The Old Man Has to Be Fed

At seventy-three I paid Marta the witch for youth. I wanted too badly to walk to my customers myself again and drive hoops onto barrels. "Old age will stay separate," she warned. The next morning I woke in a locked storeroom. My knees ached the same as yesterday. I called my wife. Beyond the door someone asked, in a familiar young voice: - Kylyna, how much longer will we have to feed him?

My wife opened the door a crack, pushed the night bucket through, and locked me in again. - Kylyna, it's me! Open up! A young man opened the door and looked at me. It was me, me for certain, only at thirty-five. Straining, I got up and went toward him, but he shut the door in my face. Half the morning I worked the window frame loose. The wood was rotting near the iron staple. I pressed along the grain. The staple came out with a jerk and ripped open my left palm.

From the kitchen the young one cried out. I froze. Beyond the door he was cursing and calling for Kylyna. I hid the staple under my shirt, behind my belt. Kylyna came in and took my hand. The young me stayed in the doorway and showed his own. Across both our palms ran the same slanting cut. My wife bandaged me, then brought porridge. Set it down by my feet. There was no spoon, no fork. - Sit with me, please.

Kylyna tucked a rag under the bowl so it wouldn't tip over and went to the young one. I ate with my fingers. The porridge packed under my nails. I could hear her in the kitchen, pouring water over his cut hand. Then wiping the floor for a long time. Before noon Marta arrived. Kylyna left the door ajar. - New wounds on both, - the witch said. - The old one dies, you die too. He has to be fed, treated, his wounds washed.

- Then how do we carry him, you said it's forbidden to touch him? - the young one asked. - Through cloth, because if you touch him with bare skin, you'll grow together into one old man. Forever, but the memory of both will remain. Kylyna brought him gloves. - And at your place, will he live long? - she asked Marta. - As long as he lives. I'll feed him, look after him. Only give me the money now, I'll take him later.

- Kylyna, let me out, I beg you. Remember when the water carried off the barrels? You held me by the belt, I was fishing the last one out with the hook pole. She stood in the doorway. - I remember. You even grumbled that I'd stretch your belt. - Then hold me now too. Kylyna rubbed the small of her back. - I'm sixty-seven, Demian. I want someone to bring me water for once too. My wife lifted the removable plank of our bench and counted out the money for Marta.

- Extra for the winter. So he doesn't freeze. Marta put the coins into a red purse, the same one she had tucked mine into yesterday. I called the young one to the doorway. - I'll go without the money. The barrels, the house - all yours! Just don't lock me up! - At Marta's you'll have food and a clean shirt. - You know how I worked. - I know, but it was I who drove the hoops onto those barrels. He was looking at my knees.

- If I let you go, you'll come back to paw at me! I've only just started walking. The bolt slid into its socket, and I went at the window again. With the staple I dug out the rotten wood until I could lift the frame free. The staple went back behind my belt. I climbed out into the back yard. My knees buckled. I edged along the wall, pressing my shoulder against it.

The young one came out to meet me. He had the gloves on. I covered my head, thinking he would hit me, but he only stood so that I couldn't get past. Kylyna brought a blanket. The young one threw it over my head and pressed me to the wall. She reached under the blanket and bound my wrists behind my back with a strip of linen. While she tied it, she told me not to struggle. Kept repeating that it hurt them both.

They sat me down against the wall and pulled the blanket off my face. Under the blanket I had managed to get the staple out from behind my belt. I hooked it under the knot. My right wrist was slipping out of the loop, little by little. Fried onion drifted from the open kitchen windows. Kylyna had already set out supper and would soon go out for water, then lock up the hens. I had seen all of it once before. I don't understand why she is doing this to me.

I won't be here anymore, and she will still ladle out two bowls. I loosened the tie and kept my hands together. Clamped the staple in my right palm. Kylyna crossed the yard, stepping over my legs. Marta led the horse to the gate and called. The young one took me under the arms through the blanket, Kylyna picked up my legs. I kept silent and kept my hands clasped.

On the cart lay an old straw mattress with a dent in the middle and a large dark stain. Marta flipped it stain-side down and patted it with her palm, showing where to lay me. - Head toward me! If he pukes, I'll see it. They laid me down, and the young one bent over to shift me further. I reached the edge of his glove with the staple. I yanked the staple toward myself. The glove flew off. - Hold his hands!

Now Kylyna grabbed my right forearm. I jerked my arm back. She managed to catch hold of the sleeve, but the old cloth tore and I broke free. The young one stepped back, hiding his bare hand behind him. I lunged forward, head toward the wheel. He caught me by the collar. With that same bare hand. He couldn't let me smash my head open. I dropped the staple and grabbed his wrist.

The skin under my fingers stuck fast. The young one wrenched away, but his hand was already sinking into mine. The bones slid over one another with a dry crunch. We fell by the wheel. His chest was pressed into mine. I felt a second tongue in my mouth and bit it. Again both of us cried out. - Pull them apart! - Kylyna screamed at Marta.

The young one was still trying to push me off, his fingers stirring under my skin. Then they stopped, and now I lay alone. I dragged in air through an open mouth and tried to call Kylyna. Both knees ached. On my left palm the bandage showed dark. I spat red saliva. - I'm not giving the money back, - the witch snorted.

Kylyna said nothing. She pushed a stool over to me so I could get up. I made it to the house holding on to her shoulder. She quietly set out supper and went to lock up the hens. I picked up the spoon and remembered how that morning I had stood here on young legs while Kylyna asked whether to hand the old man over to Marta. I agreed and went to lock myself in.

I also remembered how Kylyna ladled out porridge for him and put a spoon in the bowl. There was a call from the storeroom. She turned toward the door, and I took her by the shoulders and kissed the back of her neck. - Let him shout, you can go in later.

She carried the bowl off, but I held her back by the wrist. - At least take the spoon out, he'll take the window apart with it! I took out the spoon and laid it beside my own bowl, then opened the storeroom door for Kylyna.