The patient needs fresh air, Foma shouted, but—and do forgive me—it’s as stale in here as inside the Devil’s ass. Haul him to the river. Water and air flow there. It will aid his recovery.
The abbess turned away and rolled her eyes but signaled to the sisters to carry out the holy fool’s instructions. They moved the patient (Arseny began moaning) onto a piece of canvas that they (he moaned again) carefully lifted.
Whimper and whine, bitch and moan, snorted holy fool Foma, and the abbess turned away again.
The sisters carried Arseny out to the river. Foma indicated the place where they should position the patient. Taking all precautions, they settled Arseny on the grass.
And now get your asses out of here, you tarts, holy fool Foma told the sisters.
The sisters headed in the direction of the convent without a word. The wind fluttered the hems of their habits and Arseny and Foma watched them go. The way the sisters retreated showed they were not, essentially, offended by holy fool Foma. Almost not offended.
After the sisters had disappeared behind the gates, holy fool Foma said:
I carried out your request with regard to Prokhor. If I understood you correctly across the river, you did not want the authorities to punish him.
I simply prayed for him, Arseny told Ustina. I requested: O Lord, laye not this synne to his charge, for he knoweth not what he creates. You pray for him, too, my love.
Holy fool Foma nodded:
As far as your prayer goes, people in Zavelichye are already well aware of what’s going on, I told them about it. (He motioned with his hand toward the Zavelichye residents who had managed to gather, and they confirmed what had been said.) I’m just afraid this isn’t the last of these prayers for you. Your clock will be cleaned again, my friend, more than once.
Not necessarily, objected the residents. Everyone in Rus’ knows that you’re not, like, you know, allowed to beat holy fools.
Foma burst into loud laughter.
I will resort to a paradox to illustrate my thought. People beat holy fools precisely because they are not supposed to beat them. It’s common knowledge, after all, that anyone who beats a holy fool is a bad guy.
Well, who else could they be? agreed the residents of Zavelichye.
That’s exactly it, said holy fool Foma. And a Russian person is pious. He knows a holy fool should endure suffering so he goes ahead and sins to supply him with that suffering. Somebody has to be the bad guy, right? Somebody should be capable of beating or maybe, let’s say, killing a holy fool, what do you think?
Well, like, you know, said the concerned Zavelichye residents. Beating might not always be so bad, but killing, is that really piousness? It is a mortal, if it can be put that way, sin.
Screw that, exclaimed holy fool Foma in a fit of pique. A Russian person, after all, is not simply pious. Just in case, I can report to you that he is also senseless and merciless and anything he does can easily turn into a mortal sin. But the line here is so fine that you, you bastards, wouldn’t understand.
The residents of Zavelichye did not know how to respond. Holy fool Karp, who was standing in the crowd, did not know, either. He was listening to holy fool Foma in utter bewilderment, his mouth agape.
Aha, and you’re here, you sinner, shouted holy fool Foma, and then holy fool Karp began weeping. I haven’t popped you in the face for a while.
Foma began making his way toward Karp but Karp was already walking backward, in the direction of the convent, and the crowd parted in front of his back.
O, wo is me, shouted holy fool Karp.
Once he’d broken away from the crowd, he rushed off toward the convent gate. The gate turned out to be closed. Karp drummed on it with all his might and watched in horror as Foma drew closer. Karp put his hands behind his back and rushed off for the river before the gates had opened. Foma ran past after the gate opened. Foma stuck out his tongue at the sisters, who were peering from the gate, and ran along. The sisters exchanged looks; they were used to not being surprised.
Didn’t I tell you to sit tight in your Zapskovye? holy fool Foma yelled to holy fool Karp.
Karp covered his face with his hands and kept on running. His bare feet slapped noisily on the grass. He stopped at the very edge of the river. When he took his hands away from his face, he saw Foma was catching up to him.
Karp, Karp, Karp, shouted holy fool Karp.
He stepped onto the water’s surface and carefully began walking. The waves on the Velikaya River were not high that day, despite a blustery wind. At first Karp walked slowly, as if he were uncertain, but his stride gradually quickened.
Foma ran up to the river and tested the water with one of his big toes. He shook his head in distress but also stepped onto the water. Arseny and the Zavelichye residents silently observed the holy fools walking, one after the other. They bounced lightly on the waves, ludicrously waving their arms to maintain their balance.
Apparently they can only walk on water, said the residents. They have not yet learned to run.
Holy fool Karp stopped in the middle of the river. He waited for holy fool Foma and then struck him on the cheek with all his might. The slap’s resonance floated along the water to those standing on shore.
He has the right, the Zavelichye residents said, shrugging. This is his territory, after all.
Holy fool Foma turned around without saying a word and headed toward his part of the city. The rays of a low autumn sun emphasized the uneven flow of the river. A mirror-like surface alternated with ripples and waves. If one gazed at the water long enough, the river seemed to begin flowing in the opposite direction. Perhaps because it reflected the flight of clouds. The two small diverging figures glided in time with the overall movement of the river’s surface. Only Arseny and the residents of Zavelichye surrounding him remained in their places.
As winter drew closer, Arseny was already walking well. His bones had knitted together and all that reminded him of his illness was the weakness that sometimes seized him. Arseny returned to his home at the cemetery when he began feeling better. The sisters tried to convince him to stay in the faraway cell but he was adamant.
Blessed be thou, O pilgrim and homeless one, the abbess said, and let Arseny go to his chosen place of residence.
When Arseny returned to the entwined oaks, he realized he had become unaccustomed to a difficult life. He mourned as lost the weeks he spent in the cell, for they had forced him to pay attention to his body. They had, in essence, left Arseny cold and he could not find a way to get warm in the first days after his return. He tirelessly whispered to himself that it was as if he were in the body of another, but that was of no immediate help. It helped four days later.
On the seventh day, loaf baker Prokhor came to him. He silently took a loaf out from under his shirt and fell to his knees before Arseny. Arseny, who was standing next to his residence, approached loaf baker Prokhor. He knelt alongside him and embraced him. And he took the loaf from his hands.
I fasted for seven days, said Prokhor.
Arseny nodded because he knew this from the form of the loaf and its fragrance.
Forgive me, O blessed Ustin, wept loaf baker Prokhor.
Arseny touched Prokhor’s cheek and one of Prokhor’s tears remained on his index finger. He rubbed the edge of the loaf with it. Arseny took a bite from the loaf where it had absorbed Prokhor’s tear. After chewing what he had bitten, Arseny stood up and helped the loaf baker up. He made the sign of the cross over him and sent him homeward. After loaf baker Prokhor had disappeared through the gap, Arseny took the loaf and made his way outside. People of modest means stood at the convent wall. Arseny broke the loaf into pieces and gave it to them.