Again he comforted her; again she softly thanked him for declining to judge her according to the ways of this world. Slowly he stroked her hair until dawn. Just before the noon hour, lonely and doubting the miracle, he stole in to peep upon her. She was a rather pretty sight as she lay sleeping, with her head twisted sideways and blood dribbling from her gaping mouth.
Another neighbor came over to complain that his dog lay lifeless and bloodless, to which Michael replied that from what he had always been given to understand, dogs died, just as people did; and since the neighbor had nothing to do with the passing of his late wife, just how was he concerned with some accident involving a dog?
I’m not saying that you had anything to do with it, replied the neighbor in a chilling tone, striding one step closer, so that Michael nearly reached for his knife; instead, he replied: Then good day to you! closing the door in the face of this former friend whom he must now keep away forever. As soon as he had bolted himself in, his bowels went weak with dread — for what if the deed was, in fact, Milena’s? Thanks to the priests, he was as well apprised as you or I that some vampires, especially early in their careers, can roughhouse with the living in what must be a playful way, tossing them up and down, or stamping back and forth upon their roofs, having lascivious intercourse with their wives, rolling them around in their beds, opening the taps of their wine-barrels; but in the stories these vampires were all men; furthermore, Milena’s disposition had not changed — but what if she needed to suck blood? He’d better have it out with her.
Before he could honor that resolution, he heard people outside whispering. The next to visit was the widow Doroteja, who arrived like a wreath-bearing angel.
When he was young and had not yet made up his mind which of them he should marry, Doroteja had fashioned him a black Easter egg painted with a golden castle, while Milena had made him a lavender egg painted with a yellow candle and two columns of ovals each of which were red on the left and blue on the right.
It is not good for a man to live alone, Doroteja said to him. So the Bible says.
Then it must be true, he replied. How are you getting along?
Michael, I’m very lonely. If you agree to be my husband, I’ll forgive you for having married Milena first.
Well, he said, that’s certainly something to think on.
I want to live with you and take care of you all your life, she said. And your children need a mother.
You’re right in everything you say.
Doroteja laid her sweet brown hand on his arm. If Milena hadn’t been right there in the hayshed, he would have found her touch pleasant. Even so, he wouldn’t say he didn’t enjoy it. (Toward her he felt the magnetism of the flesh, to be sure, but not yet the flesh’s understanding, much less the magic of the blood.)
Michael, she said, I’ll tell you a secret. When Tadeusz lay dying, he told me to look under the hearthstones. I never would have guessed; we lived like poor people. But there was a handkerchief full of silver, and even three gold pieces. We won’t be wretched when we get old, the way so many people are, without even a breadcrust or a stick of firewood…
Her eyes were enchanting. He wondered whether there might be something different about the gaze of a man’s second wife, perhaps because she knows she must share him after death.
Thank you for your love, Doroteja. I need some time yet to know my own mind, for I still feel attached to Milena.
That’s to be expected. But how long must I await your answer?
Not long, he replied (for how much longer could matters go on like this?). Taking her hand in his — for he hated to hurt her — he added: And in any event, I swear by Saint Polona to keep your secret.
May I greet the children before I go?
What could Michael say to this? They were in the garden, weeding and killing snails. He called them. They came running to her with howls of joy.