A Swarm of Dust. Evald Flisar

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СКАЧАТЬ skinny farmer, who lived a solitary life on the edge of the village. Then it suddenly happened. It must have been the suddenness of the event that made the priest succumb so excessively to the mysterious premonition. One night, a storm raged above the valley, the like of which hadn’t been seen for a long time. It was the first storm of the year: it was barely the end of April and the heavens had opened. The next morning the whole valley was gripped by horror. The previous evening they had seen the sacred chestnut swaying violently on the hill, illuminated by lightning, but the next morning where it should have stood there was only clear blue sky, washed by the storm.

      The priest once again looked across the valley and tried to work out whether the sky was really lighter. Of course it was, since it was early morning. He might not have realised what had happened if old Nancashka hadn’t rushed into the presbytery, fallen on her knees and sobbed that God had sent a sign and that the centuries-old chestnut tree was no more … It was then he turned and looked out of the window and saw empty sky. He was stunned, the ground felt unsteady beneath his feet. What disturbed him most was that a circle had been broken and he would need to work out what was happening.

      ‘What can you do,’ he tried to calm the almost hysterical woman, ‘we haven’t had such a storm … ’

      ‘No, Father!’ she almost yelled. ‘The chestnut was not uprooted, someone chopped it down! Can you imagine how much effort was involved? Only the devil could have done it!’

      And she rushed off, as if the devil really was hot on her heels. The priest was awash with uncertainty; a feeling that continued all that day and all night, and even more so the next morning – a Sunday, when more people flocked to church than he had ever known. He stood in the pulpit. They stared at him, waiting for him to announce a miracle. How much despair flooded his heart, how many lies and doubts awoke in him, how clear it became that things were happening of their own accord, spontaneously, irrationally, far from folks’ beliefs and their demands to elevate the trivia! He would prefer to avoid explaining the event, for he did not wish to pretend. He knew that he was in dire need of reflection, that he could say nothing that he would not doubt the next moment. But the people were staring at him, they were all eyes. It struck him that he could not reveal to them the ruin that existed inside him. He began to speak.

      ‘The old chestnut tree,’ he said, ‘which was and is no longer.’

      He was interrupted by a man’s voice from the congregation. ‘It still is, Father. After the storm it was wreathed in mist and for some time we couldn’t see it from the village. It’s standing there, where it always has. Go and look.’

      The priest saw the staring eyes of the congregation grow even bigger, darker, as if they had alighted on something completely incomprehensible. Almost as if they had expected that the prophecy had come true. He was gripped by waves of despair, he lowered his eyes and right below the pulpit he saw Geder with a scornful look on his unshaven face and blinking eyes that said: You don’t believe in God, Father, and nor do these people! Then he hung his head even lower. Again he had the feeling that the ground was unsteady beneath his feet. His legs carried him from the pulpit and in the sacristy he leaned for some time against the cold wall. Eventually, he gathered enough strength to go before the altar and lead mass.

      It began after that Sunday. He was increasingly conscious of how much deceptive light there was about him. And the valley, with its superstition, had shown itself to be an empty surface beneath which life followed its own laws and things happened of their own accord. Geder, who visited him a few days later, confirmed his suspicions. When the priest expressed his surprise that the irrational scare among the people had so quickly faded, Geder said that it was natural, for among these people faith, of whatever kind, was like straw: it burned up as soon as it was lit. But if the Church would confirm that the old chestnut tree was sacred, people would begin to panic, for the Church was the law that needed to be followed out of habit. They would have confirmation that what they believed was true, they would have support. But there was no belief among the people, although there was always a widespread conviction that the chestnut tree was an expression of some higher order.

      The priest never forgot what he said to Geder.

      ‘You, Geder, are the only one in the valley with your own world and probably even you are not capable of believing in it. You can be reconnected with the world of the people you belong to socially only by an accident that brings together those different worlds. But that which comes unexpectedly, cutting across man’s path and intentions comes from one source. If the chestnut really is connected with an evil that may cause harm, then it doesn’t matter whether we believe in it or not. For when evil is present, it is impossible to withdraw from it. Faith is thus not important, but rather the evil that is manifested. However, we can console ourselves that the evil that may befall the valley can be foreseen. It will either be a bad harvest, or an accident, or a death. But that is not real evil, that is nature, it’s what happens. And if what happens is reality, then evil is something that is not real, because it does not happen in accordance with nature but against nature. The evil that might affect you, Geder, or anyone else in the valley has only one source. When we talk about evil, we must talk about the source of that evil. And that source, Geder?!’

      Geder was known to be a freak, in his solitude he read books, he was educated up to a point, but he looked down on the others in the valley. The farmers did not like him. They talked about him, discussed his personal affairs and passed on gossip. At the same time, they were afraid of him, probably because he always behaved in an arrogant fashion, often ignoring them. The priest knew the valley well, he knew that the soul of the farmer was not a complex thing. In every arrogant person the farmer sees something higher, something more powerful and hates the person because he also fears him. The priest knew that Geder was no exception, for there was no one in the valley who liked him. Whoever did something that raised him in the eyes of others became the subject of envy.

      In the countryside it was impossible to do anything that elevated you in the eyes of others. Above all, no one should do anything spiritual, whatever it might be. Everything was strictly determined, everything confirmed by ancient customs. If someone came back from Germany, having worked day and night, and distributed among the neighbours some third class rags that he supposedly bought there, he would be talked about everywhere; people would know him, would talk about him at every opportunity, but all would regret they were not in his shoes. It needs to be acknowledged that this man would not be liked at all – quite the opposite: they would not like to see him, for he would remind them of his money and the awareness that this money was not theirs would bring about intolerable suffering! If someone were to criticise something publicly and was bold enough to revolt against the municipal bureaucrats, in other words if he was less cowardly than the others, he would not become a hero in their eyes – he would be a fool. And if the bureaucrats then took their revenge against him, then people would laugh, voicing their satisfaction at the fact that he brought it upon himself.

      The priest knew that on the sly, everyone delighted in the misfortunes of those close to them, they were envious of anyone who had a measure of wheat more than them. And he also knew that they had no respect for him. The women brought him gifts, they helped him one way or another, they went to mass, but for them he was just a figure embodying age-old traditions, he wasn’t a real person. He always had the feeling that they saw in him something self-evident, as self-evident as the fact that wheat ripens in the summer and not the autumn.

      The priest did not contradict Geder’s opinion, even though he thought somewhat differently. Or at least, it seemed to him that he thought somewhat differently. At the same time, he often had to acknowledge that he saw the valley in its true colours precisely through Geder’s words. He knew the peasant mind, but he never found the courage to condemn it. And if he were to contradict Geder’s words, he would have to speak in its defence. But he was incapable of that, for with each year that went by he was more disappointed in his parishioners. The years had made him accustomed, and he had accommodated to the nature of the valley so that his disappointment СКАЧАТЬ