The Spasov Mound, a short story by Elin Peiln

 

The Spasov Mound [the Savior's Day*]

Elin Pelin

 

Grandpa Zachary walked slowly and held little Monka [Simeon] on his back. He had wrapped his dry arms around his neck and had relaxed helplessly. Streaks of sweat ran down the old man's burnt face and wetted his overstrained neck. Monka's little hands suffocated and tormented him so that bloody mists passed before his eyes, but he walked slowly on and carefully upheld his load.

 

The sun was already setting. Around the fragrant meadows, the green fields, the bushes and the dark groves, which stretched out far away, the night lurked mysteriously and with a restrained breath.

 

And people, so many people! On all sides, on all paths, people were coming one through each other, they caught up, passed on, all of them on their way to that high, steep and pointed mound, the Spasov mound. One could see the branchy old oak on top and the small white chapel next to it. A world of people had slid up along the bare green slope – a crowd like an anthill. Grandpa Zachary looked and wondered. Where had this many people come from, a great crowd! By car, by horse, on foot, from near and afar, people came from everywhere and hurried on. And what not between them, all sorts! Poor men, ragged, with naked flesh. Rich men, in Sunday clothes. They each carried one ailment and one hope of healing. Some with bent down waists crawled like snakes, others on stilts, still others – with dirty wounds on their bodies. Blind, crippled people...

 

"Grandpa, where are all these people going?" sick Monka asked. "Everybody goes there, child." "Are they all sick, Grandpa?" "The whole world is sick, son. Some of this, some of that. There is no healthy person in the world. You look, the body is of iron and the soul is rotten."

 

The church voice of the wooden clapper rose softly from the top and spread like a blessing all over the green surroundings.

 

Grandpa Zachary sat wearily by the roadside and sighed. "Make the cross sign on yourself, child!" Monka unhooked his hands from around his grandfather's neck, and they both made the cross sign for a long time, sitting in the green weed by the road.

 

"Grandpa, I want to walk." "You're weak, my boy, you're going to get tired." "I want to walk, Grandpa," Monka insisted in a weeping tone. Grandpa Zachary lifted him carefully, and taking him by the hand, they set off again. Monka, a boy of ten, a sickly and frail orphan, walked past his grandfather like a shadow. His pale, dry face showed large blue veins, his legs intertwined with weakness, his arms dangling like sticks. His big blue eyes, somehow terribly open, rolled in all sides and with a fond astonishment they followed the birds, which flew silent to their nests, then the long-maned pigeons, which disappeared in the evening glow towards the dark grove to the west, and then the golden flies, which flew like water drops up and down in the air.

 

Grandpa Zachary was walking very slowly so as not to tire the little one, but when he saw that the sun had already set and that people on the road were getting fewer, he put him on his back again and started walking faster.

 

At the top of the mound, human shadows were seen [walking] as if aimless, and deluded.

 

"People are already looking for a place, we're late, son," said the old man. "Will Grandpa God come down there early, Grandpa?" Monka asked. "Well, no, early! He will wait for all who have started to arrive. For there are people from afar, there are crippled, blind, there are some who do not know the way, someone may have strayed... When everyone arrives and everyone falls asleep, Grandpa God will call a little angel to bring him the crutches and tell him – come on! And they will descend silently from up there, from amidst the stars, and they will descend slowly. Grandpa God will pass among these people, that are here, quietly so no one would hear him, so no one would see him, and he will say healing to all. Then, real slowly, just as he came, he will rise and he will go to heaven. Just as he once ascended the mountain, on this same day, tomorrow – the Savior's Day [Ascension].

 

"Will the sick recover, Grandpa?" "Everyone - everyone!", grandpa Zachary replied with deep confidence. "Maybe now, maybe in a year, in five, or ten. He who believes shall be saved."

 

Monka listened to his grandfather's mysterious words, imbued with fervent faith, and although he did not understand them, his soul became bright and warm. He placed his pale face on his grandfather's shoulder, stared at the high wooden cross on the mound, and pondered. Everyone, everyone will heal. Some now, others in five, still others in ten years. Why wouldn't Grandpa God, granting health to the people, give it to them right now? So tomorrow everyone would return healthy. Now, Grandpa Zachary struggled to bring him up here, and he could heal only ten years later. No, Monka wants to get well tonight, so that tomorrow he can return healthy, run in the meadows, pick flowers, chase butterflies and play gun with the other children. How long, how long has he not played the gun! How much he wants to play!

 

"Are there any left for twenty years later, Grandpa?" Monka asked suddenly.

 

"God's will, child! Maybe after twenty!" Grandpa Zachary replied thoughtfully, and sighed.

 

Monka pondered again. Twenty years from now! The child's brain of the sick boy could not understand this at all, and a shadow of disappointment fell on his pure soul, full of hopes and joy. If only he had known, he would have asked his grandfather to take him to the doctor. True, everyone says the doctor wanted a lot of money, but if a man begged him a little, he may do with less [money].

 

"Doctors are able to heal at once, Grandpa, aren't they?" Monka asked again.

 

"What can a doctor do without God's will?", Grandpa Zachary replied and continued a little reproachfully: "Look what you're asking me!"

 

Monka said nothing. Grandfather Zachary walked silently and with effort along the crooked path that climbs the mound, and sweat-streaks one after another ran down his face. By the time they reached the top, it was already dark. Stars showered the sky, side by side, like never [seen] before. Their meek and wonderful radiance pressed the darkness down to the ground, and apart from the sleepy shadows of the surrounding peaks Monka could see neither the grove, nor the field, nor their village, nor the road by which they came. His grandfather gathered leaves and thorn sticks for a fire, and he fidgeted around him, staring timidly into the darkness, and some mysterious fear filled up his soul. The small window of the chapel stared at the darkness like a bright eye, motionless and frightened, and the silhouette of the branchy oak beside it stood like a large and ugly bear with an open mouth. In the darkness, human shadows silently and mysteriously appeared, like ghosts, which suddenly sprouted up from the ground and then sank back again into it. Fires were burning here and there, and around them sporadic conversations could be heard, or else long, deep, painful groans that made little Monka's hair stand on end. Somewhere in the darkness a feeble voice moaned:

 

"Mom, o mother, pick me up, sweet mom! I'm dying." "Grandpa!" Monka sobbed and crouched on the knees of the old man who was preparing the fire.

 

"Don't be afraid, child, don't be afraid!" His grandfather stroked him. Having dined, Grandpa Zachary wrapped Monka nicely in his coarse woolen cloth, and they both lay down next to each other by the dim fire.

 

Monka couldn't sleep. He listened to the sporadic talking of people, who lay dark and motionless like corpses around the fires, he listened to the deep sighs of the sick, and in his mind there stood out the big icon in the village church, depicting the second coming, with the hell and the devil, with the sinners, over whom grandfather God flies with great force through the clouds, big and angry, with a golden crown on his head. "Grandpa, when will the second coming be?" Monka asked. "Which?" Grandpa Zachary replied dreamily. "The second coming?" "Come on, come on, child, sleep," the old man replied sleepily, and started snoring again.

 

Monka threw the blanket off his head, turned onto his back, and stared at the sky. Stars twinkled side by side up there, sweetly and beautifully, like living children's eyes. Monka watched them with a smile and his little heart was filled with a joy, quiet and meek as their light. He would not fall asleep, he would wait to see how from among these beautiful stars there will appear grandpa God with the little angel and how they will descend to earth. Monka's imagination already saw this omnipotent healer - Grandpa God.

 

All of a sudden Monka felt sick. Sharp shivers went down his body, his head was dizzy. A black shroud fell onto his eyes, then another, a third one, a fourth. He wanted to call his grandfather, but the black shrouds disappeared one after the other and he felt light, nice, as if someone was rocking him quietly. He opened up his eyes and saw that the sky and the stars had risen up high, very high. A starlet broke away from the sky and descended to the ground. It became bright, so bright. The sky opened up and Grandpa God, big, very big, descended to the ground, with a golden wreath on his head, as he is painted in the church. After him a little angel brought his clutches and proudly looked at the kids around, like Tzenko Popov does, when incensing in front of his father at the liturgy. What a kind and what a good old man, grandpa God is! As soon as he came down, he went straight to Monka, grabbed his hand and told him: be healthy and come with me to take you to your mother. Monka has never seen his mother. He went with grandpa God to heaven, to the stars. It was so wide, so beautiful around. Somewhere you could hear chants flickering like bells of copper. Monka was walking with grandpa God, and he felt so light and happy that he would see his mother. Here they are – higher, higher – the earth has remained somewhere [back].

 

"Mom," he shouted out for the first time, "Mom!" And that wonderful word sounded so sweet to him, so good. His soul is warmed by it and he holds healthy and happy for the hand of grandpa God.

 

Early in the morning, before sunrise, Grandpa Zachary woke up and looked around: the twilight on all the paths of the mound, down the slopes and boulders, people ran down like crazy. Men, women, children, the blind, the crippled, some on crutches, others on their hands, in cars, on horses — they all ran and disappeared like ghosts.

 

Grandpa Zachary recalled that, according to custom, they had to run away from here before sunrise so as to leave the disease [behind]. And he started pushing Monka.

 

"Monka, child... come on, son!" But Monka lay on his back, motionless and cold, his face turned to heaven, his eyes quietly closed. A wonderful and light child's smile had frozen on his lips.

 

He was already up there, on his mother's lap.

 

END

* Ascension Day