East Wind by Max Brand

Author:Max Brand [Brand, Max]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Short Stories
Publisher: Roy Glashan's Library
Published: 2014-09-16T22:00:00+00:00

WHEN they had left the house, she told Anna to lay out her Sunday clothes and to put water on the stove. She undressed, bathed with hot water and soap, and then clothed herself in her best.

You tell the wealth of a peasant by the thickness of the pile of his bedding, and the genteel condition of a woman is witnessed in the manifold layers of her under and outer clothing. Maria Clopacka wrapped herself up like a bundle and overlaid all with a blouse that was drawn at the throat on a ribbon. Finally she tugged on the sheepskin coat with the fur turned inside. The strong smell of it was a comfort to her like the voice of an old friend.

After that she was a little tired and sat down to rest, but the moment she was in the chair thoughts commenced to pour through her mind. Twice Anna spoke to her without receiving an answer. She went hurrying to Roman Pozenski and said to him: “Maria Clopacka does not stir. She sits in a chair like a bewildered woman. Go and rouse her. Tell her again what she must do.”

Roman Pozenski came accordingly to the house, but when he saw how Maria sat with unknown thoughts in her eyes, he said nothing at all. He went out to the elders who stood anxiously in the street in spite of the wind that was screaming out of the east.

“She cannot go,” said Roman. “The Clopacka family have died for Poland and they know how to stand up straight, but their legs never learned how to bend at the knees and beg.”

No one argued against this. The old men went back to their houses, gathered their families about them, and waited for the blow to fall.

It was about this time that Maria Clopacka finished digesting her pride. She rose from the bed and said: “I am a sinner. God have mercy on me. How easy it would be to die! But I must go to the Russians!”

Anna was so old that she looked permanently astonished. Now she was transfixed.

“But I cannot go like a beggar. I must carry a gift in my hand. What shall it be, Anna?”

“You have the cough mixture which your great grandmother invented,” said Anna, “and God and St. Stephen know that the general has a sore, sore throat.”

Maria stared at her. “Anna,” she said, “what could I do without your brains and your quick way of using them?”

The jar of cough mixture was almost empty. She made a fresh supply out of the herb box, measuring the quantities with infinite care, and blending the simmered juices with honey and strong tea. When she had finished, she offered the blend to Anna.

“It is like walking through a pine forest in spring,” said Anna. “It’s like meadows in the pinewoods—and that’s exactly the way it should smell!”

“Good!” said Maria. “I love to have you find me right, Anna.”

She went out again to the Russian and was led without question to headquarters.

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