Pathways part 2

More of the Maria story.

There was one long winter night, when I was twelve, Josef eleven, and the little boys nine and seven, when we were all gathered close around the hearth, a fire blazing in the fireplace and our bodies wrapped in wool blankets. Josef was staring out the window, looking longingly out at the woods. There had been a frightful snowstorm the day before, and he was aching to go out and run through the deep, untouched snow that covered everything. The day had turned out to be far too cold, though, with everything freezing and the air taking on a deathly touch. No, there was no chance my mother or father was going to let any child of theirs out of doors on this day. So thus, he had been caged for the time being.

I was sitting beside him, watching him sleepily. The little boys were sitting closest to the fireplace, clustering around the huge nature book that was their latest read. I had seen that book gathering dust on our shelf for years – to my young eyes, it had seemed nothing but a dreadfully boring drawl about trees and other plants with no pictures. And what sort of use is that, I ask you? How can you know what something is with only words and nothing to show you?

Well, they seemed to find it interesting enough. They hardly seemed aware of anything else, not even noticing the little trail of smoke that drifted from Martin’s backside as they drew close to the fire for more light.

“Martin!” my mother said sharply, leaping forward. “The fire!”

He looked back, saw the singed spot, and yelped, backing away quickly and nearly knocking over Tomas. I knew I shouldn’t have felt like laughing, but it was funny to see. Josef, in his shut-in state, had no trouble with letting out a loud burst of laughter.

“Josef!” My mother barked. He coughed, and leaned back, subdued. Mother was busy seeing to Martin’s trousers. “Oh, dear, I’ll have to patch it again.” she sighed, brushing it off. “Thank heavens you’re not burnt.”

“Why don’t you two boys sit next to me? The light’s still good over here.” Father said, gesturing at the space next to his chair. Chagrined by the painful learning experience, they agreed, crawling over to sit in the empty spot. Mother resettled herself in her chair, and after a few moments all was quiet again.

Then Josef spoke.

“Papa, I saw something strange in the woods yesterday.”

“Did you now?” Father said, puffing on his pipe.

“Yes - I saw a man. He was walking through the trees. His clothes were ragged, and he…..was singing.”

Father raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yes. I thought he might be a minstrel, but he wasn’t walking on the path, and his clothes weren’t the right kind.” Josef said. “He was singing strange words, too – I couldn’t understand any of them.”

“What did they sound like to you?”

Father sounded calm, but I could see that he was very alert. Papa was always suspicious of anyone who walked through his woods, on or off the path.

“Well, sort of like….um….” Josef licked his lips, looking awkward. “Well, like….”

He made a string of slurred, guttural sounds, and stopped when Mother began laughing.

“What?” he demanded, face going red.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Mother said, calming herself. “It’s just….you have never heard anyone speak French, have you?”

“N…no.” Josef muttered.

“Well, if those sounds are anything to go by, then that was what he was speaking. Though what a Frenchman would be doing in our part of the world….”

“Let’s hope he doesn’t stay.” Father said grimly. “I’m willing to tolerate his sort, but the townsmen are not.”

“He was just going through the forest, Papa.” Josef said. He sounded awfully defensive of this ragged Frenchman of his, I thought. “He wasn’t going to stay. He just kept moving.”

“Is that so?” Father settled back in his chair. “Well, good, then. Let’s hope so.”

Later that night, when we were all settled in for the night, I leaned over from my bed (we children all shared a room) and poked Josef in the shoulder.

“Go away, Maria.” Josef growled.

“You talked to him, didn’t you?” I hissed.

“I said, go away, Maria.”

“Josef, you know what Father said –“

“I don’t care what Papa – I mean, Father says!” Josef said angrily.

“You did talk to him, then.”

He turned to glare at me.

“Josef,” I said, “You can’t just walk up to strangers in the forest and-“

“He didn’t look like he could hurt me.” Josef said. “He had holes in his clothes, and he looked starved. He told me he’s been walking for good long time from his country. He didn’t tell me where, though…”

“Josef…..” I tried to think of something to say. Something to shame him, perhaps….make him see why Father had told us not to speak to the strangers that sometimes walk through our forest.

But looking at him again told me that nothing I could say would curb him, for he was asleep. And upon waking the next morning, none of us remembered what had been said the night before.

Over the next few days after hearing Josef’s story of the ragged Frenchman wandering through the forest, Father went out into the woods to find him. Mother told him that he had most likely moved on by now, but Father said that with a foreigner, there was no telling. “He doesn’t know the terrain,” he said. “This forest isn’t small – he’s likely to get lost.”

Getting lost in our forest isn’t like getting lost anywhere else. There was no other place that had our legends. Among outsiders, there had long been stories of evil spirits haunting the woods, frightening creatures that lived in its dark deepness and ate anything that crossed their path – even the flesh of man.

And living in the forest….well, I’m sure you could imagine very well what the townspeople must have thought of us.

After spending a week searching the forest while on his woodsman’s duties, Father finally conceded that the Frenchman had found his way out of the forest. “Although how he managed without the road is…..odd.” he said, sitting at dinner that night and frowning down at his stew.

“Well, perhaps he knew the terrain better than we thought.” Mother said lightly. The whole thing with this wandering Frenchman had her rolling her eyes at Father whenever he made mention of it – to her, it was just a curiosity. Nothing to chase down and question, like Father was doing.

But that’s our family, I suppose. And they are, by law and right, our woods.

Over time, everyone forgot about it, even Josef. He never told me what exactly he said to the foreigner, but I don’t think it was really anything worth bothering about. Knowing Josef, he probably talked the poor man’s ear off, asking question after question and only leaving him alone when the man looked close to violence. Even after getting a lecture from Father, he still talked to anyone who happened across his way. I’m not sure how he managed to get away with it, but I suppose that by then, he had learned how to keep secrets.

While the matter had left everyone else’s mind, though, it was still in mine. I think that was the first time I ever really gave any thought to the world outside of our woods. I had heard of France before, and other names of other places that I had never really known were our neighbors. After giving a great many days to thinking, I asked my mother about it.

The question, as I remember it, was something like, “Mother, where do we live?” I don’t recall the question so well as the answer she gave me: “Nowhere, my darling. We are our own people.”

This, as you might expect, only made me very confused. So much so that I didn’t press her to give me a better answer.

Chapter 2

The life we lived in the forest was one of strict routine – or rather, we would have liked for it to have been that way. But life does not agree with going along with strict routine, as I’m sure you know.

Every morning, my father got up and left the house before the rest of us were awake. He would attend to the chores that needed doing outside, and go hunting when he was able. Mother rose not long after, and started on breakfast. We children rose last – of course – and, after breakfast, went about the house doing our own chores.

Living in the woods, and as far north as we were, there wasn’t much you could do in the way of farming. Many times, men approached Father asking to clear the trees so that at least some of the land could be used for that purpose, but they were always refused (tarnishing our reputation even further). We did have a little garden out back – a few hardy vegetables and herbs, nothing much to boast about. The plants sprouted in the seasons right up to winter, and we saved what we could. My mother had a fine stock of homemade herbal medicines kept safely in one of the cupboards, and we lived on squash and turnips and other tiring garden food when it turned cold. Tending the garden was mostly mine and Josef’s job – Tomas and Martin did more the cleaning up and helping Mother around the house. It wasn’t until later that I was told just how odd this arrangement was – that I was doing the outside jobs when I should have been inside helping my mother. I had been tending the garden as long as I had been able to hold a spade, and so it did not seem to so odd to me. Anyway, I much preferred being outside in the fresh, open air digging in the dirt than being indoors sweeping the floor and sewing up my brother’s torn britches.