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My Antonia, by Willa Sibert Cather
Book I: The Shimerdas
LAY DEAD in the barn four days, and on the fifth they buried him. All day Friday Jelinek was off with Ambrosch digging the
grave, chopping out the frozen earth with old axes. On Saturday we breakfasted
before daylight and got into the wagon with the coffin.
Jake and Jelinek went ahead on horseback to cut the body loose from the
pool of blood in which it was frozen fast to the ground.
When grandmother and I went into the Shimerdas' house,
we found the womenfolk alone; Ambrosch and Marek were at the barn. Mrs. Shimerda
sat crouching by the stove, Antonia was washing dishes. When she saw me, she ran
out of her dark corner and threw her arms around me. `Oh, Jimmy,' she sobbed, `what you tink for my lovely papa!'
It seemed to me that I could feel her heart breaking as she clung to me.
Mrs. Shimerda, sitting on the stump by the stove, kept
looking over her shoulder toward the door while the neighbours were arriving.
They came on horseback, all except the postmaster, who brought his family in a
wagon over the only broken wagon-trail. The Widow Steavens rode up from her farm
eight miles down the Black Hawk road. The cold drove the women into the
cave-house, and it was soon crowded. A fine, sleety snow was beginning to fall,
and everyone was afraid of another storm and anxious to have the burial over
Grandfather and Jelinek came to tell Mrs. Shimerda that
it was time to start. After
bundling her mother up in clothes the neighbours had brought, Antonia put on an
old cape from our house and the rabbit-skin hat her father had made for her.
Four men carried Mr. Shimerda's box up the hill; Krajiek slunk along behind
them. The coffin was too wide for
the door, so it was put down on the slope outside.
I slipped out from the cave and looked at Mr. Shimerda. He was lying on his side, with his knees drawn up.
His body was draped in a black shawl, and his head was bandaged in white
muslin, like a mummy's; one of his long, shapely hands lay out on the black
cloth; that was all one could see of him.
Mrs. Shimerda came out and placed an open prayer-book
against the body, making the sign of the cross on the bandaged head with her
fingers. Ambrosch knelt down and made the same gesture, and after him Antonia
and Marek. Yulka hung back.
Her mother pushed her forward, and kept saying something to her over and
over. Yulka knelt down, shut her
eyes, and put out her hand a little way, but she drew it back and began to cry
wildly. She was afraid to touch the
bandage. Mrs. Shimerda caught her by the shoulders and pushed her toward the
coffin, but grandmother interfered.
Shimerda,' she said firmly, `I won't stand by
and see that child frightened into spasms. She is too little to understand what
you want of her. Let her alone.'
At a look from grandfather, Fuchs and Jelinek placed
the lid on the box, and began to nail it down over Mr. Shimerda. I was afraid to
look at Antonia. She put her arms
round Yulka and held the little girl close to her.
The coffin was put into the wagon. We drove slowly away, against the fine, icy snow which cut
our faces like a sand-blast. When we reached the grave, it looked a very little
spot in that snow-covered waste. The men took the coffin to the edge of the hole
and lowered it with ropes. We stood about watching them, and the powdery snow
lay without melting on the caps and shoulders of the men and the shawls of the
women. Jelinek spoke in a persuasive tone to Mrs. Shimerda, and then turned to
`She says, Mr. Burden, she is very glad if you can make
some prayer for him here in English, for the neighbours to understand.'
Grandmother looked anxiously at grandfather.
He took off his hat, and the other men did likewise.
I thought his prayer remarkable. I still remember it.
He began, `Oh, great and just God, no man among us knows what the sleeper
knows, nor is it for us to judge what lies between him and Thee.'
He prayed that if any man there had been remiss toward the stranger come
to a far country, God would forgive him and soften his heart. He recalled the
promises to the widow and the fatherless, and asked God to smooth the way before
this widow and her children, and to `incline the hearts of men to deal justly
with her.' In closing, he said we were leaving Mr. Shimerda at `Thy judgment
seat, which is also Thy mercy seat.'
All the time he was praying, grandmother watched him
through the black fingers of her glove, and when he said `Amen,' I thought she
looked satisfied with him. She
turned to Otto and whispered, `Can't you start a hymn, Fuchs? It would seem less
Fuchs glanced about to see if there was general
approval of her suggestion, then began, `Jesus, Lover of my Soul,' and all the
men and women took it up after him. Whenever
I have heard the hymn since, it has made me remember that white waste and the
little group of people; and the bluish air, full of fine, eddying snow, like
long veils flying:
`While the nearer waters roll,
While the tempest still is high.'
Years afterward, when the open-grazing days were over,
and the red grass had been ploughed under and under until it had almost
disappeared from the prairie; when all the fields were under fence, and the
roads no longer ran about like wild things, but followed the surveyed
section-lines, Mr. Shimerda's grave was still there, with a sagging wire fence
around it, and an unpainted wooden cross. As
grandfather had predicted, Mrs. Shimerda never saw the roads going over his
head. The road from the north curved a little to the east just there, and the
road from the west swung out a little to the south; so that the grave, with its
tall red grass that was never mowed, was like a little island; and at twilight,
under a new moon or the clear evening star, the dusty roads used to look like
soft grey rivers flowing past it. I
never came upon the place without emotion, and in all that country it was the
spot most dear to me. I loved the
dim superstition, the propitiatory intent, that had put the grave there; and
still more I loved the spirit that could not carry out the sentence-- the error
from the surveyed lines, the clemency of the soft earth roads along which the
home-coming wagons rattled after sunset. Never a tired driver passed the wooden
cross, I am sure, without wishing well to the sleeper.
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