It was the beginning of July, when the hay had been cut and people were gradually preparing for the harvest. Slimak had stacked his hay in the backyard, but the Germans were still driving in stakes and throwing up dams.

The summer of that year was remarkable for great heat; the bees swarmed, the corn was ripening fast, the Bialka was shallower than usual, and three of the workmen died of sunstroke. Experienced farmers feared either prolonged rain during the harvest or hail before long.

One day the storm came.

The morning had been hot and sultry, the birds did not sing, the pigs refused to eat and hid in the shade behind the farmbuildings; the wind rose and fell, it blew now hot and dry, now cool and damp. By about ten o'clock a large part of the sky was lined with heavy clouds, shading from ashen-grey into iron-colour and perfect black; at times this sooty ma.s.s, seeking an outlet upon the earth, burst asunder, revealing a sinister light through the crevices. Then again the clouds lowered themselves and drowned the tops of the forest trees in mists. But a hot wind soon drove them upwards again and tore strips off them, so that they hung ragged over the fields.

Suddenly a fiery cloud appeared behind the village church; it seemed to be flying at full speed along the railway embankment, driven by the west wind; at the same time the north wind sprang up and buffeted it from the side; dust flew up from the highroads and sandhills, and the clouds began to growl.

When they heard the sound, the workmen left their tools and barrows, and filed away in two long detachments, one to the manor-house, the other to their huts. The peasants and settlers turned the sand out of their carts with all speed and galloped home. The cattle were driven in from the fields, the women left their gardens; every place became deserted.

Thunderclap after thunderclap announced ever-fresh legions pressing into the sky and obscuring the sun. It seemed as if the earth were cowering in their presence, as a partridge cowers before the hovering hawk. The blackthorn and juniper bushes called to caution with a low, swishing noise; the troubled dust hid in the corn, where the young ears whispered to each other; the distant forests murmured.

High above, in the overcharged clouds, an evil force, with strong desire to emulate the Creator, was labouring. It took the limp element and formed an island, but before it had time to say, 'It is good', the wind had blown the island away. It raised a gigantic mountain, but before the summit had crowned it, the base had been blown from underneath. Now it created a lion, now a huge bird, but soon only torn wings and a shapeless torso dissolved into darkness. Then, seeing that the works fashioned by the eternal hands endured, and that its own phantom creations could not resist even the feeblest wind, the evil spirit was seized with a great anger and determined to destroy the earth.

It sent a flash into the river, then thundered, 'Strike those fields with hail! drench the hill!' And the obedient clouds flung themselves down. The wind whistled the reveille, the rain beat the drum; like hounds released from the leash the clouds bounded forward...downward, following the direction to which the flashes of lightning pointed. The evil spirit had put out the sun.

After an hour's downpour the exhausted storm calmed down, and now the roar of the Bialka could be distinctly heard. It had broken down the banks, flooded the highroad and fields with dirty water and formed a lake beyond the sandhills of the railway embankment.

Soon, however, the storm had gathered fresh strength, the darkness increased, lightning seemed to flash from all parts of the horizon; perpendicular torrents of rain drowned the earth in sheets of mist. The inmates of Slimak's cottage had gathered in the front room; Maciek sat yawning on a corner of the bench, Magda, beside him, nursed the baby, singing to it in a low voice; Slimakowa was vexed that the storm was putting the fire out; Slimak was looking out of the window, thinking of his crops. Jendrek was the only cheerful one; he ran out from time to time, wetting himself to the skin, and tried to induce his brother or Magda to join him in these excursions.

'Come, Stasiek,' he cried, pulling him by the hand, 'it's such a warm rain, it will wash you and cheer you up.'

'Leave him alone,' said his father; 'he is peevish.'

'And don't run out yourself,' added his mother, 'you are flooding the whole room.... The Word was made Flesh,' she added under her breath, as a terrific clap of thunder shook the house. Magda crossed herself; Jendrek laughed and cried, 'What a din! there's another.... The Lord Jesus is enjoying Himself, firing off....'

'Be quiet, you silly,' called his mother; 'it may strike you!'

'Let it strike!' laughed the boy boldly. 'They'll take me into the army and shoot at me, but I don't mind!' He ran out again.

'The rascal! he isn't afraid of anything,' Slimakowa said to her husband with pride in her voice. Slimak shrugged his shoulders.

'He's a true peasant.'

Yet among that group of people with iron nerves there was one who felt all the terror of this upheaval of the elements. How was it that Stasiek, a peasant child, was so sensitive?

Like the birds he had felt the coming storm, had roamed about restlessly and watched the clouds, fancying that they were taking council together, and he guessed that their intentions were evil. He felt the pain of the beaten-down gra.s.s and shivered at the thought of the earth being chilled under sheets of water. The electricity in the air made his flesh tingle, the lightning dazzled him, and each clap of thunder was like a blow on his head. It was not that he was afraid of the storm, but he suffered under it, and his suffering spirit pondered, 'Why and whence do such terrible things come?'

He wandered from the room to the alcove, from the alcove to the room, as if he had lost his way, gazed absently out of the window and lay down on the bench, feeling all the more miserable because no one took any notice of him.

He wanted to talk to Maciek, but he was asleep; he tried Magda and found her absorbed in the baby; he was afraid of Jendrek's dragging him out of doors if he spoke to him. At last he clung to his mother, but she was cross because of the fire and pushed him away.

'A likely thing I should amuse you, when the dinner is being spoilt!'

He roamed about again, then leant against his father's knee.

'Daddy,' he said in a low voice, 'why is the storm so bad?'

'Who knows?'

'Is G.o.d doing it?'

'It must be G.o.d.'

Stasiek began to feel a little more cheerful, but his father happened to shift his position, and the child thought he had been pushed away again. He crept under the bench where Burek lay, and although the dog was soaking wet, he pressed close to him and laid his head on the faithful creature.

Unluckily his mother caught sight of him.

'Whatever's the matter with the boy?' she cried. 'Just you come away from there, or the lightning will strike you! Out into the pa.s.sage, Burek!'

She looked for a piece of wood, and the dog crept out with his tail between his legs. Stasiek was left again to his restlessness, alone in a roomful of people. Even his mother was now struck by his miserable face and gave him a piece of bread to comfort him. He bit off a mouthful, but could not swallow it and burst into tears.

'Good gracious, Stasiek, what's the matter? Are you frightened?'

'No.'

'Then why are you so queer?'

'It hurts me here,' he said, pointing to his chest.

Slimak, who was depressed himself, thinking of his harvest, drew him to his knee, saying: 'Don't worry! G.o.d may destroy our crop, but we won't starve all the same. He is the smallest, and yet he has more sense than the others,' he said, turning to his wife; 'he's worrying about the gospodarstwo.'

Gradually, as the storm abated, the roar of the river struck them afresh. Slimak quickly drew on his boots.

'Where are you going?' asked his wife.

'Something's wrong outside.'

He went and returned breathlessly.

'I say! It's just as I thought.'

'Is it the corn?'

'No, that hasn't suffered much, but the dam is broken.'

'Jesus! Jesus!'

'The water is up to our yard. Those scoundrel Swabians have dammed up their fields, and that has taken some more off the hill.'

'Curse them!'

'Have you looked into the stable?' asked Maciek.

'Is it likely I shouldn't? There's water in the stable, water in the cowshed, look! even the pa.s.sage is flooded; but the rain is stopping, we must bale out.'

'And the hay?'

'That will dry again if G.o.d gives fine weather.'