Black Spring Read Free Page A

thresholds of the house and my pillow with a droplet from the phial Aron Lamaga had given me, as had become my habit since reaching the Plateau. To complete my satisfaction, I found that Anna was a superior cook: she made a dish of tripe and onions that evening that nourished the soul as much as the flesh. You can imagine how I congratulated myself on having found such an oasis of civilization in this rude country; with what relief I lay down that night between fresh linen sheets; and how, before I drifted off into well-earned slumber, I turned my mind with a fresh excitement to the prospects of my new situation.

T he morning of my arrival, after an excellent breakfast of blood sausage and chitterlings, I was sufficiently restored from the rigors of my journey to contemplate my surroundings with some degree of amicability. It helped that, after days of driving rain, the day dawned clear and bright. The pale sunshine of early spring struck blindingly silver off the puddles and made of the wet grass a wealth of trembling prisms. I stared out my bedroom window as I dressed. It overlooked the back of the house, which boasted a wintry vegetable garden and the compulsory stunted orchard, and in the distance I could see the Black Mountains, clearly visible today, although their craggy heights were shrouded by mist. I found myself humming the mournful but beautiful ballads of my childhood about the shepherds of the Land of Death. The songs made me think of the youth I had seen the day before: he could scarcely have reached full manhood, but his face seemed ageless, as if death had already lifted him out of the stream of time.
    I inspected my dwelling, which I had not had the energy to look over the night before, and confirmed my feeling of satisfaction at my situation. Indeed, it was perfect. The kitchen was large and well supplied, the amenities modern and well ordered. There was a pleasant dining room, furnished with surprising taste, a formal drawing room, a sitting room adjacent to my bedroom upstairs, and an attractive breakfast parlor downstairs at the front of the house, which captured all the morning light. In this room stood an elegant mahogany writing desk, surely the best piece of furniture in the house. I immediately requisitioned the parlor for my work room; I had brought with me several projects which I hoped to complete in my time here, including the almost complete manuscript of poems which I have promised to S——. I thought of the lady who had inspired a good number of the poems; it was almost the anniversary of our first meeting. I confess to a moment’s weakness as I remembered a certain gesture, a certain turn of her head which displayed the graceful curve of her neck, and for a while I toyed with the idea of dedicating the book to her (I need only use initials, after all), but I discarded the notion almost immediately, since it would be taken as proof of an ardor which for me has now grown cold and which I have no wish to revisit.
    After noon I found myself restless and spent some time in the kitchen speaking to Anna, as I was more and more curious about the history of this house, which was so atypical of the dwellings I had seen in the Plateau. She told me that its owner, who was known only as Damek, lived not far away, less than two miles’ walk.
    “Well, then!” I said. “I should, as a dutiful tenant, pay him my respects!”
    “I fear, sir, that he might be from home,” cried Anna with what seemed to me a certain confusion.
    “It would only be courteous,” said I. “And if he is not home, I have wasted no more than my time. I feel as if I should enjoy a walk.”
    “I think, sir, that the weather will turn later,” Anna answered. “A storm can blow down from the mountains in a trice, and with a savageness as you lowlanders are not used to. And even if it is but a short distance, storms are no pleasure to walk in.”
    She looked as if she might say more, but instead turned to her cooking. My