The sun shone down on her beautiful white teeth and crimson lips as she lay there singing. Holding her head in his hands and looking intently at her teeth, he said:
“Guess how many teeth you have!”
Pretending to count them up in her mind, she cried out impulsively:
“A hundred!”
“No, thirty-two!” he replied. “I’ll count them!”
And he began to do so, but because he could never make them add up to thirty-two he kept starting over again. She lay still for a long time, then, since he could never finish his excited counting, she sat up and said:
“Now it’s my turn to count yours!”
So he lay down on the grass with his mouth open, and she grasped his head and counted:
“One, two, seven, five, two, one…” for she had not yet learnt to count. The boy corrected her and taught her to count properly, so that time after time she too had to start again from the beginning. Of all the games they had played that day, this seemed to give them the greatest delight. Tired out at last, however, the little girl sank down on to the body of her mentor, and the two children fell asleep in the bright midday sunshine.
Meanwhile their fathers had finished ploughing, leaving behind them the fresh brown fields. As one of the boys came to the end of the last furrow and was about to stop, the farmer shouted:
“What are you stopping for? Turn round again!”
“But we’ve finished,” protested the lad.
“Hold your tongue and do as you’re told!” shouted the farmer.
So they turned round and carved a deep furrow in the middle field, sending the weeds and the stones flying up on both sides. The farmer did not stop to clear them away, apparently thinking there was plenty of time to do that later, but contented himself for the moment with getting the hardest part of the job done. So he ploughed up the gentle slope, and when he reached the top, where the breeze blew the tip of his cap backwards again, his neighbour passed him on the other side with his cap pointing forwards, also ploughing a wide furrow from the field in the middle and throwing up great clods of earth. Each saw clearly through what the other was doing but pretended not to. Passing each other without a word, they went their separate ways like two constellations setting beneath the horizon.
Thus do the shuttles of destiny pass back and forth, and as the saying goes, “What he weaves, no weaver knows”.*
Harvest followed harvest, the children grew taller and more handsome each year, and the unclaimed field grew narrower and narrower under the two neighbours’ ploughs. Neither man uttered a word about it, neither man even seemed to see what wrong he was doing. Along the whole length of the field the stones were piled up on an ever-dwindling strip in the middle, like a mountain ridge, and the wild creepers that grew on it were soon so high that, although the children had grown so tall, they could not see each other from their own sides.
They no longer went out to the field together, for Sali, as the ten-year-old Salomon was called, now took his place at the side of the youths and men, while the vivacious, dark-skinned Vrenchen was made to stay in the company of her own sex lest she should be laughed at for being a tomboy. Nevertheless, when everybody else was busy on the field, they clambered up on to the stony ridge that separated them and played at pushing each other down. Their fathers’ fields met at no other point and since this was now the only contact that they had with each other, they seemed to celebrate the annual occasion all the more eagerly.
It had now been finally decided, however, that the field was to be sold and the money held in trust for the time being. The auction was held at the side of the field itself, but apart from Manz and Marti only a handful of idle bystanders were present, since nobody was interested in acquiring or cultivating this strange plot which separated the two neighbours. For although Manz and Marti were among the best farmers in the village, and had only acted as three-quarters of the rest would have done in the circumstances, people looked at them uneasily and had no desire to own the narrow strip which lay between their two fields. Most men are willing to commit certain common misdeeds if the temptation is put under their noses. But when one man has committed such a misdeed, the others are relieved that it was he who did it and not they, and that the temptation had not been theirs. They make the offender into a yardstick by which to measure their own sins, and treat him with modest deference as the one singled out by the gods to bear the common guilt; yet at the same time their mouths water at the thought of the pleasures that he has enjoyed.
Thus Manz and Marti were the only ones who bid seriously for the field. After a considerable struggle Manz finally succeeded in outbidding his neighbour, and the field was knocked down to him. The officials and the onlookers left the scene, and the two farmers, who both intended to finish some work on their fields, met as they moved away.
“I suppose,” said Marti, “you will now put your fields together, the old one and the new, and divide them into two equal parts. At least, that is what I would do if I had bought the thing.”
“That’s just what I’m going to do,” replied Marti. “As a single field it would be too big. But there’s something I wanted to say to you. I noticed the other day that at the bottom of this field that now belongs to me, you had driven your plough in from the side and cut off quite a fair-sided triangular piece. You probably thought that the whole field would soon become yours in any case. But as it now belongs to me, you will realize that I cannot have a crooked edge like that in it, so you can hardly object if I straighten it again. We shan’t quarrel over that.”
“I see no cause for quarrel either,” replied Marti in the same even tone. “As far as I am concerned, you have bought the field as it stands now. We all inspected it an hour ago, and since then it hasn’t changed in the slightest.”
“Fiddlesticks!” cried Manz. “What’s past is past! But sometimes matters go too far, and when all is said and done, a thing has to be properly settled. Right from the beginning these two fields have been dead straight. What strange quirk is it that makes you want to introduce such an ugly shape? What sort of reputation would we get if we left it crooked? The odd corner has simply got to go!”
Marti laughed and retorted:
“What a remarkable concern you suddenly show that people might laugh at you! Still, I suppose you can do it if you want to, though the crooked line does not worry me in the least. So if it annoys you, let’s make it straight, but not on my side – and I’ll put that in writing if you want it!”
“There’s no point in joking,” said Manz. “It is going to be made straight, and on your side, too. So you can put that in your pipe and smoke it!”
“We’ll see about that,” snapped Marti, and the two men parted company without another glance, each glaring in front of him as though his whole attention were riveted on something in the distance.
The next day Manz sent out a farmhand, a servant girl and his own son Sali to the field to pull up the weeds and the briers and put them on to heaps so that it would be easier to carry the stones away later. That Sali, who was barely eleven years old and had never been made to do any manual work before, should now be sent out with the others in spite of his mother’s protestations, signified a change in his father’s nature. He accompanied this decision with soft and soothing words, as though wishing to use his harshness towards his own flesh and blood as a means of quelling the sense of injustice which ruled his life and now began to run its slow, sinister course.
Cheerfully the little group pulled up the weeds and hacked away busily at the mass of strange plants and bushes which had grown up there over the years. It was the sort of unorganized work that required no particular care or skill but was looked on rather as enjoyment. All this foliage, dried out by the sun, was piled up and burned with great jubilation; the smoke was blown far and wide, and the young folk leapt about like souls possessed.
This was the last celebration that the ill-starred field was to know. Young Vrenchen, Marti’s daughter, also came out to
help with the work. The unusualness of the occasion and the air of excitement that surrounded it were good enough reasons for her to join her young playmate again, and the two children were cheerful and happy as they danced round the fire. Other children came as well, making a joyful party. But whenever Sali became separated from Vrenchen, he tried to hunt her out again, while she too, laughing with delight, always managed to slip back to him, so that they both felt that this wonderful day should never be allowed to end.
Towards evening old Manz arrived to see how the work had progressed, and although they had already finished, he scolded them for their frivolity and broke up the celebrations.
At the same time Marti appeared on his field. Catching sight of his daughter, he put his fingers in his mouth and let out a shrill, imperious whistle. She hastened across to his side, and without really knowing why, he gave her a few sound cuffs on the head. The two children burst into tears and made their way sadly home, knowing as little why they were now so miserable as why they had been so happy a moment ago. In their innocence they could not understand the reason for this streak of cruelty that had recently appeared in their fathers’ characters, and it therefore did not arouse any deeper emotions in them.
For the harder work of the next few days, when Manz had the stones shovelled up and carted away, the farmhands were needed. It was an endless task: all the stones in the world seemed to have collected there. But instead of removing them from the field altogether, he had each cartload emptied on to the disputed triangular area which Marti had carefully ploughed. Drawing a straight line to mark the boundary, he dumped on to this little piece of land all the stones which they had both thrown over for as long as they could remember. The result was a large pyramid which he was convinced his adversary would do nothing to remove.
This was the last thing that Marti had bargained for; in fact, he had reckoned that the other man would go on ploughing as usual. He had therefore waited at home until he saw Manz go out, and only when the job was almost done did he hear about the fine monument that Marti had erected. Livid with rage, he rushed out, saw the hideous pile of stones, rushed back again and fetched the bailiff in order to register an immediate protest and have the land officially requisitioned. From this moment onwards the two men were locked in continuous legal battle, and did not rest until they had brought about their utter ruin and destruction.
Wise and reasonable as they normally were, Manz and Marti were now incapable of seeing beyond their own noses. The most petty legalistic thoughts filled their minds, and neither had the ability or the desire to understand how the other could behave in such a palpably unjust manner and wilfully appropriate this miserable bit of land to himself. In addition, Manz had a remarkable sense of symmetry, and was deeply offended by the stupid obstinacy with which Marti insisted on preserving the senseless and arbitrary crookedness of the field.
They each shared the conviction, however, that the other, in his impertinent and insolent way, must consider him a despicable fool, since one could only mete out such treatment to an unprincipled rogue, never to an upright citizen. Each thus felt his honour peculiarly offended and gave himself up passionately to the quarrel and to the resulting moral corruption. Their lives became like the tortured dream of two condemned souls who fight with each other on a narrow plank which is drifting down a murky stream: they beat the air, then, in the belief that they have laid hands on their own misery, seize and finally destroy each other.
Since their entire case was corrupt, they both fell a ready prey to the worst kinds of trickster, who inflamed their perverted imaginations and filled their minds with the most despicable thoughts. Most of these enterprising gentry, for whom the whole affair was a gift from the gods, belonged to the town of Seldwyla, and in a short time the two enemies each had their retinue of mediators, scandal-mongers and advisers who knew a hundred ways of relieving a man of his money.
The little triangle of land with its pile of stones, on the top of which a forest of thistles and nettles had already started to grow, had now become merely the seed, the starting point, of a disordered situation and a meaningless life, in which these two fifty-year-old men adopted attitudes and habits, hopes and principles, quite different from those by which they had lived hitherto. The more money they wasted, the more eagerly they sought after it; and the less each had, the more determined he grew to outdo his neighbour in getting rich. They were taken in by every fraud, and year in, year out, they bet on all the lotteries in the country, whose tickets circulated in Seldwyla in large numbers.
But they never won a penny. Instead, they kept hearing of other people’s success and of how they themselves had almost won. Yet this passion continued to provide a regular outlet for their money, and sometimes the inhabitants of Seldwyla played a trick on them by having them share the same lottery ticket, so that they both set their hopes for ruining each other on one and the same number.
Half their time they spent in the town of Seldwyla, each establishing himself in some dingy cafe. Allowing their tempers to become inflamed, they were persuaded to part with their money in the most shameful ways and to give themselves over to a dissipated life of carousing. Yet at the same time they were sick at heart, for whereas they were really only carrying on the quarrel so as not to be taken for fools, they were now regarded by everyone as two of the biggest fools that had ever lived.
For the other half of the time they either stayed sullenly at home or went about their work, trying feverishly to make up for the time they had wasted and driving away all their good and trustworthy labourers in the process.
Things went rapidly from bad to worse. They were soon heavily in debt and clinging desperately to what was left to them, as vulnerable and as insecure as one-legged storks at the mercy of the wind. But however bad things became, the hatred between them grew ever greater for each regarded the other as the sole cause of his misfortune, his arch-enemy, the adversary whom the Devil had deliberately sent into the world to wreak his downfall. Even if they caught sight of each other from a distance, they would spit on the ground, and all contact between wives, children and servants was forbidden on pain of the severest punishment.
The two women reacted in different ways to the situation. Marti’s wife, a good, upright woman, could not endure it, and died of grief before her daughter had reached the age of fourteen.
Manz’s wife, on the other hand, adapted herself to the change, and needed only to give free rein to certain inborn feminine frailties for them to turn into vices, and encourage her to share in her husband’s evil ways. Her penchant for dainty sweetmeats became gluttony, and she turned her volubility to false flattery and slander, saying the opposite of what she really thought, setting people against each other and deceiving her husband wherever she could. The frankness with which she used to indulge in innocent gossip now became brazen arrogance, and instead of submitting to her husband, she began to make him look a fool; if he resisted, she became even more aggressive, and lost no opportunity to present herself as the true master of her degenerate household.
Such was the tragic situation in which the two children grew up, with neither happiness in their youth nor joyful hope for the future, since they were surrounded by nothing but strife and sorrow. Vrenchen’s position was probably the unhappier, for her mother was dead, and, alone in the desolate house, she was at the mercy of her barbaric and tyrannical father.
She was now sixteen, a slim, delicate girl, the curls of her chestnut hair almost reaching down to her shining brown eyes, and the crimson of her cheeks and lips glowing beneath her swarthy skin to give her an appearance unusual for a dark-skinned child. Every fibre in her body quivered with life, and she was ready for sport and play whenever the weight of her care and suffering would lift from her mind.
But moods of depression came upon her only too often. Not only had she to bear the grief and ever-growing misery of the family but also had to care for herself and keep herself decently dressed, although her father was reluctant to give her an
y money to do so. It was only with the greatest difficulty that she was able to come by a cheap Sunday dress for her slim form, or a few worthless coloured neckerchiefs. In every way she was made to feel humble and underprivileged, and at no time could she have fallen a victim to pride. In addition, she had been old enough to know how her mother had suffered, and this put a further check on her natural exuberance. Thus whenever, in spite of this, she was seen to welcome the slightest ray of sunshine that fell across her path, she presented a touching picture of innocence and charm.
At first sight Sali did not appear to be so deeply affected. He was a strong, handsome youth who could not be suspected, at least from his physical appearance, of having been ill-treated. He must have seen how disgracefully his parents were behaving, and he seemed to recall a time when things were different; indeed, he still had a clear memory of his father as an honest, wise and peaceful farmer, the same man that he now saw as a stupid greybeard, an idler and a quarreller, who raged and boasted and frittered his life away in base and foolish ventures, sliding further down the path of ruin with every step.
This angered Sali, however, and he often felt a sense of grief and shame that it should be so, although in the inexperience of youth he could not understand how things had come to this pass. Yet his worries were softened by the flattering manner in which his mother treated him, for in order to have somebody who would stand by her in her pursuit of her evil ways, and also to satisfy her urge to boast and swagger, she let him have whatever he wished, bought him showy new clothes and encouraged him to enjoy himself in whatever way he liked.
He accepted the situation with no great feeling of gratitude, for he knew that his mother was a liar and a gossip. He indulged his fancy with complete freedom but took no great pleasure in doing so. Still feeling a youth’s desire for a settled and reasonably useful life, he was as yet untainted by the evil example of his parents. Indeed, he was almost exactly as his father had been at that age, and as a result the latter felt a spontaneous respect for his son, in whom, through his perplexity of conscience, he relived the tortured yet cherished memory of his own childhood.
A Village Romeo and Juliet Page 2