Arseny did not tell Christofer he knew the color of seed. He had spoken about this to Elder Nikandr in Confession.
Keep your hands above the bedspread, Elder Nikandr had advised.
This was not at home but at the cemetery, Arseny said.
Well now, that is quite something, elder Nikandr said with a whistle. At the cemetery and everything. It is live people who lie there, after all.
I saw only the dead.
For God, all are living.
Arseny turned away:
But I have begun to fear death.
The elder ran his hand along Arseny’s hair. He said:
Each of us repeats Adam’s journey and acknowledges, with the loss of innocence, that he is mortal. Weep and pray, O Arseny. And do not fear death, for death is not just the bitterness of parting. It is also the joy of liberation.
Arseny learned to read at an early age. Within a few days he had learned the letters Christofer had showed him and could soon combine them into words without difficulty. At first it bothered him that the words in most books were not separated from one another, but rather flowed in a continuous series. One day, Arseny asked why the words were not written separately.
But are they really pronounced separately? said Christofer, answering the question with a question. I will also tell you this. At times it is not crucial how a word is spoken and by whom. All that is important is that it has been spoken. Or, at the very least, thought.
Christofer’s notes written on birch bark became Arseny’s first—and much-loved—reading. There were several reasons for this. The birch-bark manuscripts were written in large, distinct penmanship. They were not large in size. They were Arseny’s most accessible reading because they were lying all around the house. Finally, Arseny saw how they were made.
Christofer worked on preparing birch bark in spring, during the time a tree’s sap is in motion. He peeled it from the trunks in neat, wide bands that he then boiled in brine for several hours. The bark grew soft and lost its brittleness. Christofer cut the bark into even sheets after processing it. It was now ready for use, a perfect substitute for expensive paper.
Christofer did not dedicate any particular time to writing. He could write in the morning, afternoon, and evening. Sometimes, if an important thought came into his head during the night, he would get up and write it down. Christofer wrote down what he had read in books: And King Solomon had seven hundreth wives and thre hundreth concubynes, and eighte thousande books. He wrote down his own observations: on the tenth day of the month of September, Arseny’s tooth hadst fallen out. He wrote down his doctorly prayers, contents of medicines, descriptions of herbs, information about natural anomalies, weather omens, and brief edifying statements: guard thyself from the silence of a loathsome man as if he were a loathsome dog who doth steale in secret. He used a bone stylus to scratch out letters on the inside of the birch bark.
Christofer did not write because he feared forgetting something. He never forgot anything, even when he reached old age. For Christofer, the written word seemed to regulate the world. Stop its fluctuations. Prevent notions from eroding. This is why Christofer’s sphere of interest was so broad. According to the writer’s thinking, that sphere should correspond to the world’s breadth.
Christofer usually left his writings in the places where he had made them: on the bench, on the stove, on the woodpile. He did not pick them up when they fell to the floor: he vaguely anticipated their discovery, much later, in a cultural stratum. Christofer understood that the written word would always remain that way. No matter what happened later, once it had been written, the word had already occurred.
By watching and following Christofer’s movements, Arseny already knew where to search for his notes. Sometimes, the place where one manuscript turned up would be the location for another one, or even more, that very same day. At times, Arseny’s grandfather seemed like a hen carrying golden eggs that needed only be gathered in good time. The boy even learned to guess the nature of what was written, based on Christofer’s facial expression. Knitted brows led him to surmise that the current manuscript denounced heretics. An expression of quiet joy accompanied predominantly edifying statements. According to Arseny’s observations, Christofer pensively scratched his nose when specifying heights, volumes, and distances.
The child read the birch-bark manuscripts out loud. Basically, during the Middle Ages people read predominantly out loud, at the very least simply moving their lips. Arseny piled the notes he particularly liked in a special basket. Yf someone choketh on a bone, appeal for help from the Saint Vlasy. Vasily the Great sayeth Adam was in Paradise forty dayes. Have not a friendship with a woman, and do not burne in fyre. The variety of information staggered the child’s imagination.
But the scope of Arseny’s reading was not limited to birch-bark manuscripts. The Alexander Romance, the ancient story of Alexander the Great, lay under one of the icons in the holy corner. This book had been copied at one time by Feodosy, Christofer’s grandfather. It is I, Feodosy, a sinner, who made a copie of this book in memory of brave people, that their deeds not go unremembered. That is how Feodosy addressed his descendants on the first page. He found in Arseny his most grateful reader.
Arseny carefully moved the icon aside and took the book from the holder with both hands. He blew the dust from the binding and ran his hand along its darkened leather. There was no dust on the binding but Arseny had seen Christofer act in this manner. Then the boy began on the clasps, unlatching them with a quiet brass sound. It is I, Feodosy… Under that note was a portrait of Alexander made by his great-great-grandfather. Its hero sat in an uncomfortable pose with a royal crown on his head.
Arseny read the Alexander Romance constantly. He read it sitting on the bench and lying on the stove, squeezing his arms between his knees and his head resting on his palms, in the mornings and in the evenings. Sometimes at night, by the light of a burning splinter lamp. Christofer did not object: he liked that the boy read a lot. The wolf would approach Arseny at the first words of the Alexander Romance. He settled at the boy’s feet and listened to the unusual narration. He carefully followed the events in the life of the Macedonian king, right along with Arseny.
And so it emerged that Alexander discovered savage people when he arrived in the East. Their height was two sazhens and their heads (Arseny’s hand was on the wolf’s head) were shaggy. After six days in the middle of the desert, Alexander’s troops encountered astonishing people with six arms and six legs each. Alexander killed many of them and took many alive. He wanted to bring them to the inhabited world but nobody knew what these people ate, so they all died. The ants in that same land were of such size that one of them dragged a horse off into its lair after capturing it. And then Alexander ordered straw be brought to the lair and set afire, and the ants burned to death. Later on, after walking another six days, Alexander saw a mountain to which a man was bound with iron chains. That man was a thousand sazhens in height and two hundred sazhens in width. Alexander was surprised when he saw him but dared not approach. And that man wept and they heard his voice for another four days. From there, Alexander arrived in a forested area and saw other strange people: they were people above the waist but horses below the waist. When he attempted to bring them to the inhabited world, a cold wind blew upon them and they all died. And Alexander walked from that place for one hundred days, feeling desolation when he neared the boundaries of the universe.