Tarp Eišiškių miestelio
ir Kalesnikų bažnytkiemio, šešiasdešimt penki kilometrai į pietus nuo
Vilniaus miesto..............
English translation by Gloria O’Brien
Between the small town of
Klemensas Butrimas was a
big, healthy man, with a jolly disposition.
Inheriting the property on his father’s death, he soon married and began
to work the farm on his own. His wife,
Agota, was a short, round, pleasant blonde, very energetic and always
busy. She had one special characteristic, that was most
pleasing to her husband – she was such an excellent cook, that her talent was
well-known
throughout the county.
So it wasn’t surprising
that these hosts of Naujadvaris never lacked for company, and the Kalesnikai pastor visited almost every other day, even though
Naujadvaris actually belonged within the
The long, wide table stood
in the middle of their spacious dining-room, and was so crowded with so many
dishes filled with variously-colored foods, that it resembled a large flower
bed. Following a long-established custom,
people ate standing up, as there weren’t enough chairs or benches to
accommodate all the guests. Along with
the plentiful food, the hosts treated their guests to Agota’s excellent liqueurs and wines made from cherries,
berries, plums, and various other good things that most people couldn’t even
recognize. Later, having eaten their
fill, guests would move to an adjacent room set with tables and chairs, for a
final cup of tea.
Butrimas and his wife were
very pleasant people, well-liked by all their neighbors, but everybody knew
that Klemensas had one little fault that he tried mightily to hide. He enjoyed a good meal of tasty food so much
that he found it very difficult to observe the Lenten fast.
Agota was careful and
determined that the rules and requirements of Lenten fasting should be strictly
observed, by all their workers and servants, and by the “šeimininkai” (master’s family) as well. All through Lent, Klemensas had no
opportunity to get even the smallest
whiff of fragrant sausage or ham, but was forced to adhere to the
established diet, contenting himself with milky potatoes, soups and
herring. And on Fridays, he didn’t even
get much of that. No amount of
muttering, whining or even begging, had any effect; Agota remained deaf to all
complaints and blandishments.
Once, just a few days
before Easter, Klemensas had to go to Valkininkus, and his wife sent him out
with a basket of lunch that she had prepared with the usual Lenten foods – a
couple of herrings, some pickled cucumbers, a few slices of brown bread, and
some sliced onions, sprinkled with salt.
She also gave him strict instructions, not to stop at any of the inns
along the way.
He drove to Valkininkus
easily, never even thought of stopping at an inn along the way, quickly
concluded his business and turned back towards home. Approaching Leibos Inn, at the half-way mark
of his homeward trip, one of his wagon wheels broke, and Klemensas had to stop
at the inn, regardless of Agota’s warning.
And, because the blacksmith was unable to fix the wheel immediately,
Klemensas was obliged to stay the night.
And there he was overtaken by a great temptation. As he sat drinking his tea, an enticing
fragrance drifted toward him from the cook-stove. And when Leibienė, the innkeeper’s wife, drew a beautifully-browned
chicken from the oven, Klemensas could endure it no longer.
“Bring it here to my
table!!” --he shouted, deeply inhaling
the savory aroma.
And the chicken appeared
in front of Klemensas, along with a knife and fork, and a few slices of Leibienė’s fine, home-baked Jewish white bread. Klemensas forgot all about the Lenten fast,
forgot all of Agota’s stern admonishments, and within ten minutes, half of the
lovely chicken was gone. As he began to
deal with the other half, there was an unfortunate accident: Klemensas choked on something. A small bone was stuck in his throat, and no
amount of coughing, back-slapping or drinks of water helped at all. Klemensas couldn’t swallow anything now, and
his throat began to hurt more and more.
Luckily, a Jewish “felčeris” (a doctor’s assistant or a village medical
man) lived nearby, and the frightened Leibas sent to him asking for help. The felčeris looked into Klemensas’ throat and saw the little bone, but couldn’t
reach it. He sent for his four-year-old
son, and showed him the bone, then thoroughly and in detail instructed the boy,
who, being a smart and talented child, put his little hand into Klemensas’
mouth and easily extracted the bone.
Klemensas felt better at
once, being able to breathe freely, and not suffering any particular pain. But
he found that he was unable to swallow any food. He stayed the night, and the next morning, as
soon as the blacksmith had attached a new wheel to his wagon, he left for home,
feeling sick.
Agota nursed him as well
as she could, dosing him with herbal tea, and little by little, he felt better,
but still, he could eat only thin gruel, and even that in small
quantities. Easter-time arrived. During the evening of Holy Saturday, he
didn’t know where to put himself, and kept looking at the beautifully-decorated
Easter table, full of delicious things to eat, with much more to be added the
next day. It upset him to see all that
well-made food, that he couldn’t even taste.
He decided to go to bed,
hoping that sleep would help him forget all those delicacies. He quickly fell asleep, but alas, those tasty
things followed him, even into his
dreams. The roast suckling pig, its
glossy brown skin gleaming, fixed a beady eye on Klemensas, waggled an ear and,
turning to its neighbor, loudly remarked, “This fellow is no danger to
us!” The neighbor, a perfectly-roasted
turkey, its belly swollen with plum stuffing, agreed, “True enough, that is
plain”! “Ha! ha! ha!”, a fancy roast
duck added, lying comfortably on his impressive platter.
A fat goose lazily turned
its head, looked once at Klemensas, and decided the fellow deserved no further
attention. The great roasted pig’s-head
was too proud to even look at Klemensas, and all the sausages, hams, beautifully
colored eggs, jellied meats, stuffed cabbages, veal roast, meat pasties, and
other colorful dishes openly laughed at him.
Only a small babka, hidden back at the very end of the table, probably
because of its unsuccessful, crooked shape, seemed to show Klemensas a bit of
sympathy, shyly nodding its sugar-topped head.
It was extremely painful
for Klemensas to be the object of such disdain, and he raised his eyes to the
picture of Christ that, from earliest days, hung above the bed, and cried:
“My Lord, why are you
torturing me so?”
“So that you will know
greater joy and pleasure on Easter day”, came the response.
Klemensas felt a sharp
pain in this throat, coughed, and woke up.
“Hurry, Klemensai, get up,
our servant Peter has already returned from church with the blessed foods”,
called Agota. “And right after
breakfast, we will go ourselves.”
Klemensas rose quickly,
dressed and readied himself, and approached the Easter table, where the entire
household was assembled and waiting.
Greeting everyone, he sat down, deciding to try just a taste of a small
bit of a blessed egg, and found to his surprised relief that he could swallow
it with no pain. His throat didn’t hurt
at all!
That morning, Klemensas
took a fitting revenge on all those foods that had shown him such scorn: The suckling pig lost its ears and one
leg, the duck a wing, and a great many
of their neighbors suffered a like fate.
From
that time on, Klemensas always held strictly to the Lenten fast, and never
again complained about Agota’s established regime.
Genrikas Songinas was
born in
© English
Translation - Gloria o’Brien 2005