Jarmila by Ernst Weiss

Author:Ernst Weiss [Weiss, Ernst]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General Fiction
ISBN: 9781901285291
Publisher: Pushkin Press
Published: 1937-08-01T04:00:00+00:00

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“IT WAS PERHAPS THIS SPARK which kindled my thought. The farmer had just turned round, responding to Jarmila’s call in that cooing, enticing, husky voice I knew so well. I followed a strong urge which I can neither define nor forget. I would do anything to forget for I don’t want to suffer for the rest of my life. Was I seeking revenge? Or was the little fire meant to lure him away from her so that I could have her once more? At any price?

I crept to the hay-loft, and pulled out a couple of dried tufts from underneath, positioned them against the direction of the wind, added a full box of matches, and a few pages of the timetable I’d bought for the long journey. I waited for the wind to die down before setting the pile alight, nearly falling asleep in the dark. There was a strange rustling in the hay, field-mice I suspected. Somehow the place looked different. I assumed needy tenants had tried to steal hay for their thin, mangy horses, or scabby cows. How was I to know that there were people hidden in the hay, sleeping soundly—the two tramps to whom I’d been so generous in the morning. If only they had woken up! But the devil was abroad. Or God was, to punish her and me and everybody else. I wanted it to happen and then I did not. The fact was that I had taken a woman away from a repulsive old man, who’d then stolen her back from me! But to set his hay ablaze? A fire which might spread to the village? I knew it was wrong but that didn’t stop me. I took a match to the hay-stack which slowly started to kindle. Only a faint glimmer moved slowly through the dark like a glowing worm. The air was damp and I thought it might fizzle out on its own … Then I crept back to Jarmila’s house. The farmer was still leaning against the window. The room was dark. They could not see me. Again the wife called for her husband, then started to sing a lullaby. Again I gave her a signal. She paused briefly, then resumed her soothing tune. But the child was a big boy! Why did she have to sing to him? If only she had remained silent, the wretched woman! The farmer tapped his pipe against the window-frame, three times. Usually he was asleep at this time. The horse whinnied, probably hungry because he had forgotten to feed it that evening. But the farmer did not move. The barn stood tall and black against early autumn’s clear evening sky. A wind was picking up from there and blew in our direction … For once in my life I’d been lucky, I thought! You’ve had your bit of fun, a voice inside me said, and the fire has not caught. Oh well, so be it! I wasn’t aware then how long fresh hay takes to kindle.

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