Read Online The People's Act of Love by James Meek - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Meek
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cryback came from the wall shadows: ‘He is here!’
‘Brothers and sisters,’ said Balashov. Sweat dripped from his chin. He was swaying and blinking and slurring his words. He inhaled slowly, a long, deep breath, and let it out. He steadied and smiled. The smile turned to an inlookingblankness, as if his spirit was too leaky a vessel to hold happiness for long.
‘Yes,’ said Balashov faintly. ‘Yes, I have been there and spoken with our friend, our brother, the son of God, he who cares for the white doves.’
‘He cares for us,’ came the murmur back from the wall shadows. ‘Not for the dead ones, the crows.’
‘He told me that heaven’s time is different and that the years should be counted as hours. We’ve been living in Yazyk through the hours of night, but the dawn is about to break.’
‘Amen!’
The responses from the wall shadows brought Balashov further in from where he had been. His voice strengthened. ‘In the first hour,’ he said, ‘the Tsar’s commissioners came to our village and tried to conscript those among the white doves who had been men. By the grace and love of God, we made them understand we did not fight, and they left.’
‘A season on earth is but an hour in heaven,’ came the mutterback.
‘In the second hour, the ones calling themselves socialist revolutionaries came, praised our virtue, admired our life in common, and took our chickens.’
The wall shadows laughed.
‘In the third hour, the Tsar’s men came drunk and called us traitors, unbelievers, they beat the brothers and sisters, they made us kiss icons and drink vodka, and took our horses and left. The Land Captain and his household went with them.’
‘Wolves! To steal from the angels!’
‘In the fourth hour, the influenza came to the village while we were weak from labouring without horses, and twelve of us moved to live with Christ always.’
‘He knows his own!’
‘In the fifth hour, the ones calling themselves Bolsheviks came, with their red banner, told us to rejoice that the Tsar, our enemy, was dead, and that now we were free to live as we chose under communism. We told them that we had always lived a life in common. They laughed, took all the food and cutlery they could carry, and left.’
‘Crows!’
‘In the sixth hour, the Czechs and a Jew came. They searched our homes, took our food, and began to kill and eat our cattle. They shot the teacher. The Land Captain returned. The Czechs promised to leave. They stayed.’
Silence in the wall shadows.
‘The seventh hour is coming. The seventh hour is winter, and we are hungry, even though we share.’
‘The angels share!’
‘But the seventh hour is the dawn. He told me. The Czechs and the Jew will leave, and no more will come, and we will have milk and bread again, and send butter to market. The sun will rise on Yazyk, and the train will come weekly without soldiers. This will be next, brothers and sisters, and we must pray and be patient. No more Tsar’s men, no more revolutionaries, no more red banners, no more westerners. We shall live our life in common for all eternity, here on earth as in heaven, without sin, restored to that state of Adam and Eve before the fall.’
‘We have mounted the white horse!’
‘Yes, sister. We must pray and be patient. Last night in Verkhny Luk I helped a young man mount the white horse and find salvation. He wept and held my shoulders while he bled, praying and thanking God for the strength to find salvation. Look, on my shoulder, the marks of his fingers! Afterwards he stood and threw the keys to hell into the fire alone. You see, even without sin, even without children, our numbers aregrowing. Patience, it will be soon, by the first hard frosts, they will all be gone.’
‘The widow too,’ said a woman’s voice from the wall shadow. It was not a response, or a question. It was the eagle. She spoke as to weave her prophecy in with Balashov’s.
‘The widow,’ said Balashov, looking down
‘Brothers and sisters,’ said Balashov. Sweat dripped from his chin. He was swaying and blinking and slurring his words. He inhaled slowly, a long, deep breath, and let it out. He steadied and smiled. The smile turned to an inlookingblankness, as if his spirit was too leaky a vessel to hold happiness for long.
‘Yes,’ said Balashov faintly. ‘Yes, I have been there and spoken with our friend, our brother, the son of God, he who cares for the white doves.’
‘He cares for us,’ came the murmur back from the wall shadows. ‘Not for the dead ones, the crows.’
‘He told me that heaven’s time is different and that the years should be counted as hours. We’ve been living in Yazyk through the hours of night, but the dawn is about to break.’
‘Amen!’
The responses from the wall shadows brought Balashov further in from where he had been. His voice strengthened. ‘In the first hour,’ he said, ‘the Tsar’s commissioners came to our village and tried to conscript those among the white doves who had been men. By the grace and love of God, we made them understand we did not fight, and they left.’
‘A season on earth is but an hour in heaven,’ came the mutterback.
‘In the second hour, the ones calling themselves socialist revolutionaries came, praised our virtue, admired our life in common, and took our chickens.’
The wall shadows laughed.
‘In the third hour, the Tsar’s men came drunk and called us traitors, unbelievers, they beat the brothers and sisters, they made us kiss icons and drink vodka, and took our horses and left. The Land Captain and his household went with them.’
‘Wolves! To steal from the angels!’
‘In the fourth hour, the influenza came to the village while we were weak from labouring without horses, and twelve of us moved to live with Christ always.’
‘He knows his own!’
‘In the fifth hour, the ones calling themselves Bolsheviks came, with their red banner, told us to rejoice that the Tsar, our enemy, was dead, and that now we were free to live as we chose under communism. We told them that we had always lived a life in common. They laughed, took all the food and cutlery they could carry, and left.’
‘Crows!’
‘In the sixth hour, the Czechs and a Jew came. They searched our homes, took our food, and began to kill and eat our cattle. They shot the teacher. The Land Captain returned. The Czechs promised to leave. They stayed.’
Silence in the wall shadows.
‘The seventh hour is coming. The seventh hour is winter, and we are hungry, even though we share.’
‘The angels share!’
‘But the seventh hour is the dawn. He told me. The Czechs and the Jew will leave, and no more will come, and we will have milk and bread again, and send butter to market. The sun will rise on Yazyk, and the train will come weekly without soldiers. This will be next, brothers and sisters, and we must pray and be patient. No more Tsar’s men, no more revolutionaries, no more red banners, no more westerners. We shall live our life in common for all eternity, here on earth as in heaven, without sin, restored to that state of Adam and Eve before the fall.’
‘We have mounted the white horse!’
‘Yes, sister. We must pray and be patient. Last night in Verkhny Luk I helped a young man mount the white horse and find salvation. He wept and held my shoulders while he bled, praying and thanking God for the strength to find salvation. Look, on my shoulder, the marks of his fingers! Afterwards he stood and threw the keys to hell into the fire alone. You see, even without sin, even without children, our numbers aregrowing. Patience, it will be soon, by the first hard frosts, they will all be gone.’
‘The widow too,’ said a woman’s voice from the wall shadow. It was not a response, or a question. It was the eagle. She spoke as to weave her prophecy in with Balashov’s.
‘The widow,’ said Balashov, looking down
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