Really, though, what’s so surprising here, when it comes right down to it? Our brother Ustin is profoundly correct, for he throws stones only at the houses of the pious. Angels exiled demons from these houses. They are afraid to enter and, as practice has shown, they cling to the corners of houses. Holy fool Foma pointed at one of the houses. Do you see all those demons on the corners?
We do not, answered those who had gathered.
But he does, he answered. And he pelts them with stones. Demons sit inside the houses of the unrighteous because the angels assigned to protect the human soul cannot live there. The angels stand near the house and weep for the fallen souls. So our brother Ustin appeals to the angels and requests they not abandon their prayer, that the souls not perish completely. And you, you sons of bitches, think he’s talking to walls...
Holy fool Foma noticed holy fool Karp among his listeners. Karp was sunning his face. He was listening to Foma and smiling vacantly. He was enjoying the warm spring day and his presence in this part of the city. After catching Foma’s irate look, Karp remembered he had violated the ban. He tried to hide on the sly, though he understood that was not the simplest of missions. As he hied off to make his way toward the bridge over the Pskova River, Karp began sidestepping to skirt the crowd. He seemed to think sideways motion could conceal his true intentions. Just a few moments later, he noticed Foma had cut him off from the bridge.
Karp, Karp, Karp, blubbered holy fool Karp and went sidestepping off in the opposite direction.
But holy fool Foma turned out to be faster than holy fool Karp. His palm descended on the transgressor’s neck with an unnaturally loud slap.
What else could I possibly have expected from this one? Karp shouted, as he set off running toward the bridge.
Foma urged him on with kicks. Karp stopped running after he had reached the middle of the bridge. When his pursuer neared, Karp gave Foma a powerful wallop. Holy fool Foma took it meekly, for this was already holy fool Karp’s land.
You are my faithful friends in my struggle with the flesh, Arseny told the mosquitoes. You do not allow the flesh to dictate its conditions to me.
There were a multitude of mosquitoes on the bank of the Velikaya River, where the convent stood. There were even more mosquitoes beyond the cemetery wall, which the shore breeze did not reach, than at the water itself. Nobody had ever seen so many of them. The bloodsuckers were the outcome of an unusually hot spring.
A medieval person left only his face and hands uncovered but even that turned out to be enough to deprive Pskov’s residents of their patience. Pskovians scratched, spat on their palms and smeared the saliva on their skin, thinking it would ease the suffering caused by the bites. Unwilling to settle for uncovered body parts alone, the raging insects even bit through thick clothing.
The mosquitoes did not distress Arseny, though. On damp, warm nights, when the air turned into a humming blob, he stripped naked and stepped onto the gravestone in front of his house. He experienced an unusual sensation when he ran his hand along his body. It felt as if his skin was covered with thick fur, like Esau’s. The growth turned to blood when he touched it. Arseny did not see the blood in the dark but he sensed its scent and heard the crunch of crushed insects. Mostly, though, he paid them no mind, since he diligently prayed for Ustina when he stood there at night.
He stood like that only during the dark hours, times of brief duration, but long enough for a full bloodletting. Arseny, however, was not drained of blood. Whether the mosquitoes had tired of his blood or the bloodsuckers had decided—on account of Arseny’s exceptional generosity—to show restraint, his nocturnal standing did not take his life. He was found lifeless on more than one morning, but he ended up recovering each time.
Remove your earthly apparel and clothe thyself with passionless garmentes, said the abbess on those days, turning away from his nakedness.
There were fewer mosquitoes with the passage of time, but Arseny’s nocturnal vigil did not cease. It could not cease because night remained Arseny’s only tranquil time for prayer. The day was full of cares and worries.
Arseny made the rounds of Zavelichye, keeping an eye on life’s flow. He pelted demons with stones and conversed with angels. He knew about all christenings, weddings, and burials. He knew about births of new souls in Zavelichye. When he stood near the home of a newborn, he could foresee its fate. Arseny would laugh if the lifetime appeared to be long. Arseny would weep if the baby must soon die. In those days, nobody but holy fool Foma knew yet why Arseny laughed and wept. Foma was in no rush to explain it to anybody and besides, he was rarely in Zavelichye.
One day holy fool Foma came to Zavelichye and demanded that Arseny follow him across the river.
I need your advice, he told Arseny. This is no simple matter, which is why I am bringing you to my part of the city.
The military officer Perezhoga’s baby, Anfim, had taken ill. He was lying in his cradle, silently looking up. Ten pairs of eyes moved in time with the cradle’s mute swinging. Close kin had flocked around Anfim’s cradle. The child began wailing in despair when Arseny took him in his arms. Arseny’s eyes filled with tears and he placed Anfim back in the cradle and lay on the floor. Crossed his arms on his chest. Closed his eyes.
Our brother Ustin sees the child will die, said holy fool Foma. Medicine is powerless.
Anfim stopped breathing at twilight. Holy fool Foma gave Arseny a wallop as he saw him off at the ferry.
That’s for showing up in my territory. But it makes you feel better, doesn’t it?
At the middle of the river, Arseny nodded. Of course he felt better. In the dim light, dull, flashing sparks were visible on the river’s ripples. The largest shaft of light slowly moved along the peak of a wave and Arseny thought this was the departed child’s soul, which had come out of the small body so late in the evening.
You still have three nights here ahead of you, Arseny told the soul. It is thought that souls spend their first three days in the place they lived. You know, Pskov is a good city so why not depart the world from here? Take a look: lights are burning in houses on the riverbank, people are getting ready for bed. And the sky is still bright in the west. The clouds are frozen there and their uneven edges are scarlet. They have no intention now of moving until morning. Linden trees are gently quivering in a refreshing evening breeze. In short, it is a warm summer evening. You are leaving all this and that might be scary for you. It was, after all, because of that fear that you wailed when you saw me, right? My look told you death was near. But do not be afraid. I will spend these three days with you, do you want me to, so you will not feel all alone? I live at the convent cemetery, it is a very quiet place.
And so Arseny brought Anfim’s soul to the cemetery.
He recited prayers for three days and three nights. As the third day elapsed, Arseny’s lips no longer moved but his feeling of love for the child had not waned. And that feeling was telling Arseny: stand vigil. It said: you will fall asleep if you sit on the ground. Arseny did not sit down, though he permitted himself to rest an elbow on the oaks that had grown entwined and formed a wall for his house. He did not want to leave the child alone with his death.