King of the Fields

by Isaac Bashevis Singer

  Isaac Bashevis Singer

  * * *

  THE KING OF THE FIELDS

  Translated from the Yiddish,

  Der Kenig vun di Felder, by the author

  Contents

  PART ONE

  1 Krol Rudy, the Red King

  2 Cybula and Nosek

  3 The Lesniks Return to the Valley

  4 Journey to Miasto

  5 The Mutiny of the Woyaks

  6 Ben Dosa, the Teacher

  7 The Power of Kora

  PART TWO

  8 Krol Cybula

  9 The Blond Stranger

  10 The Altar of Sacrifice

  11 The New Krol

  12 In the Hands of the Gods

  Follow Penguin

  PENGUIN MORDERN CLASSICS

  THE KING OF THE FIELDS

  Isaac Bashevis Singer was born in 1904 in a village near Warsaw, Poland, and grew up in the city’s Yiddish-speaking Jewish quarter. Although he initially considered becoming a rabbi like his father, Singer abandoned his religious studies in his twenties in favour of pursuing a career as a writer. He found a job as a proofreader for a Yiddish literary magazine and began to publish book reviews and short stories. In 1935, as the Nazi threat in neighbouring Germany grew increasingly ominous, Singer moved to the United States of America. He settled in New York, where he worked as a journalist for a Yiddish-language newspaper, and in 1940, married a German-Jewish refugee.

  Although Singer published many novels, children’s books, memoirs, essays and articles, he is best known as a writer of short stories. In 1978, he won the Nobel Prize, and he died in Florida in 1991.

  Part One

  * * *

  1

  Krol Rudy, the Red King

  The story begins—when? The calendar of the Romans was not yet known in the land called Poland. The country was divided into many regions, with small settlements of pagans serving various gods. Agriculture was known but not widely practiced. The men hunted and fished, and the women dug roots and with little effort picked berries and fruits which the earth lavished on them in season. There was talk that, while people increased, the animals in the forest and the fish in the rivers and lakes were growing scarce. There were rumors that in faraway places, somewhere along the Vistula, many people were cultivating fields, plowing, sowing, reaping, thrashing. They called themselves Poles because in their language pola meant field.

  These people were not one nation. They were ruled by kings called krols, who often fought one another. Some Poles forged iron swords and spears, attacked tribes of hunters, subjugated them, and forced them to work the fields. This is what happened to a small tribe of forest dwellers called Lesniks, not far from the Zakopane mountains. A krol had come riding through with his band of fighters, called woyaks. They killed off most of the young Lesnik men and ordered the survivors to clear the trees from a tract of land, plow it, then sow it with seeds they had brought along—wheat, rye, barley, oats. There the krol settled down with his men and waited for the crops to ripen. The survivors, mostly women and old men, muttered among themselves: “Who has the patience to wait so long?” But still they were forced to plow and to sow. The smallest hint of rebellion was severely punished. The krol with his pans, or kniezes—nobles or knights—could communicate with the Lesniks because they shared the same language, although they spoke it with certain variations.

  The krol was a tall man. His eyes were blue and he had a thick mane of red hair and a fiery red beard. His men called him Krol Rudy, the red king. Krol Rudy could have had his pick of the many young and pretty maidens captured by the woyaks, but he had vowed not to marry until the green shoots came up in the fields. Krol Rudy wore a short fur vest, trousers made of animal hides, and leather boots. He and his kniezes had come into the camp on horseback, but the woyaks had arrived on foot, without shoes. Krol Rudy himself had shown the Lesniks how to work the wooden plows.

  The old Lesnik men and women predicted that the seeds Krol Rudy planted would rot, be eaten by birds, or freeze in the winter. They warned that those who plowed the soil desecrated Mother Earth, and that the goddess Baba Yaga, who flew about on a broomstick as long as a spruce tree, in her wrath would spread darkness over the world and cause a pestilence to destroy man and beast. But the young women admired Krol Rudy; when he was not shouting at them, he smiled at them. He rode about on a white horse with a fancy bridle and reins. While the Lesniks lived in tents, Krol Rudy and his kniezes had cabins built for themselves, with roofs which kept out the rain and chimneys which let out the smoke. Krol Rudy supervised their construction, making sure that the beams fitted snugly, without holes or gaps.

  The young women, as they are wont to do, quickly adapted themselves to the new rulers. They lay with them and soon bore their offspring. The old men and women, on the other hand, complained that the Poles were a band of savage murderers who did not serve the gods properly, abolished old and venerated customs, and disrupted the life of the camp. The old people had one consolation—death. Many of them died that winter, not only of disease, but of distress over the strange new ways.

  The winter months dragged on, cold and bitter. Even the Polish conquerors went hungry and had to slaughter some of their horses and eat them. A few women miscarried; many infants died. The woyaks tried to hunt in the forests, but unlike the Lesniks, they were ignorant of the animals’ habits and hiding places. Most of the woyaks had been raised by parents who tilled the soil, and they knew little of trapping animals and fishing. Some of them plotted to desert Krol Rudy and return to their homes. But Krol Rudy had his informers, and he had the chief conspirators beheaded. Besides, other krols were ruling where the woyaks had come from. Once warriors left their homes and took to the road to loot and kill, the way back was closed for them.

  Before the cold had set in, the Poles sent the girls and women to pick baskets of blackberries, blueberries, gooseberries, currants, cherries, apples, plums, and whatever fruit generous Mother Earth had produced during the warm months. The women took a portion of the produce to their families, and brought the rest as a tax to the rulers. Krol Rudy had warned that those who took too much for themselves and left not enough for his men would have their hands chopped off. But instead of eating the fruits and the berries, the woyaks used them to make an intoxicating beverage, called vodka. After they drank it, they staggered about half naked, bellowed bawdy songs, shrieked abuses. Later they returned to their huts and beat up their new wives. Some girls who were serving the kniezes also tried the intoxicating drink, and were soon giggling, hiccupping, shrieking, and falling into each other’s arms. The old people grumbled that the krol and his men were undoubtedly possessed by demons. In the mountains there lived a spirit the people called a smok. The smok was part man, part snake, part devil. He played all sorts of tricks on people, dazzled their eyes, confused their senses. At his command was a host of gnomes, witches, bloodsuckers, all of whom carried out his nasty errands. Some old women muttered that Krol Rudy himself was a smok in disguise, and a sorcerer.

  So many woyaks had died during the cold days and long nights that it almost seemed no one would live to see spring. But all at once the sun broke through the clouds and the days became warm and bright. And all over the fields which the Lesniks had sown, the grain began to sprout—later to be baked into bread, or chleb. The trees blossomed. Starlings, swallows, storks returned from distant places and hastened to build nests or repair old ones. Krol Rudy sent a drummer around to address the people. He called the Lesniks brothers. He told them that enemies were lurking and waiting to lay waste their camp and to set fire to their fields. But he, Krol Rudy, would protect them and foil their plans. He also announced that he had chosen a maiden from among them to wed on the day of the
first moon. He wanted to establish a blood bond between himself and the Lesniks. He said the girl he had chosen was named Laska. A cry of joy erupted in the crowd. There was singing, dancing, clapping. The mighty krol had chosen a girl of their stock for his bride.

  Everyone in the camp knew Laska, whose mother and two sisters and brothers had perished in the massacre. Laska herself had been raped. Her grandmother Mala, who had hidden in the bushes during the raid, feared that Laska might carry her attacker’s child, but fortunately the girl’s menstrual period had come on time. Together with the other girls, Laska picked fruit and berries for the woyaks that summer, and that was when Krol Rudy had seen her. He asked for her name, and sent her a gift. Now when he announced that she was to be his krolowa, his queen, the women looked around, and only then realized that Laska and her grandmother were not among them.

  Laska, it was quickly learned, was ill. She lay on a pile of hides in her grandmother’s tent, her body hot. Mala prepared a potion from a mixture of herbs, but the girl did not respond. When the women came with the good tidings, Mala said, “Laska is going to die. She refuses to eat.” After a while Krol Rudy arrived, surrounded by some of his men. The girl’s eyes were closed, her blond hair disheveled, her face pale. Krol Rudy shook his head. He asked Mala if she had other relatives, and the old woman answered, “Her father is hiding in the mountains. Your woyaks killed everyone else.”

  “What is her father’s name?”

  “Cybula.”

  “I want him to come back. I promise not to harm him.”

  “No one has heard from him. He may be dead,” the old woman said. “And to what should he return? Our lives here have been uprooted like trees in a windstorm.”

  “When a tree is uprooted, another grows in its place,” Krol Rudy answered. “If Laska does not die, she will be my wife and bear my children. When the wheat ripens in the fields, there will be bread enough for everyone.”

  “Soon she will be dead.”

  “Give her plenty of water to drink.”

  “Tomorrow she will be with her mother and the other spirits in the hollows of the earth. Soon I shall be with them, too.”

  Krol Rudy cast a last glance at the ailing girl and left. He wore his sword in a leather sheath. In the land from which he came, near the Vistula, blacksmiths hammered out iron swords, spears, horseshoes. Ships arrived from regions where the Germans lived—Niemcies they were called, mute ones, because they babbled in a language no one understood. Most of the men in Krol Rudy’s tribe tilled the soil and raised crops. The Germans supplied them with scythes and spades, as well as saws, hammers, nails, axes. In exchange the Poles gave them honey, flax, barley, fruits, skins, and wood for lumber. All these transactions were conducted in sign language. Unfortunately, the Poles always warred among themselves. Every few years some new krol or another chieftain would rise up and lead his men on a rampage. They killed, looted, raped, set fire to homes and crops, drove off herds of cattle. Krol Rudy himself had barely escaped with his life during one such attack. Later he assembled a band of woyaks, and together they set off in search of regions where people subsisted by hunting and gathering. It was easy to subdue such people. Bows and arrows were their only weapons. With a sword and a spear the world was open to men who did not hesitate to spill blood or to perish in battle.

  Now Krol Rudy and his kniezes left the tent and returned to their cabins. Laska seemed to him almost lifeless. It grieved Krol Rudy that he had not been informed of her illness, but it was his own fault. He seldom confided to his men what he was preparing to do. They were drunk much of the time and could not be trusted to hold their tongues. Each of them sought only what he could gain for himself, whereas he, Krol Rudy, took care of them all. The truth was, he had had his fill of the roaming, the looting, the fighting. He wanted to settle in one place, have wives, children, and rule over a people which had plenty to eat. He was hoping for a good harvest. Those who lived off the fields had to acquire the forethought and the patience not to devour every last bit of grain, and to put aside a portion for sowing.

  But harvest time was still a long way off. Krol Rudy regretted having permitted his woyaks to kill so many men. There was no one left to do the hunting. Also, several of his spies informed him that the Lesniks who had escaped to the mountains were preparing a surprise attack. They were waiting for hunger to weaken the camp and then, in the dark of night, they would set fire to the fields and sneak up on the sleeping woyaks.

  Who will be my krolowa if Laska should die, Krol Rudy wondered. Other than Laska, there was not one girl in the camp who appealed to him. The young ones were all pregnant, and Krol Rudy had no wish to sow in soil where others had left their seeds. As he walked along and pondered these things, a young girl—barefoot, wearing a skirt made of animal skins—came walking up the path. She could not have been older than twelve. She carried a basket of turnips. Although the sun was shining, the air was cold. A wind blew from the mountains, disheveling her dark hair. Krol Rudy stopped her.

  “What’s your name?”

  The girl did not answer. She kept looking back, ready at any moment to run.

  “Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to eat you. What is your name?”

  “Yagoda.”

  “Yagoda, huh? Come with me.”

  The kniezes all burst out laughing. The girl began to stammer. “I have to bring the turnips to my mother, to the tent.”

  “Your mother can wait.”

  Krol Rudy held her by her neck. “Don’t try to run away. If you do, I’ll twist off your pretty little head.”

  “My mother is hungry.”

  “Your mother will eat later. I will give you some bread for her.”

  The girl still resisted, but Krol Rudy pressed her throat with his thumb and index finger. With his left hand he grabbed her basket and handed it to one of his companions. He led the girl to his cabin—a large room, floorless, the walls constructed of unhewn beams. A square opening in one wall served as a window, and was covered with an animal’s bladder, which let in light. On a table lay swords, spears. Dried meat bulged out of sacks—sides of calves, sheep, hares. The room smelled of mildew, rancid fat, and rotting fruit. The kniez put down the girl’s basket and disappeared. Krol Rudy said, “Don’t be afraid, Yagoda. This is the room of a man, not a bear’s cave.”

  “Mother …”

  But this was all the girl managed to utter. Krol Rudy threw her down on a pile of hides and raped her. She cried out, but he clamped her mouth with the palm of his hand. Then he stood up on his bloodied legs and called out the name of a woyak. The man opened the door.

  “Take the wench away. Give her a pretzel,” he ordered.

  (2)

  When the Lesniks escaped to the mountains, they took their bows and arrows with them. There were fewer animals in the mountains than in the valley below, but the men hunted enough to keep them from starving. The mountains abounded in caves that gave them shelter. Their leader was Laska’s father, Cybula. A short man, all skin and bones, he was almost bald—except for a few scraggly hairs. He became their leader because he was skillful and clever. He had the name of a marksman. His arrows penetrated deep into an animal’s flesh. He had a knack for weaving and casting fishnets and setting traps. He cracked jokes about idlers, cowards, and fools in the camp. He even dared to poke fun at Baba Yaga, the smoks, and the other spirits and gods. He knew how to keep up the camp’s spirits. He was short and nimble, could scamper up the tallest tree, turn somersaults, imitate the howls of wolves, the snorts of boars, the calls of birds. Sometimes he entertained the camp by mimicking old women’s talk, their moans and groans, the curses and blessings they heaped on one another, their laments and complaints against men. Even the death of his wife and his children in the last massacre could not defeat him.

  However, when there was talk of hitching men to plows and coaxing the earth to bring forth wheat, barley, and other such grains, Cybula would turn serious. He argued that as long as men hunted and fished they were fre
e to move from one place to another, to live as they wished, and to leave to women the tasks of keeping the home fires burning and raising children. Men who tilled the soil grew attached to it like trees. They stayed in their tents as women did, and begged the earth to yield up those accursed grains. There were rumors, moreover, that in some regions the kniezes and the pans had divided the land among themselves and made those who worked the land their slaves. Why can’t we live as our fathers and grandfathers lived? Cybula would ask. It was not necessary to tickle and scratch Mother Earth to make her produce. That which she had to give, she gave of her own accord every summer.

  Long before Krol Rudy invaded the camp, the Lesniks were debating the merits and shortcomings of tilling the soil. True, in the last few years food was growing scarce. Old people remembered times when there were many more animals and fish. But was this really so? Old people often invented stories, and often their memories were not reliable. Every winter they swore that the cold was never as severe as this year, and every summer they said the same about the heat. True, more people were starving these days. But could barley and wheat eradicate famine? Death took whomever it wanted. Were it not for death, the world would be crammed full of people clear up to the sky.

  Most of the Lesniks agreed with Cybula, and together they plotted to destroy Krol Rudy and his men. They agreed that a man would be sent down to spy on the valley, while the others readied themselves for the war to follow. But meanwhile, spring arrived, and the Lesniks took time to welcome it with prayers and chants. In years gone by, spring had been welcomed with gifts to the spirits and gods. A young virgin was chosen to be sacrificed on a stone altar, and later the men dipped their fingers in her blood. The women were never permitted to witness the ceremony. But since there were no virgins among those who had escaped to the mountains, hymns and incantations were offered instead.