Ten days later, Stinge was approaching Novgorod. He himself sat atop one horse; a second horse, without a rider, trotted a little behind him. Four pairs of hooves clopped on the frozen earth with an exaggerated loudness. He rode unhurriedly because he had nowhere to hurry. Stinge thrust his hand into the pocket of the fur coat and pulled out Christofer’s manuscripts. He read them, his lips moving.
David sayde: misfortune shal slaye the ungodly. Solomon sayde: your close one will praise you, not your lips. Kirik asked bishop Nifont: should a prayer be carried out over a defiled clay vessel or only over one of wood, and should the rest be smashed? Nifont answered, a prayer may be carried out over anything, the same over a wooden vessel as over clay, or over brass or glass or silver. He who holds to worthy actions cannot be without many enemies. Wealth does not bring a friend but a friend brings wealth. Remember your absent friends when you are with those who are present, that they may hear and know you do not forget them either. All Stinge’s friends were absent so he had to remember them alone.
He opened his eyes, they said over Arseny.
He realized, too, that he had opened his eyes. The crossed branches floating above Arseny seemed like a dream. Someone’s face sprang up in front of him. It was so big that it blocked the astonishing arch of sky that was floating above him. Arseny saw each of the face’s wrinkles and the beard framing the face. A mouth moved within the beard and asked:
What is your name?
So that is how sounds are formed, Arseny thought.
What is your name? the mouth asked again.
He pronounced those four words separately, as if he did not trust the hearing of the man lying there.
Ustin, Arseny said, barely audibly.
Ustin. The face turned to someone. His name is Ustin. What befell thee, O Ustin?
Arseny had tired of looking at the face and so closed his eyes. His whole body sensed soft straw. His hand felt the wooden side of a cart.
Leave him alone, said another voice. We’ll bring him to the nearest village, let them sort it all out there.
Arseny opened his eyes again but no longer felt the cart rattling. It was cold. He was lying on something hard. It was similar to firewood. He dragged a log out from under himself and looked at it for a long time. Light through a door ajar. Light and squeaking. A woodshed.
After raising himself a little on his elbow, Arseny saw he was completely undressed. Alongside him lay his bag and some sort of rags. Hesitating, Arseny extended a hand toward the rags but pulled it right back. He felt disgusted. It was not just the filth of the rags that repelled him. It was unbearable to think the person who had undressed him had most likely worn them. That person had not taken—and this was even insulting—the bag with Christofer’s manuscripts. Overcoming his revulsion, Arseny extended his hand toward the pieces of fabric, which turned out to be a shirt, trousers, and a belt.
Arseny needed more than clothing, he also needed shoes, for his boots had been taken from him, too. After some thought, he tore the bark off two birch logs and fit the pieces against his feet. He gave the birch bark the proper shape using his teeth. Then he pulled the belt from the rags and began rubbing it against the door frame. When the shabby belt had frayed through into two pieces, Arseny used it to bind the birch bark to his feet. Shod, he caught himself putting off the moment he would dress. He was slow to get dressed, despite shivering.
But he could not leave the shed naked. Arseny took what had once been a shirt and held it against his chest. Hesitating, he put his arms into the sleeves and his head through the hole: the collar had been torn off. The shirt hung on his body like a formless rag. Patches livened up its colorlessness.
It was most difficult to put on the trousers. They turned out to be a bit more intact than the shirt but that only made things worse. As Arseny put on those tatters, he thought that they had touched the thief’s indecent member. His trousers were like a bodily closeness to him, and Arseny convulsed with loathing. The theft dispirited him not for the loss of his own clothes but for acquiring someone else’s. Arseny was scared that he would abhor his own body from now on; he wept. And then, after it had dawned on him that from now on he would abhor his own body, Arseny began laughing.
He emerged from the shed in an elated mood. After taking several steps in his new clothes, he said to Ustina:
You know, my love, these are essentially my first steps in the right direction since I came to Belozersk.
The shed stood on the edge of a village. Arseny approached the nearest house and knocked at the door. Andrei Magpie lived in the house with his family.
Who are you? Magpie asked Arseny.
Ustin, answered Arseny.
Hey, Ustin, just wait till the trees turn green, Magpie smirked and slammed the door.
Then Arseny knocked at Timofei Pile’s door. Timofei looked Arseny over and said:
You will bring in lice: in your position, you cannot not have lice. Or fleas. I think you have a whole bag of them.
The bag contained only Christofer’s manuscripts but Arseny did not consider untying it in front of Timofei.
Next was Ivan Skinanbones’s house. Ivan remembered the hospitality of Abraham and did not want to send away a pilgrim. But he did not want to let him in, either. He led him to the other end of the village, to the old woman Yevdokia, who was afraid of neither lice, nor fleas, nor strangers.
Yevdokia was chewing the soft part of some bread when they entered. She had no teeth so chewed the soft bread with her gums, which made her entire face move. It just plain bobbed up and down, folding and unfolding, looking like an old leather wallet.
After observing Yevdokia’s face for a bit, Ivan said:
Here you go, woman, a guest who says nothing except that he is Ustin. You have to agree that is at least some sort of information.
I am of the opinion that is plenty, nodded Yevdokia.
She tore off half the soft part of the bread and held it out for Arseny.
Eat, O Ustin.
Ivan and Yevdokia silently watched as Arseny ate.
He is hungry, said Ivan.
That is a fact, confirmed Yevdokia. He can stay.
After warming up a little, Arseny could feel his head start to itch. The clothing he had inherited was full of lice. They had come to life in the warmth and begun crawling into Arseny’s hair. He sat, feeling the motion of the lice along his neck, from bottom to top. Arseny knew it was difficult to get rid of lice and began feeling sorry for Yevdokia. He did not want to multiply the difficulties in her life. He decided he should not stay here. As Arseny stood, he bowed to Yevdokia from the waist. Yevdokia continued chewing. He went outside and closed the door behind him.
The cold hit Arseny. He was still holding on to the door ring. The desire arose to pull on it and go back inside the warm house. After stepping down from the front steps, though, he realized he was not going back. An early dusk was thickening. Arseny walked, experiencing fear and the cold. And he himself did not understand why he had stepped out of the warmth. All he understood was that a difficult journey awaited him—and it might not even be surmountable. And he did not know where that journey would take him.
Arseny walked along a forest road that was growing ever darker. His legs would not bend in the cold, so he walked as if he were on stilts. Then snow began to fall. It was the first snow of the year and it was falling somewhat uncertainly. At first there were individual snowflakes, few but large. Their fluffiness seemed to make it a little warmer. The snowflakes came down ever more, until they turned into a complete wall, a blizzard. When the blizzard ended, the moon came into sight and everything grew bright. Each bend in the road was visible.