Translated from the Czech by Andrew Oakland, read by Sarah Feathers
A shared inheritance
She remembered the girls coming to Surmena, mostly in the evening when the light was failing so that even if seen they wouldn’t be recognized. They came shyly but full of hope. Surmena would take them out into the dark, guided only by the flickering flame of an oil lamp, which Dora’s gaze would follow from the window until it disappeared beyond the crest of the hill.
Then Surmena made the mistake of forgetting to lock the door. She was lying wrapped in a woollen shawl next to the hot stove when a tapping on the cottage door roused her from her doze. She hastened to strain the herbal decoction that had been bubbling on the stove and to put her things into a cloth bag. Still in a state of mild confusion, she hurried into the night without having secured the door; Dora, wide awake as ever, went after her. Hidden by the darkness but guided by the flickering flight, Dora followed in Surmena’s footsteps to the edge of the woods, where the spring rose into a well.
Dora came close enough to see and hear what was going on. She saw a girl she recognized from Hrozenkov squatting naked in the well while over her Surmena poured the brew, now mixed with spring water.
— I wash you with five fingers, with the palm as the sixth so that the chosen one will come to you . . . to make you most precious to him, the dearest of all virgins, so that he cannot eat, cannot drink, cannot sleep, cannot smoke tobacco, cannot make merry, can come only towards this Hanička until he reaches her and enters into marriage with her . . .
Surmena bent down to the well and then straightened up again, making sure that Hanička was thoroughly wet. She washed her hair and rubbed her arms and legs.
— So that for him an hour is not an hour, family is not family, a sister is not a sister, a brother is not a brother, a mother is not a mother, a father is not a father, so that nothing is dearer to him than his chosen one. With God’s help let her be placed before his eyes.
Hanička began to pray.
— Thus I perform this enchantment, Surmena continued, as she moved around the well and over it made the sign of a large cross. When she had finished she wrapped the girl in a canvas grass-carrier that she had brought in her linen sack for this purpose. When she had dried the girl and the girl was dressing, she asked: — When will you have your monthly bleeding?
— In a week, said Hanička, her voice shy and faltering.
— I see. On the very first day add to the yeast three drops of your blood collected from the cloth and one hair from your pubis and leave the dough to rise. After baking, take all the prettiest cakes and hold them for a short time in your armpit. A few minutes should be enough, while they’re still warm, but not while they’re hot, so you don’t scald yourself. Put them on a plate. When young Lipták is passing, offer them to him, telling him to take a few if he likes the taste of them. Not so many, though, that he’ll share them out – he must eat them himself, as you know.
As she put on her blouse and skirt Hanička hung on every word Surmena was saying, and she nodded again and again; she didn’t want to get this wrong.
— When we get home I’ll give you St John’s wortand ground pine, and amaranth for you to wear so you’ll smell sweet. To him in particular.
Hanička laughed with delight, then sang a Kopanice song in a low voice. — How you boys do not know/ Why you run around me so/ For I’m wearing ground pine/ Attached to this fine pinny of mine . . .
— That’s right, said Surmena, nodding.
The light of the paraffin lamp over the well illuminated only the stage on which this scene was played out, together with its two actors. Dora was rapt with wonder.
Some months later Dora again looked on incredulous as Hanička – in a wedding dress, with a great crown of flowers in her hair – was led to the altar at Hrozenkov by one of the Lipták boys. Was she imagining things, or were Surmena and Hanicka exchanging special smiles?
Taming the storm
As Dora advanced slowly up the hill she saw Jakoubek waving wildly at her. His knees were pulled up to his chin and held there by the embrace of the arm that wasn’t waving. Dora waved back and quickened her pace, powered by the wind at her back.
A storm was brewing. Although it was still afternoon, Žítková was cloaked in gloom. The first drops of rain were due any time now.
— Hey, he said to her by way of greeting, when at last she was standing in the little garden in front of the house. Jakoubek motioned with his chin towards Hrozenkov. Dora turned and saw that what he had been watching so intently was not her approach but the endless jumble of storm clouds rolling slowly towards them. Like a living mass, like an uncontrollable beast capable of destroying everything in its way in a moment, the heavy clouds twisted and poured into one another. And the beast’s way was all the fields on their side of the hills of Žítková: the Bedová, the Koprvazy, the Hudáky, the Rovná, the Černá.
Dora looked at the hillside that rose above the cottage. Right in the middle of the steep slope stood a small woman, bolt upright, looking as though she would be pitched over and sent tumbling downwards at any moment. To get a better view Dora walked up from the shed and screwed up her eyes. To her astonishment she saw with certainly that the woman was Surmena, struggling to keep her balance as she braced herself against the wind.
Without a second thought Dora set off towards her. What was Surmena doing, standing with her arms raised to the coming storm, waiting to be whipped by the first torrents of rain? Had she gone mad?
Dora clambered up the steep hillside, tearing at the grass to quicken her progress.
— Aunty! she yelled.
But from her position on high Surmena did not see her. All her attention was directed at Hrozenkov and the eye of the dark element.
Impelled onwards by the gusts at her back, Dora accelerated, concentrating all her energies on the task at hand. There was no doubt that a storm was on its way. When Dora was close enough to read Surmena’s expression, she was shocked by the ferocity she read in it; this was new to her.
— Aunty! she called again. No reaction. Instead of looking in Dora’s direction, Surmena raised her arms slowly, as though wishing to embrace the devastating power that would soon be upon them. At the same moment she started to mutter, but the wind took the words from her mouth so that Dora heard nothing of what was said.
Dora took a few steps more before the wind took hold of her, turned her around, then caught her by surprise by rushing at her from the front. Startled, she landed on the ground, suddenly aware of how powerless she was to prevent her body from scraping against rocks and thorns, or being thrown against the trunk of one of their limes or the door of the cowshed. Again she fixed her gaze on Surmena, as her hands clawed at the grass.
Surmena looked like she was dancing. Apparently she had become so used to the wind that she was no longer struggling to keep her balance. As her arms embraced the wind, her hips swayed in wide circular motions. At the beginning of each motion she clenched her fists, as though trapping a gust; then she made a sweeping movement to send it back the way it had come. The grass around Surmena began to undulate in the semi-circle her gesture was describing. Evidently the wind was turning around her.
Suddenly Dora heard snippets of words, carried by the reverse current. But she did not understand these words. Encrypted in a song she was hearing for the first time, they were worshipping someone she did not know.
— Oppose the storm, Heavenly Father, Almighty God! Oppose the storm, His beloved Son! Oppose the storm, Holy Ghost! Hagios, Otheos, Ischyros . . . Holy, Holy, Holy Lord God of Heavenly Hosts . . . Heaven and Earth are filled with Thy majesty and Thy glory!
Staring up at Surmena in disbelief, Dora strained to make out her aunt’s words. Now with a sweeping, top-to-bottom, left-to-right gesture, Surmena was making the sign of the cross. The incantation continued.
— . . .banish these turbid clouds and this violent air, with all their harmful vices, their hail, their thunder and their lightning . . . We beseech You, God Almighty, to dispel and despoil them!
The wind performed somersaults across the hillside, carrying away clumps of soil and dry grass and tearing the heads from meadow flowers. Dora’s eyes and mouth were full of dust.
— I enchant ye in the name of the Day of Judgement, in the name of God Almighty, Conqueror of all evil, that ye turn your hail from these crops and gardens to the hills, the rocks and the water, where no one sows, plants or grafts . . .
At this point Dora was struck by a gust so strong that the tufts of grass came away in her hands and she was propelled twenty feet down the slope. Her vision dimmed and she cried out in terror. The wind was tossing her about like a sheaf of hay, she was quite helpless, this was surely her end . . . Her slide was halted by a rock. Pain brought tears to her eyes.
— Help! she yelled into the wind. — Help!
But Surmena did not move, and far and wide there was no one else who could help her. Dora clung desperately to the rock, her shoulders around her ears as she attempted to hide from the gale, from the flying grass and twigs that whipped her face, from her fear. In her helplessness she started to pray.
— Our Father, Who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name . . . she gasped, on the verge of tears. She went on with her prayer even as her mouth filled with dust, even through the coughing this brought on.
— On Earth as it is in Heaven . . .
A dusty vortex passed over her head. And still the words flowed from her mouth, at first quietly, then louder, until she was shouting for all she was worth and quite beside herself. — Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us . . .
Then the wind swirled up one more time, lost and then gained strength, turned swiftly against itself, gave one final blast, quietened, then fell silent.
In the new calm Dora’s and Surmena’s voices merged as one. — Deliver us from evil. For Thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen.
It was over. As if by magic, the gale had vanished. Dora sat up and looked about in confusion. She saw that the clouds were in retreat, that their heaving, menacing blackness was rolling towards the uninhabited woods of the Kykula hill, beyond Hrozenkov and away from Žítková.
She was at a loss about what to make of all this.
— Come on, get up. Surmena was bending over her and sighing. She took Dora by the arm and helped her to her feet. Surmena’s hand was shaking, and when Dora turned to look into her face she saw that it was drawn with fatigue.
Each leaning on the other, slowly they made their way down the hill. Jakoubek was racing about and yelling You did it, Surmena! You did it! You drove the storm away!
— This time I got some help from her, Surmena wheezed, glancing at Dora.
(c) Katerina Tuckova / Andrew Oakland (2015)
Czech writer Kateřina Tučková has won the prestigious Josef Skvorecky Prize and Magnesia Litera Prize for literature in 2012 for her third book, The Zitkova Goddesses. The novel became a Czech bestseller, selling more than 90,000 copies while being translated into 11 languages. It was also successfully adapted for the theatre and is now being made into a film.
Sarah Feathers trained at East 15. Theatre work includes All You Ever Needed (Hampstead Theatre), A Hard Day’s Month (Rose Theatre, Kingston), 26 (BAC), Moll Flanders (Southwark Playhouse) and The Winter's Tale (Courtyard Theatre). Film includes Coulda Woulda Shoulda, Feeling Lucky and More Than Words. TV: The Real King Herod.
This event was part of the European Literature Night VII, 13 May – 9 June 2015, www.europeanliteraturenight.co.uk, organised in partnership with EUNIC, Czech Centre, Goethe Institut, Lithuanian Culture Institute, Embassy of the Republic of Lithuania, Polish Cultural Institute and Republic of Slovenia Embassy in London.
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