* * *
Josif emerged from an underground cellar into the wooden walls of his barn. He had been taking careful account of his stores and inspecting his grain supplies. Standing on the straw-covered floor surrounded by his animals, he dusted off his clothes and returned his hat to his head.
He noticed his son, who was tending to the animals in silence, and grumbled, “When you inherit this land and your father’s serfdom, it’ll be up to you to labor away all your strength for that swine Gabor while your own grain stores shrink. And then for his son after Gabor dies. And when you die, your son will do the same, as will his son, and his son, until the end of time.”
Josif was particularly disagreeable this time of year, since his landlord, Gabor had been demanding many hours from his tenants to work on his manor. Josif, like other serfs, paid his rent in labor, and it left him limited time to work his own small plot of land during harvest.
“You make it seem as if this is inevitable,” Anton said, as he dropped a bale of hay next to one of the cows and it began to eagerly pick away at the block.
“For us it is inevitable, boy” Josif said in his gruff and surly voice, “For men like us, who aren’t born into this life with privileges, our future is written. Freedom is the privilege of the rich. We are Gabor’s puppets. This is the way it’s been and the way it’s going be. It’s not this life that God has set out for us for bliss.”
The wood beams of the barn creaked under the pressure of an early evening wind, and Josif saw it as a prompt to move inside and take his aching bones back to the warmth of the house.
“I think you underestimate the possibilities open to me,” Anton said, trying to hold back some of the heat bubbling up inside him. He dispensed oats for the horses, telling his father “Times are changing. A man with talents, and brains can rise above his class.”
“I don’t underestimate,” Josif said, turning back to his son, “I’ve lived a life. I’ve seen what’s there and what happens to a man, not just to me but to everyone around me. I’m no longer a dreamy-eyed youth like you who hasn’t yet been humbled. The only happiness I’ll get waits for me after I’m dead.”
“You’re wrong,” Anton tried to shout after him, but his father left the barn without another word, derisively ignoring his son’s words.
After his father left, Anton kicked a barrel and screamed in frustration. He looked at the horse, who munched impassively away at its food.
“He’s wrong,” he said to the horse, but the horse seemed indifferent.
Elixir of Flesh Page 8