The Book of Fathers Read Free

always running off … I wash my hands of him,” said Zsuzsánna.
    Kornél was soon overcome by sleep. He dreamed he was in a blinding white light, and saw an old man with talons like knife-blades on all ten fingers of his hands. He used them to carve animal shapes out of pieces of wood; these came to life and gamboled in the forest clearing. “It’s Uncle God!” he thought.
    Grandpa Czuczor fell into conversation with Gáspár Dobruk, the farrier, who had a game leg that ensured his exemption from army service. The farrier informed him that in Varasd it was neither the Kurucz nor the Labancz that were wreaking havoc, but the irregulars of Farkas Balassi. These freebooters respected neither man nor God; all they wanted was to loot and scavenge.
    “Then perhaps we should give them what they want!” said Grandpa Czuczor.
    Gáspár Dobruk was aghast. “Are you out of your mind, that we should freely give them all that we have sweated for years to gain?”
    “They’ll get it either way.”
    A blast sounded from somewhere a little closer. Zsuzsánna began to cry.
    “Quiet!” said Grandpa Czuczor.
    What remained of the population of Kos was now gathered in the Old Cavern, holding its breath, praying, seeking comfort in each other’s presence. May the Lord be merciful unto us, prayed Grandpa Czuczor. Meanwhile the advance guard of Farkas Balassi’s irregulars was already roaming the village high street, going from yard to yard to the accompanimentof the dogs’ howling. The drovers led their horses by their bridle, and used their drawn swords to pry open the doors of deserted houses, incredulous that not a soul remained. Axes and cleavers hacked off locks and hasps: they had been given a free hand by Farkas Balassi. But little of value remained in the buildings and they cursed eloquently as they flung cheap pots and pans out of the windows. The straw roofs of the houses burst into flame at the torches’ kiss, and as the fire crackled along the housetops, the animals in the stables and pens howled and bleated, the dogs almost strangled on their leads as they tried to flee. Even far away in the Cavern Kornél could pick out from the distant rumble the throaty bark of Burkus, his grandfather’s bushy komondor dog.
    Zsuzsánna whimpered. “Don’t be afraid,” she sniffled into her son’s ear. “God will help us!”
    “I’m not afraid,” grunted Kornél.
    After a quarter of an hour, the noise of fighting died away.
    “Perhaps they have moved on,” said Bálint Borzaváry Daróczy, the estate bailiff.
    “I hardly think so,” said Grandpa Czuczor. “They’re up to something.”
    “One of us should go out and look around.”
    “Later,” said Grandpa Czuczor.
    More and more lights went on in the depths of the Cavern. Grandpa Czuczor reached into his satchel, though he knew there was no point in looking for his writing implements—he had not brought them. He closed his eyes and tried to compose the lines he would have written had he brought pen and ink.
The First Day of April, the Year of our Lord 1706. The dogs of war are upon us and we know not if our homes still stand. We have supplies for three days, perhaps four if we are sparing. Zsuzsánna is tearful, but Kornél shows remarkable composure: further evidence of his mental capacity. If we live long enough, we shall be very proud of him. May the Lord on High guide his steps and give him the strength to take them .
    Around midnight Bálint Borzaváry Daróczy and two of the lads left the Old Cavern to take a look at the village. They took lamps with them, but these proved unnecessary, as several of the houses were still ablaze. The charred timbers of the roof girders were all that stood, and the stench of dead flesh was everywhere. Hardly a house was left standing. The church steeple had fallen in. Two bodies lay dead in the street, Béla Vizvári and his wife, Boriska. They must have taken shelter in the little winepress and been found by the bandits. It