An Offering for the Dead (13 page)

"Very good," I said.

"And raise the children." You were all standing there. You were not yet grown up.

"Very good," I said.

"And if something should happen requiring a man, then turn to this one here." He pointed to his half-brother, who had been fathered with a maid. The half-brother lived with us in the palace and ate at our table.

"Very good," I said again. Then he boarded the ship. A lot of young men were sailing along to war. They were singing. It could be heard far across the sea. But the mothers and wives were weeping.

For a long time, nothing was heard from the other side. Meanwhile, we lived without the men and kept the house in order. Then a ship came. We were overjoyed upon seeing it; for we thought: Now the war is over. But the order came: Send more young men and ships. It is not so simple.

I carried out the order and sent the men. They too were singing as they sailed off.

The next year, it was exactly the same. Again ships came and took men back. We asked them: Is it bad? But we only had to look at them. One lacked a hand, the other a leg, or else their faces were lumps of flesh. They were also filthy, they spat indoors and cursed loudly when they did not get their way. We had trouble making them feel at home again. They
also told us about the many who would never come again because they were lying in foreign soil. Thus our sorrow grew.

This went on for several years. Then came the order: "Send me the eldest daughter. I have promised her to a foreign king, who will be helping us with his people. Otherwise we cannot win." I obeyed. Ah, if only I had not obeyed! The child had grown into a maiden, tall and slender. Everyone delighted in her. I told her to put on a white gown. She stood at the stern of the ship, gazing back. I could not help her anymore. I stared at the white gown for a long time; eventually it was only a dot and then nothing. Weeping, I went home with you from the harbor. You were almost grown up. "What will that foreign king do with her," I said to you. "She is too tender for him." But your eyes were feverish.

Then came the order: "Send me the son. He is now old enough to continue the war for me if I die in battle." Now, at last, I said: No! It is enough! But it was too late. You took your weapons and jumped aboard ship. I ran after you. I called you from the shore. You sat at the tip of the boat, gazing in the direction of the war. You did not sing. And you did not look back even once. When the ship ground away from the harbor wall, something was crushed inside me.

I went home. I did not weep. The half-brother was standing at the palace entrance, and he saw me coming. As I walked past him, he said to me: "Now it is enough."

"Come," I said to him, and he followed me.

I noticed that I was growing old, that was why I took him along. I ignored the two other girls, nothing mattered. They were growing up somewhere in the palace. One of them hated me. Her hatred made her twisted and scraggy. The other one, however, was still a tender blossom, ah.

The half-brother was a strong man. Still, one could tell that he had been born of a maid. His neck was as round as a tree trunk and without the good furrow that you have. One could also tell by the way he walked: he walked through his big toe. But I closed my eyes.

He was very devoted to me, but secretly he thought: One day, I will be king. I acted as if I did not know.

He told me: "On the other side — it is well known — they are wallowing with foreign women in the tents!" And I replied: "Never mind! That is not it!"

Let them have pleasure with foreign women if it does them good. For that was really not it. Rumors passed back and forth across the ocean. Nothing mattered to me. I made no secret of it. You men must have found out about it too.

My mother sighed and kept silent for a while. Softly, I said to her: "I found out one night. They were sitting around the fire. We were standing guard in the open fields. I was lying a bit off to the side, and they thought I was sleeping. They whispered about it. At first, I wanted to leap up and kill them. But I was deeply ashamed and I pretended to be asleep. Now I can no longer be one of them, I told myself, and from then on, I was only like the king's son. The next morning, I had to go to the king's tent to receive his orders. He scrutinized me. If only he does not notice, I thought to myself Then he looked away and spoke about the war as usual. I peered at him from the side to see if he knew it. But I could not find out."

"He knew it," said my mother, sighing again. Then she went on with her story:

After many years, the war suddenly ended. You men had
destroyed the city and killed all the people. In the east, a cloud of filthy smoke hung in the sky for weeks.

"What should we do?" the half-brother asked me. "Wait," I said.

Then the ships came back. First it was only like a speck of dust that has flown into one's eye. Then it was like a swarm of mosquitoes on the horizon, bigger and bigger, like a cloud, and finally we could see that those were ships.

"We have to decide," the half-brother said.

"Wait," I said.

I saw that he was afraid. He wanted to run away, but I enjoyed holding him back.

"There are too many of them," he wailed. "Once they are ashore, it will be too late."

"Wait," was all I said. For I knew that they would instantly run to their women and relax. They are all like that.

The ships came closer. The sails were already being lowered. One could hear the screeching of the coils. Then the ships glided into the harbor and were moored.

"Hide in the cellar," I told the half-brother.

"What are you planning?" he asked, hesitating.

"That is my concern, not yours," I told him. He still hesitated. He did not trust me. He thought I was going to hand him over.

"Hide in the cellar!" I snapped. "I will call you when it is time." Now he had to obey me, and he hid in the cellar. It was too late to flee anyhow. I, however, stood with the two girls on the palace stairs, waiting for them to come.

And you men came. The man who was my husband led them. His hair had turned gray and his mouth was creased and tired.

"He had slept on the ship," I interrupted my mother. "'Do not wake me until we are home,' he had told us. I would have liked to wake him earlier; for I wanted to talk to him. I was worried about how we should act when we landed. But I did not dare wake him. He was so tired."

"That was how it was," said my mother. Then she went on:

I greeted him as victor in front of the entire populace, as is customary. He thanked me in front of the entire populace for maintaining the homeland for them, as is customary.

"Are these all?" I asked, pointing at the troops.

"Many have fallen," he replied. He said that they must not be forgotten, and that the fallen would always have to sit at the table with us.

"Why is my half-brother not here?" he then asked.

"He has gone into the city to make sure that no disorder occurs," I replied.

"What sort of disorder?" he asked.

"When soldiers come home, they have a difficult time getting accustomed to peace," I said.

"Very well," he said. "There is no hurry. But I must arrest my half-brother. He did not send us enough men and weapons, as I demanded. This put us in a terrible predicament, and the war lasted longer. I owe it to the fallen to put him on trial. If he is innocent, all the better."

"Do whatever you feel is right," I said.

"However, this will be our last military action," he said to the men. "Now go to your homes and do not forget that we have peace." Then he dismissed them, and the people scattered.

We were still standing on the stairs of the palace.

"Who is that standing by you like a watchdog?" I asked him.

"It is our son,' he replied.

"If he is my son, why does he not greet me?"

"Greet your mother," he told you.

"Must you first order him to do so?" I asked.

"It was the custom in the war."

You shook my hand coldly. I wanted to embrace you but you slipped away.

"I sent you a different son," I said to the man. "This is not the right one. What have you done to him?"

"Once we have laid down our weapons, you will recognize him. Have patience with us," he said.

He sent the two girls indoors. He also sent you away. But you did not leave immediately, you remained there, gazing at him. He asked you what you wanted. But you were unable to speak.

"Ah, Mother, I was so afraid for him," I exclaimed.

"I know, I know," she said, stroking my hand. Then she went on with her story:

You were supposed to go to the city, and if any tumult were caused by drunken homecomers, you were to restore peace and quiet. That was his wish. When you still did not go, he said, smiling:

"I can no longer order you. But I can ask my son." Then you went. You repeatedly looked back, but he did not summon you.

Now we were alone. I asked him if he wanted to go indoors and bathe.

"Not yet," he said. "First we want to confer as to whether we can get our destiny to change its mind."

"I do not know what you mean," I answered.

He called for wine, and it was brought.

"Let us sit here, so that the city may see us, and we can be an example for everyone. Soon it will be evening. Let us sit here like two old people who have a hard day's work behind them and can now rest," he said.

"What has made us old?" I screamed.

Suddenly, the daughter who hated me stood in the doorway. He saw that she wanted to tell him something. But he did not want to hear it; patting her cheek, he said: "If we have had to wait ten years, we can wait until tomorrow. It cannot be that urgent." So she had to leave.

"We have made mistakes," he turned back to me, "but we can make up for them if we prevent our mistakes from burdening our children."

"Where is my eldest daughter?" I cried.

"I am not worried about her. When I saw her, I knew that wherever she goes, it becomes brighter," he replied.

"You bartered her to a soldier. He will defile her with his blood-stained hands," I cried.

"I am a soldier too," he said, "but one is not always a soldier. Look!" And I saw him pouring a powder into the wine. "If we both drink it, we will not have to argue anymore. The populace will say: They endured until the end, and when they met again, they died of joy. They will place us in one grave. They will bring the children and grandchildren there and remind them: You must be like these two. Our son will rule here, and everything will have its order."

That was what he said to me, and I understood him precisely. And I shouted at him: "You sold my daughter and ruined her. You took my son from me; for he will never lay down his arms and become my son, the weapons have grown into him. The country is denuded of young men and impoverished by your war. But I was deceived of all happiness. Go to your rest if you are worn out by your deeds. But I want to live and see what I have left."

"Very good," he said. "For the children's sake, it is better for us to be quiet. I will now go indoors, as you wish, to bathe." I signaled the half-brother, and we killed him in the bath.

Here, my mother lapsed into a long silence, and I too could say nothing. We gazed across the heath, where evening was gathering. We were both very sad. Finally, I heard her voice again:

"The poisoned wine is still standing there."

"Yes, I see it," I said. "It ought to be poured out. Someone might drink it. The children or whoever."

"Let it stand," she answered. "I will watch out."

We lapsed into another long silence. The cat sat a bit off to the side, staring fixedly at something in the moor, something I could not see. I would have preferred our pouring out the wine. I found it unpleasant that it was still standing there.

"You should have drunk of it as he wanted," I said to my mother.

"Do you think so?"

"Yes, it was the only possibility."

"We say that now," she sighed. "But it must have been impossible. Otherwise I would have done so."

"He could also have given me a hint," I cried irately. "After all, I was the son."

"That was why he relied on you wordlessly."

"But he burdened me with it," I moaned loudly. "Oh, why did I not know that earlier."

"Because you are a man," she said.

"What do you mean? Did the women know?"

"Yes."

"Did they learn it from you?"

"They simply know it," she said. "When the moon changes, we know it, every one of us."

"No woman ever spoke to me about it."

"Because you are a man," my mother smiled. "Not even the men who took care of you and who tried to rearrange the world knew everything. They were good people, I must not say anything against them, and they wanted what is best. But they were only men. You can now see for yourself, it does not last."

I felt utterly wretched. "Oh, Mother, what should I do now?" I asked her. "You are so beautiful that I am astonished, and I would not wish to stop looking at you. But now I am supposed to hurt you. Oh, I would rather drink up the wine."

"Not that," said my mother, holding her hand over the cup. "Before darkness comes, and you grow utterly weary, let me finish my story."