The Sin That Kept Yaryna Awake

There are people who live quietly, and there are those who go looking for trouble on their own heads even while sitting on their own stove. I knew one such man; Levko was his name. Conscientious to the point of trembling. His soul was so tidy it even made its thoughts take their shoes off at the threshold. He feared sin the way a hen fears a fox - only the fox hadn't shown up yet, and Levko was already running.

Instead of a little bell, his conscience carried a whole church bell tower. But it was his wife Yaryna who got the worst of it. Especially in autumn, when the wind hummed in the thatch and a mouse scratched under the hearth ledge. Levko would climb onto the stove, cross himself, whisper his evening prayer. Close his eyes. And suddenly flinch.

It would seem to him he'd said the wrong word. Or thought about the leaky roof instead of the angels. He'd slide down, get on his knees, and start over. But halfway through, a fear would gnaw at him: wasn't he just repeating the prayer to get it over with? That's the sin of pride! Levko would sigh and begin a third time.

Yaryna lay in the darkness, listening to this nightly mill, and understood: if she didn't step in now, her husband would be praying till first cockcrow, and tomorrow he'd fall asleep in the furrow behind the plow. There was no time to teach him theology, and anyway it's a sin to argue with a conscience. So she decided to act cunningly.

When Levko drew breath to begin a fourth time, Yaryna suddenly sat up on the bench and loudly, for the whole house to hear, began whispering the words of a prayer. She wove in something about sins, and about the righteous, and about the neighbor's goat. Levko froze. He listened and was horrified: his wife was praying on his behalf, because he couldn't manage it himself!

His conscience struck the alarm. He leapt over to her. Yaryna, what are you doing, why are you taking my burden onto your soul? She looked at him with innocent eyes. Levko, you've been searching for the right words so long I thought you'd forgotten them. I only wanted to prompt you, so you'd finally go to bed. Levko realized that because of his fretting his wife now couldn't sleep either and was freezing on the bench.

His conscience, which was so afraid of doing harm, instantly found a way out. The greatest sin right now was tormenting his wife. He made the sign of the cross over her, quickly whispered a short thank-you, and dove under the sheepskin coat. And that is how Yaryna defeated the night's anxiety not by arguing but by cunning.

Because when a conscience clangs too loudly in the chest, sometimes all it takes is a gentle touch on the shoulder to remind it: heaven isn't going anywhere, but the wife on the bench might well catch cold. Then quiet settles over the house, and peace settles on the soul.