned tograndfather.
'She says, Mr. Burden, she is very glad if you can make some prayer forhim here in English, for the neighbours to understand.'
Grandmother looked anxiously at grandfather. He took off his hat, andthe other men did likewise. I thought his prayer remarkable. I stillremember it. He began, 'Oh, great and just God, no man among us knowswhat the sleeper knows, nor is it for us to judge what lies between himand Thee.' He prayed that if any man there had been remiss toward thestranger come to a far country, God would forgive him and soften hisheart. He recalled the promises to the widow and the fatherless, andasked God to smooth the way before this widow and her children, and to'incline the hearts of men to deal justly with her.' In closing, he saidwe were leaving Mr. Shimerda at 'Thy judgment seat, which is also Thymercy seat.'
All the time he was praying, grandmother watched him through the blackfingers of her glove, and when he said 'Amen,' I thought she lookedsatisfied with him. She turned to Otto and whispered, 'Can't you start ahymn, Fuchs? It would seem less heathenish.'
Fuchs glanced about to see if there was general approval of hersuggestion, then began, 'Jesus, Lover of my Soul,' and all the men andwomen took it up after him. Whenever I have heard the hymn since, it hasmade me remember that white waste and the little group of people; andthe bluish air, full of fine, eddying snow, like long veils flying:
'While the nearer waters roll, While the tempest still is high.'
Years afterward, when the open-grazing days were over, and the red grasshad been ploughed under and under until it had almost disappeared fromthe prairie; when all the fields were under fence, and the roadsno longer ran about like wild things, but followed the surveyedsection-lines, Mr. Shimerda's grave was still there, with a saggingwire fence around it, and an unpainted wooden cross. As grandfather hadpredicted, Mrs. Shimerda never saw the roads going over his head. Theroad from the north curved a little to the east just there, and the roadfrom the west swung out a little to the south; so that the grave, withits tall red grass that was never mowed, was like a little island; andat twilight, under a new moon or the clear evening star, the dusty roadsused to look like soft grey rivers flowing past it. I never came uponthe place without emotion, and in all that country it was the spot mostdear to me. I loved the dim superstition, the propitiatory intent, thathad put the grave there; and still more I loved the spirit that couldnot carry out the sentence--the error from the surveyed lines, theclemency of the soft earth roads along which the home-coming wagonsrattled after sunset. Never a tired driver passed the wooden cross, I amsure, without wishing well to the sleeper.