intoned the old man, lifting a bent index finger into the air. “That ish why it ish sho important to know what it ish that you are living for.”
Evidently this was the concluding part of a speech directed at the giant youth. The latter smiled even more broadly, and lifted up Nort’s soften body. He skillfully poured the steaming drink into the lad’s mouth. The latter began to cough. The giant patted him gently on the back.
“Where are we?” asked Nort, gasping for breath.
“Don’t worry, not in the castle dungeon.” Glancing at the old man, the giant added “We’re friends, you are safe here.”
“Don’t be afraid; musht be shtarving, such weaklinghs over there,” mumbled the old man. “Mama, ish our supper ready? I do feel like eating, though. It shmells pretty good. By the way, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to look for Sheiba, feed ush shome of her milk.
At this moment Ghost felt such an onslaught of hunger pangs, that his eyes went dark. Mama left Nort, and rushed toward the stove. Putting on thick oven gloves, he pulled out of the cracked interior a clay pot, which filled the whole cabin with its aroma.
“Everything’s ready, Madman!” He exclaimed happily. “Please come to the table.”
Mama deftly set out plates and utensils, and with a deep ladle served the thick, aromatic soup. He cut the bread neatly, clasping the loaf to his chest. He poured out foaming cider. They passed the next quarter of an hour in silence; only the birds coughed in the forest, and Mama, wiping away a few tears, put a second helping into Ghost’s soup plate. After eating, the two guests went to lie down. A chill seized Nort. Mama gave him a second blanket.
“Having rizhen from the dead, he ish in dishtressh. “What should I do now?” The voice of the old man shook with incomprehensible excitement. Salty wrinkles stretched tightly across his agitated face. “That ish why every pershon should know hish reazhon for living, and do everything in time.” Falling silent for a few moments, he added inopportunely, “I forbade the birdsh to laugh.”
The young one raised his eyebrows in sufferance.
“Yesh, yesh. We have a guesht “with shining eyesh in the houshe”. You undershtand?” Whispering, he added, glancing at the sleeping guests. “You don’t often hear about shomething like thish. We ought to help him, put him on hish guard. He’sh extremely hot.
…
In the morning Mama came back from the marshes with brushwood and some news. Throwing down his armload in a corner of the kitchen, he carefully wiped his reddened hands on his apron. Without becoming distracted from his work, the giant talked, while skillfully starting a fire in the hearth.
“There are mercenaries firing guns at the marsh fires – what for? They’re casting nets… surely they aren’t hoping to catch fish for their supper in the quagmire? Or have they lost their minds?”
The old man, as was his habit, raised his finger in answer to the question. His bushy eyebrows met at the bridge of his nose.
“A sharp vibration of the air, according to shome people, shurvivesh the rizhe of marsh gasshesh and with it alsho the dead bodiesh. But the shun hash carried away the wind.
Nort was convulsed. Ghost smiled.
“They are looking for your body.” He announced cheerfully, winking at Nort. “Well, and mine at the same time.”
“Could they come here?” Enquired the youth uneasily, getting to his feet with difficulty.
“Not posshible. Mama ish the only one who knowsh the paths around here. He hash shurvived sheeing the shlippery corpshesh! You were lucky that he left a bashket on that bank, and went back for it. The bashket dishappeared. Out of the eyesh of the first corpse arozhe the shun.” The Bony Madman ended his speech in his usual absurd way.
Relieved, Nort settled back on the pillow and closed his eyes. Mama put his palm on Nort’s damp forehead.
“He has a fever.” The fat boy complained. “I’ll go and make him a tincture.”
Ghost followed Mama into the small kitchen. He clambered feet first into an old armchair that was placed conveniently near the fire.
“Why is the old man always talking gibberish? He doesn’t seem to be an idiot.”
Mama smiled warmly, taking some little bags of dried herbs out of an overfull, very old sideboard.
“He was a famous scholar. Studied ancient cults or whatever you call it. He spent whole days reading books, and found enlightenment in that. I remember he would always say: “Oh, if I could only be unknown!” He saw into the future. We’re not living the right way, he said. In the past people never lived this way.”
“At that time I was an errand boy, a good-for-nothing orphan. He told me a great many things, only I could never remember any of it. He made up his mind to leave the hustle and bustle and go into the backwoods. He sold his estate and bought a piece of land in the marshes and a few bits and pieces. I went with him; well, how was he going to manage by himself – he couldn’t cut wood or fetch water. I have a kitchen garden behind the house, a goat. That’s how we live here.
Lost in thought, Ghost rolled a little ball of bread from the soft part of the loaf along the table. His short, light-colored forelocks stuck out disobediently in all directions. Above his plump lips there curled the first fluff of a moustache. Daring and sadness were mixed in his hazel eyes.
“I would have died of boredom. So, you know the local places well?”
Mama smiled, nodding knowingly.
“Your map is bullshit – excuse the bad word. Whoever drew it, meant to exterminate people, intentionally marked all the rotten places with crosses. Forgive me for peeping; it’s just that it showed a familiar area, and I couldn’t help myself.”
“What then, has someone already called on you here? Which corpses was the old man talking about? Is it possible they were searching for the sunken church? Have you seen it, by the way?
“So many questions! Yes, they were looking for it, only I can’t understand – why would they? There’s almost nothing is left of it; only the shame. What does it mean to you?”
Ghost made a tragic face and moved right up to Mama. The latter spat and moved aside.
“Listen, I can’t call you Mama! Well, what sort of a mama are you to me? That is, male kind? You’d better come up with something more appropriate. Mamai or Mazai, I don’t know.
“What’s wrong with my name?” The fat boy was offended. “Is Ghost any better? You might just as well call a Scarecrow ‘Garden’.”
He turned towards the hearth and, breathing heavily through his nose, audibly aggrieved, set about selecting dried herbs from a little bag, having hung a pot over the fire. Ghost thought for a little while about something, as he brought some brushwood out of the corner of the kitchen and threw a couple of twigs into the fire.
“M-mama, forgive me, I’m a bit tired. I wanted to share a secret with you. Can you keep a secret?”
Mama continued to potter about the hearth, pursing his lips, but his breathing became quieter, and it was clear that he was interested.
“Well then, listen. Only don’t tell anyone. I cannot say
