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.Abbish wiped his mustache,30 ESTHER SINGER KREITMAN picked the crumbs out of his beard and thanked the children for allthe delicacies to which they had treated him.He handed Itchela a flaskof water, climbed up onto his seat and gaily called out to the horses: Now get a move on, me beauties! But apparently Abbish had never taken that route before, for withthe best will in the world the horses could not now comply with hisbehest.The road ended abruptly in a stretch of soft clay.The wheelsstruggled in the mess, now sinking to the axle, now dragging them-selves out again, only to go under once more, until at last the outskirtsof the forest were reached, which all this while seemed so close at hand,one had only to put one s fingers out to grasp the twigs of the foremosttrees.A sorry illusion, for the fight took a whole hour, and withevery inch of ground gained, the going got heavier a veritable littlewilderness barring meadow from forest. Come on, you cripple, shift yourself! a burly, young giant with alarge, round face and sinewy arms bawled at a small emaciated horsewhich had got stuck and seemed to be using its prominent ribs ratherthan its legs as it strained at the cartload of clay to which it was har-nessed.It was doing its best to please its master, a bony peasant with aclay-besmeared face and beads of sweat as big as peas on his upper lip,but the peasant flogged the animal furiously.The young giant, whowas looking on, himself fresh and still bursting with energy after theday s toil, put his hack and saw onto the cart, and digging himself in,put his shoulder to the cart.It bumped out of the ruts and was soonstanding safely on firm ground.Abbish was whacking his horses for all he was worth.The younggiant glanced over his shoulder at him. Jewish horses! he muttered,and slinging his hack over his shoulder, went on his way.Abbish lost his temper.He cursed Itchela for ill-treating the horses. They re not yours, are they, you big lout? You don t care if youcripple them, do you? If you weren t such a lousy, clumsy blockhead,we d have been miles away by now. He conveniently overlooked the fact that he was in the lead himself.The ordeal was over at last.They had entered the forest.They allretook their places in the carts, which stopped awhile to give the horsesa rest.Abbish wiped the sweat off himself and off his horses with thesame dirty piece of cloth.The animals blinked and looked back at himwith gratitude in their yellow eyes.THE DANCE OF THE DEMONS 31 The forest was entirely ablaze.The tops of the fir trees loftily reachedfor the sky, which, although it was still a translucent blue, was scarcelynoticed here.Abbish was back on his seat, and he sent Michael packing. You get off of here, and stay where you belong, and stop makingyourself a nuisance! he fumed, quite forgetting that this was notItchela whom he was addressing.Michael did as he was told.He hadhad enough anyway.Already the outer belt of the forest, on which clearing work hadbeen begun only the week before and it was still pretty dense wasin full retreat.The sturdy pines and slender firs were recoiling, andabove, the sky had emerged once more over a wide belt of whitewashedsaplings and the going was good.A pale slice of moon had come out,and soon sparkling stars were assembling, playful, frolicsome, andyoung just like the saplings.But then they came to a dismal stretch of woodland.Here thecorpses of once living trees stood all in disorder, their knotty backsbent, the tracery of their branches disheveled, their hideously droopingboughs all bare, so that they inspired one with dread, with terribleforebodings.These trees looked like crafty, hulking old men, and theirboughs like trembling hands stretched forth, secretively, to capturesomething in the gathering dusk.Fear crept over Deborah, fear min-gled with loathing, and she was glad when they finally came into theforest proper.On either side of them it stretched dense and dark.The track,beaten by hoofs which had passed this way before, grew narrower anddarker the deeper it penetrated into the forest.The air was perfumed,far sweeter than any honey. Ah! Ah! Have you ever smelt anything like it? an unspoken ques-tion hovered on all lips, but there was no breath to spare for speech.Everybody was silent and drank in the scented May air of a Polish for-est at night. Look, a rabbit! cried Deborah.Michael turned his head, but too late the rabbit had vanished. What a shame, you should have seen it! It simply flew along as if ithad wings.It did look dainty! Ha, ha! Ever seen a rabbit look dainty? Michael scoffed. You re areal joke, you are! 32 ESTHER SINGER KREITMAN You should have seen it! Deborah persisted [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.Abbish wiped his mustache,30 ESTHER SINGER KREITMAN picked the crumbs out of his beard and thanked the children for allthe delicacies to which they had treated him.He handed Itchela a flaskof water, climbed up onto his seat and gaily called out to the horses: Now get a move on, me beauties! But apparently Abbish had never taken that route before, for withthe best will in the world the horses could not now comply with hisbehest.The road ended abruptly in a stretch of soft clay.The wheelsstruggled in the mess, now sinking to the axle, now dragging them-selves out again, only to go under once more, until at last the outskirtsof the forest were reached, which all this while seemed so close at hand,one had only to put one s fingers out to grasp the twigs of the foremosttrees.A sorry illusion, for the fight took a whole hour, and withevery inch of ground gained, the going got heavier a veritable littlewilderness barring meadow from forest. Come on, you cripple, shift yourself! a burly, young giant with alarge, round face and sinewy arms bawled at a small emaciated horsewhich had got stuck and seemed to be using its prominent ribs ratherthan its legs as it strained at the cartload of clay to which it was har-nessed.It was doing its best to please its master, a bony peasant with aclay-besmeared face and beads of sweat as big as peas on his upper lip,but the peasant flogged the animal furiously.The young giant, whowas looking on, himself fresh and still bursting with energy after theday s toil, put his hack and saw onto the cart, and digging himself in,put his shoulder to the cart.It bumped out of the ruts and was soonstanding safely on firm ground.Abbish was whacking his horses for all he was worth.The younggiant glanced over his shoulder at him. Jewish horses! he muttered,and slinging his hack over his shoulder, went on his way.Abbish lost his temper.He cursed Itchela for ill-treating the horses. They re not yours, are they, you big lout? You don t care if youcripple them, do you? If you weren t such a lousy, clumsy blockhead,we d have been miles away by now. He conveniently overlooked the fact that he was in the lead himself.The ordeal was over at last.They had entered the forest.They allretook their places in the carts, which stopped awhile to give the horsesa rest.Abbish wiped the sweat off himself and off his horses with thesame dirty piece of cloth.The animals blinked and looked back at himwith gratitude in their yellow eyes.THE DANCE OF THE DEMONS 31 The forest was entirely ablaze.The tops of the fir trees loftily reachedfor the sky, which, although it was still a translucent blue, was scarcelynoticed here.Abbish was back on his seat, and he sent Michael packing. You get off of here, and stay where you belong, and stop makingyourself a nuisance! he fumed, quite forgetting that this was notItchela whom he was addressing.Michael did as he was told.He hadhad enough anyway.Already the outer belt of the forest, on which clearing work hadbeen begun only the week before and it was still pretty dense wasin full retreat.The sturdy pines and slender firs were recoiling, andabove, the sky had emerged once more over a wide belt of whitewashedsaplings and the going was good.A pale slice of moon had come out,and soon sparkling stars were assembling, playful, frolicsome, andyoung just like the saplings.But then they came to a dismal stretch of woodland.Here thecorpses of once living trees stood all in disorder, their knotty backsbent, the tracery of their branches disheveled, their hideously droopingboughs all bare, so that they inspired one with dread, with terribleforebodings.These trees looked like crafty, hulking old men, and theirboughs like trembling hands stretched forth, secretively, to capturesomething in the gathering dusk.Fear crept over Deborah, fear min-gled with loathing, and she was glad when they finally came into theforest proper.On either side of them it stretched dense and dark.The track,beaten by hoofs which had passed this way before, grew narrower anddarker the deeper it penetrated into the forest.The air was perfumed,far sweeter than any honey. Ah! Ah! Have you ever smelt anything like it? an unspoken ques-tion hovered on all lips, but there was no breath to spare for speech.Everybody was silent and drank in the scented May air of a Polish for-est at night. Look, a rabbit! cried Deborah.Michael turned his head, but too late the rabbit had vanished. What a shame, you should have seen it! It simply flew along as if ithad wings.It did look dainty! Ha, ha! Ever seen a rabbit look dainty? Michael scoffed. You re areal joke, you are! 32 ESTHER SINGER KREITMAN You should have seen it! Deborah persisted [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]