The Fires of Lilliput

by Michael Martin

  B. Common Demographic Features

  By 1908, 321 stigmatics were of record who shared certain characteristics.

  1) All were Roman Catholic

  2) One third from Italy

  3) Two thirds from France, Spain, and Portugal

  4) 87.5% women

  5) 66% from religious orders

  6) 100% devout in their religious faith

  The case of Jakub Chelzak presents three unusual demographic characteristics:

  a) Chelzak is Polish and hails from East Prussia

  b) Chelzak is not a member of any religious order

  c) Chelzak is male

  While we would not characterize Jakub Chelzak as devout, he is pious; baptized in the Roman Catholic faith; and regularly attends mass under the ecclesiastical auspices of Monsignor Jarus Starska, diocese of Ermland, archdiocese of Breslau. Chelzak prays the rosary and takes the sacraments of confession and communion.

  C. The Form of the Wounds

  The form of stigmata wounds vary. St. Francis did not bleed. His wounds included impressions of round black nails, made of flesh distinct from that covering his wrist and feet. Wounds reported in other stigmatics include small slits, crosses, slash marks, or indentations. In the case of hysterics or false events, the wounds have been known to change from round to rectangular over time, presumably as the subjects learn the true shape of Roman nails.

  The side wound, from the Roman soldier’s lance noted in John 19:34, has exhibited a variety of manifestations:

  1) Appeared on the right or left side of the body

  2) Varying shapes, e.g. lateral slit or crescent

  Whip marks on the back and shoulder cuts from carrying the cross also appeared in a few cases.

  Letters on the skin bearing the names of Joseph, Mary, and Jesus were reported on the left hand of the nun Jeanne des Anges (1602–1665), who toured France displaying her hand. The letters later proved a hoax.

  The Capuchin friar Padre Pio da Pietrelcina of San Giovanni Rotondo, Italy exhibits wounds whose supposed painfulness and the thick crusts of blood that cover them have stymied their examination. A pathologist sent by the Pontiff noted that beyond the scabs was a lack of “any sign of edema, of penetration, or of redness, even when examined with a good magnifying glass.” He concluded that the side lance wound had not penetrated the skin. Padre Pio keeps his “wounds” concealed with finger-less gloves on each hand. His is a case that awaits further review.

  Jakub Chelzak exhibits swelling, redness, and marked puncture depressions in the areas of his wounds. He also exhibits fleshy protrusions that resemble nails.

  D. Personal Traits of Stigmatics

  1. Worldliness

  Many stigmatics were men and women of the world, enamoured of money, possessions, high society, and worldly pleasures. We provide two examples.

  St. Francis was the son of a wealthy merchant, at one time a hedonist preoccupied with extravagant parties, beautiful women, rich foods, wine, and gaiety. Only Our Lord’s voice persuaded him to relinquish these pursuits.

  Blessed Angela of Foligno (1248–1309) lived a worldly life before her conversion. A married woman with children, she renounced her sinful existence at age 37. Her family did not support her conversion, and each member died shortly thereafter. Following their deaths, Angela sold her country villa and distributed the proceeds from the sale of her worldly possessions to the poor. Angela was permitted to join the Third Order of St. Francis at age 43.

  By no means is our subject, Jakub Chelzak, a worldly or wealthy man. He is not a convert to the faith, nor has he renounced any part of his life or circumstance. He is, by all appearances, a peasant farmer.

  2. Illness and Hysteria

  Many stigmatics suffer from a host of illnesses, and dozens were bedridden for much of their lives. St. Lidwina (circa 1410) was reported to have suffered every illness imaginable.

  Hysteria is also reported. Marguerite Parigot of the Blessed Sacrament (1619–1648) suffered from attacks so terrible they were attributed to demons. Anna-Maria Castreca (1670–1736) threw herself violently around rooms and fell into childish speech and mannerisms.

  Ecstatic states and religious trances were reported in St. Veronica Giuliani (1640–1727), Victoire Claire (1808–1883), St. Francis, and Passitea Crogi, who fell into a rapturous vision of Christ bruised and bleeding on Palm Sunday, the year of our Lord 1589.

  It must be noted that our subject, Jakub Chelzak, age 26, is neither sickly nor hysterical. In fact, he remains vigorous and completely lucid by all reports. His mother, Kazimiera Chelzak, reports ignominious suffering whenever the wounds make their appearance, but this pain subsides in hours. Jakub Chelzak is reported to bleed, sometimes profusely, during these periods. He is not reported to have had rapturous visions or other potentially delusional incidents.

  3. Preternatural Powers

  Reports of prophecy, healing, levitation, bilocation (the ability to be in two places at once) and the ability to fast for long periods are common among stigmatics. Angela of Foligno may have gone without food for over a decade. The corpses of some stigmatics may withstand decay. Vials of dried blood preserved from the stigmata of Passitea Crogi reportedly become liquid periodically.

  Subject Jakub Chelzak is said to have exhibited curative powers on several occasions. Various eyewitnesses report that he has healed paralysis, heart ailments, mental disturbances, gout, and in one unusual instance, homosexuality. (The subject of this case lives in Zakopane. We are investigating for a more detailed report later).

  No third party medical verification exists for any of these reports, however.

  Dr. Szarzynski has documented only Chelzak’s wounds. The ill and sick and their families cannot be considered sound witnesses for their own hopeful rumors.

  4. Frauds

  History suggests that most stigmatic frauds are either exposed or confess. Fake stigmatics include Magdalena de la Cruz, who confessed in 1543, fearful of dying with the stain of such an unholy deception on her soul. A sister nun observed Maria de la Visitacion, the “holy nun of Lisbon,” painting a fake wound onto her hand and reported the incident. Maria de la Visitacion was brought before the Inquisition. Her wounds were scrubbed and the coloration removed, revealing normal skin.

  Fraudulent stigmatics often engage in questionable activities. The British stigmatic Teresa Helena Higginson (1844–1905), a teacher, was dismissed for thievery and drunkenness. Belgian Berthe Mrazek, a circus performer turned stigmatic, was arrested for fraud and committed to an asylum for the mentally deranged. Other stigmatics may self-mutilate too much to distinguish the mutilations from genuine stigmata. Lukardis of Oberweimar (c. 1300) regularly drove her fingernails into her palms before receiving the stigmata.

  The natural question—is Jakub Chelzak a fraud—may not yet be substantially determined. However, he is a simple man; he has not confessed to fraud; nor has any person stepped forward to condemn him. As for healing the sick, though he makes no claims on this point, he does not turn away those who seek his counsel or intercession.

  5. Profiteering as a Motive for the Stigmata

  Padre Pio was once thought by many Roman Catholic clergy to have been put on display by his friary in order to make money. A following of both credible and dubious nature has grown up around Pio. Con men sell his supposed relics, including pieces of cloth spotted with chicken blood.

  Our subject, Jakub Chelzak, hails from a family of limited means. The question arises, then: are his wounds and his displays motivated by profit? On first examination, the answer appears to be “no,” as Chelzak does not take money for his visitations.

  V. Summary Biographies of Board Investigators

  1. The Reverend Woitla Lankewicz

  2. The Reverend Lanid Cherusz

  3. The Most Reverend Monsignor Viktor Tladeusz, presiding

  VI. Imprimatur

  VII. Conclusions

  We conclude that Jakub Chelzak of Marienburg exhibits a convincing form of stigmata.
His situation is devoid of any indications of fraud, hysteria, hypochondria, or illness that may otherwise mimic false wounds. His character appears to be simple and pious. His mental state is sound. His wounds appear real. If the phenomenon is indeed an act of God, as we believe it to be, Jakub Chelzak appears to be a legitimate bearer of the crucifixion wounds of Our Lord Jesus Christ.

  Fourteen

  A single-engine locomotive pulled aging passenger cars past the outskirts of the Chelzak farm after crews completed the new rail spur late that summer. From where he stood against orders at 1400 hours, Karl saw a few heads—well-dressed men with slicked-back hair; women with gloves and hats; children peering over high, scratched windows. A child waved and Karl waved back. The train disappeared over a curve on the horizon.

  In the house, Jakub sat in his bed. “Body of Christ,” Monsignor Starska said. The priest took a thin white wafer from a silver pyx and placed it on Jakub’s tongue. They heard a door open and shut downstairs.

  “I’m going into town today,” Karl called up. “Can you handle things?”

  “Of course,” Jakub said. “I’m not an invalid.”

  “Not today.”

  Jakub looked at the priest.

  “He resents you,” Starska said. “What were we just talking about?”

  “He’s a good brother,” Jakub said.

  “Not today.”

  They came down the stairs together. Karl was eating a potato and some cabbage. “Father.” Karl spoke with his mouth full. He stood up. “I didn’t know you were here.”

  “Not a problem,” Starska said. “Jakub was just telling me what a good brother you are.”

  Jakub rubbed his hands through his hair and drank a glass of water.

  “Mother’s in Elbing at the loom,” Karl said. “You’re on your own—unless the Monsignor is staying.”

  “No,” the priest said. “I have to be getting back.” But he made no move to leave.

  Karl stepped around Jakub and wiped his face. He took Jakub’s head in his big hands and pulled him close and kissed him on his hair.

  “Good brother,” he whispered. “Be careful with Father.”

  Jakub looked at his brother. Karl smiled and went out the door down the path toward the road into town.

  The priest splashed a cup of coffee with whiskey from a silver flask. He pushed it across the table toward Jakub. “You’ll feel better,” Starska said.

  Jakub sat and stared. “I have lots to do,” he said.

  The priest looked at him.

  “You shouldn’t do anything,” the priest said. “You’ve been sick. You need rest.”

  “I’m rested,” Jakub said. “Karl’s been doing everything. Mama says we need money. She’s gone all the time now, at the loom.”

  “At the loom, at the loom,” Monsignor Starska said. “Listen to you.” He reached across the table and moved his fingers across Jakub’s wrist. “You shouldn’t worry about such things.”

  Jakub moved his hand away and sipped the coffee.

  “Do you understand how special you are?”

  Jakub put the cup down. “No,” he said.

  “But you are.” the priest said. “You’re very special.” The priest stood and walked to Jakub and put his hands on the younger man’s shoulders. “I can’t even be around you without feeling it.” He leaned down to Jakub and whispered. “Don’t you understand?”

  “I’m sorry,” Jakub said. “I’ve been sick, like you say.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” the priest said. “You’re on the mend and we’re safe now.”

  “Karl says no one’s safe,” Jakub said. “Papa used to say it all the time.”

  “I thought your papa was a quiet man.”

  “Not about war.”

  “Well—it doesn’t matter,” the priest said. “Not to you and me.”

  “I’ll rest now,” Jakub said.

  “You want your bed? Let me help you.”

  “No,” Jakub said. “I can rest here.”

  The priest was about to speak.

  “Alone,” Jakub said.

  Monsignor Starska gathered his hat and walking stick. Jakub walked toward the door. The priest took Jakub’s hand and raised it until the wrist was visible beyond the sleeve. He lowered his head and set his lips on the faded wound. He genuflected in a kind of shallow curtsy. “Your grace,” he said.

  Goose bumps needled Jakub’s neck. He watched the priest walk up the path, carrying his walking stick like the staff of Moses. He was drained, but not from the wounds.

  THE TRAINS PASSED AT THE SAME TIME every day on their way to the Stutthof concentration camps outside Elbing. The rail cars, Karl thought, needed paint. Spider web fractures covered their windows and blotted out their passengers. Karl saw a man on yesterday’s train kicking at the glass with both feet. The window popped out and smashed beyond the tracks in the soy beds. The man pushed himself through the opening, which was too small and wedged him in. Karl walked toward the broken glass and watched the car move on with the man stuck halfway out the window.

  The trains left a wake of litter in the fields—papers, books, photographs, hats, scarves, stockings, even lingerie and razors. At first, the litter only attracted children. Then Pavel Cherienk found a denture with gold teeth. After two days of chasing away adult treasure hunters tramping his soybeans, Karl started picking up the litter as soon as the trains passed. On days when Jakub was well, he policed the tracks while Karl sold produce in town. Trespassers were afraid to anger Jakub, and fled when they saw him. They assumed that one who could make well could also make sick, or withhold grace in time of need.

  Today, Jakub’s wrists and feet bore no wounds and no inflammation. His temple was red and stung when he touched it and he had a headache, so he sat on a bench outside the house looking toward the river at the fields. He sipped coffee splashed with his mother’s sour mash from the stashed bottle she started to keep after Wojciech Chelzak—the sixteen-year-old boy she married—died fighting the Soviet Red Army when they invaded in late 1939. The mash was powerful and seeped into his conscience like an insidious fume. As his daydreams devolved, slurred, self-pitying questions started to slither past his better nature. He let his head hang and closed his eyes.

  Why should an innocent man receive an atrocious punishment? Why should pressures require that man to keep his head up and his mouth distorted in a smile? Were the wounds a gift, as Monsignor Starska and the Archbishop had said, or were they a scourge, which was how they felt? If they were a gift, from whom? God? Satan? There he was—Jakub Chelzak, a young man, saddled with his own pain and the queer obligation to relieve it in others.

  When he looked up, Jakub saw children running in the field and a man following them. By now the mash was clouding his vision. He rubbed his eyes and his hair to the back of his head. He stared at the field and saw children gathering. The green soy plants shivered in the breeze from the river. Jakub stood and let the wobble drain from his legs. The cool air coaxed his face. “Hey,” he yelled. “Hey!” The man turned toward Jakub’s voice, then ran to the children. Jakub stumbled up the path through the trees. He reached for a walking stick resting against one of the big, wide oaks that hid his house from the town road. “You’re trespassing,” he yelled. “This is our land.”

  The man didn’t look at him. The children looked down. The smaller of two girls danced around and flailed her arms. Jakub moved closer. The man grabbed the smaller girl. The children parted and Jakub saw something above the soy. The man yelled back at the children and walked out of the field. Jakub approached the railroad tracks worn shiny by the grinding steel wheels of the overloaded cars. He shaded his eyes from the glare on the tracks. The children were bent over something, going through it with their fingers. Jakub came up to them. He raised the stick and yelled and brought it down near the oldest boy. The boy screamed and stumbled back. The other children ran.

  Jakub shadowed a man. His pants lay over the tracks and his wallet lay open and empty. His bloody s
hirt clung to his crushed ribs. The body was fresh and Jakub saw flies, gorged and listless in a red pool. He shook himself and ran back to the house. He grabbed a shovel. He ran to the track and saw a dog pulling at the body.

  “Ha! Hey! Hey!” He yelled and shook the shovel and stumbled. The scrawny dog tugged at the bloody cloth. “Go! Get! Go!” The dog tugged and growled. “Go on!”

  Jakub lunged at the dog. It bared its teeth and barked. “Go on!” Jakub threw the shovel. The dog backed away then grabbed the shirt in its teeth again. Jakub raised the shovel.

  “Get off him!” Jakub struck the dog over its snout and it jerked back.

  He looked at the man—his black, thick hair, young eyes, blue and open. The dog lurked near a tree, walking in a little circle and sneezing. Jakub thought about how deep he would have to bury the body to keep the dog or other animals from digging it up. He bent down and grabbed the shirttails and dragged the body off the track.

  “Burn it.”

  Jakub turned and saw Karl, walking through the field. “You want to dig six feet of hole?” Karl asked.

  “If it burns it will stink.”

  “It won’t,” Karl said. He looked at the body. “He’s the talk of the town.”

  They built a pyre of wood and straw and set the body on it. Karl went to the house and returned with a jug of sour mash and splashed it on the body and the straw. Jakub sparked it with a flint and they stood back. Flames and smoke took off. The fire reached the man’s hair and the stench became terrific so the brothers backed off and watched. Jakub blessed himself—in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. He said a prayer for the dead man’s soul. “Amen,” he said and opened his eyes. He saw the smoke, but not his brother. He looked toward the house, through the fields and toward the track.