Lapvona(60)

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Christmas in Lapvona had a strange, ominous tilt to it that winter. The birth of the last Christ was so many hundreds of years ago, and there was some trepidation around celebrating while Villiam’s new wife was pregnant with the next one. This concern over tradition wasn’t any trouble at the manor—nobody there had any loyalty to Jesus Christ—but there was apprehension about the holiday in the village, as though it would be the last. Jesus would soon be displaced by the new baby, and nobody knew what might happen next. It felt strange to the villagers to put down their tools and stay home for the while, to amuse themselves with games and songs while the future was so unclear. And the wreaths of holly that had been delivered to each house per Villiam’s orders had thorns that pricked the ladies’ fingers as they hung them on their front doors. With blood on their hands, they rolled out the dough and pressed cookies into the shape of the Cross.

Marek had thought the baby would come soon—the lambs had only taken four months. He was nervous that the birth would push him out of favor with Villiam. He imagined that he’d become unwelcome, a pest, while everyone rejoiced in the presence of the Messiah. Petra assured him that there were still months yet to pass before Agata’s baby would be born. ‘Ina is sure the baby will come in April,’ she said.

‘What will I do then?’ Marek asked.

‘You’ll be a man soon,’ was all Petra could think to answer.

The idea of growing up horrified Marek. Where would he go, and what would he do there? He prayed for an answer that night, but his dreams weren’t helpful. First he saw only the darkness of the room in his sleep, the space open and wide like the night sky before a cliff. Then his dreams descended on Lapvona, where he saw his old self shuffling along the roads, picking berries and looking in on people in their cottages. Dogs lurched out from their penned yards to sniff him, ducked away when he tried to pet their heads. He knocked on the door of Ina’s cabin, but she wouldn’t answer. Birds shat on his head and shoulders as he walked away, tripping on gravestones he’d never noticed before, there in the woods. His dreams were so lonely. Several times he awoke sweating, with the feeling that he was trapped, his arms and legs and head stuck in the stockade still sticky with blood from the Easter bandit, but he was only tangled in his blankets. He threw them off and stretched his back by twisting from side to side. In the mornings he had a burning ache in his muscles, as though they were growing even further in the wrong direction. Was he dreaming the wrong things? He couldn’t ask Ina for medicine. Each time he knocked on Agata’s door, Ina screeched like a vulture and told him to go away. He woke up on Christmas Eve in such pain that he asked Petra for a bottle of strong wine to soothe him. She complied and expressed her pity for him that he felt so bad on the holiday.

Unlike Lispeth, Petra didn’t hate Marek. She was an easygoing girl with no ambition. Lispeth was still prickly and mean. When Marek and Villiam played chess or danced together, she always set down Marek’s food and drink carelessly, spilling things, just to let him know she hated him as much as ever. But Villiam’s attention overpowered Lispeth’s disdain. Marek felt lucky for that. The wine did help him to relax. And he was curious what would happen on Christmas, relieved that the baby was still months away.

For the entire day, he remained in a drunken stupor.



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As he had done every Christmas past, the priest had directed the servant girls to create a crèche in the stable, this time in the hay of the stall that had been empty since Luka’s disappearance. Marek had never seen a crèche before and was anxious to go look. It gave him a reason to spy on Jude. Marek hoped Jude would see him with Villiam, feel enraged with jealousy, and do something to embarrass himself. He imagined that a ghost would do something insane when it got angry, such as run into a wall or melt into a puddle. To Marek’s disappointment, Jude was out with the horses when Lispeth brought Villiam and Marek to inspect the crèche in the afternoon.

‘This is where the manger is, and here is the Jesus doll,’ Lispeth said, pointing to a pile of hay covered with a soiled horse blanket. Wrapped inside was a wooden doll that Clod had carved and painted. It was not much to look at.

‘Who will play Joseph and Mary?’ Villiam asked, trying to control his disappointment.

‘We thought you and your lady would want to do that,’ Lispeth said. She was being cruel. She knew Agata couldn’t leave her bed.

‘You play Mary, Lispeth. My lady can’t be bothered.’

Lispeth’s head jerked in revulsion at the idea. ‘You and your guests can come see it after the feast,’ was all she said.

On Christmas Eve and Day, two different families from the village were selected to join Villiam for celebratory feasts. The selection of each family was purportedly alphabetical, according to names on the census, but there were rumors among the villagers that the priest chose the most pious and venerable citizens each year. So, qualities of the first family picked would be analyzed, and the villagers placed bets on who would likely get picked next. If the first family was strong willed and confident, the next would be, too. But there was no real reasoning behind the selections. Klarek simply knocked on the door of a house he’d never knocked on before, and announced to them in the morning that they were expected at the manor that afternoon. On Christmas Eve, Klarek had woken late, dreading the day, and had taken a horse down to the village. He knocked on the first door by the farms, just past Jude’s old pasture. Inside was a young couple, a northern man, his wife, who was descended from old Lapvona, and their two young children, half dressed. The place stank of burning potatoes. The man was bashful and apologetic for the mess, but invited Klarek inside, bowing and smiling, unsure of what to do.