Blind Man's Lantern Part 5

"Aaron!" Martha scooted out from under her husbands kneading hands.

"_Druuvel dich net!_" he said. "I am only thinking. These blackfolk now, these neighbors who were before last night our friends, speak of Light as our bishop at home speaks of Grace. To have it is to have all, to be one with the congregation. If I can find this Light, we and the Sarki and his people can again be friends." Aaron sat down. "I must learn what I have done wrong," he said.

"Other than drink a gla.s.s of cider now and then, and make worldly music with a guitar, you've done no wrong," Martha said stubbornly. "You're a good man."

"In the Old Order, I am a good man, so long as no _Diener_ makes trouble over a bit of singing or cider," Aaron said. "As a guest on Murna, I have done some deed that has hurt this Mother-G.o.d, whom our neighbors hold dear."

"Heathenish superst.i.tion!"

"Martha, love, I am older than you, and a man," Aaron said. "Give me room to think! If the G.o.ddess-Mother is heathen as Baal, it matters not; these folk who worship her hold our future in their hands. Besides, we owe them the courtesy not to dance in their churches nor to laugh at their prayers; even the 'English' have more grace than that." Aaron pondered. "Something in the springtime is the Murnan Mother's gift, her greatest gift. What?"

"Blaspheme not," Martha said. "Remember Him who _causeth the gra.s.s to grow for the cattle, and herb for the service of man: that he may bring forth food out of the earth_."

"Wife, is the True G.o.d less, if these people call Him Mother?" Aaron demanded.

"We are too far from home," the woman sighed. "Such heavy talk is wearisome; it is for bishops to discourse so, not ordinary folk like us."

"If I can't find the light," Aaron said, "this farm we live on, and hoped to leave to our children, isn't worth the water in a dish of soup." He slapped his hands together and stood to pace. "Martha, hear me out," he said. "If a woman be with child, and a man takes her with l.u.s.t and against her will, is not that man accursed?"

"Aaron!" she said. "_Haagott_, such wicked talk you make!"

"Seen with Murnan eyes, have I not done just such a cursed thing?" Aaron demanded. "The Mother-G.o.d of this world is _mit Kinndt_, fat with the bounty of springtime. So tender is the swollen belly of the earth that the people here, simple folk with no more subtle G.o.d, strip the iron from the hoofs of their horses not to bruise her. They bare their feet in her honor, treat her with the tenderness I treat my beloved Martha.

And to this G.o.ddess, swollen earth, I took the plow! Martha, we are fortunate indeed that our neighbors are gentle people, or I would be hanged now, or stoned to death like the wicked in the old days. _Ich hot iere Gotterin awgepockt_: I raped their G.o.ddess!"

Martha burst into tears. When Aaron stepped forward to comfort her, she struck his chest with her balled fists. "Stoltz, I wed you despite your beer-drinking from cans at the Singing, though you play a worldly guitar and sing the English songs, though people told me you drove your gay Uncle Amos' black-b.u.mpered Ford before you membered to the district; still, house-Amish pure Old Order though my people are, I married you, from love and youngness and girlish ignorance. But I do not care, even in this wilderness you've brought us to in that big English ship, to hear such vileness spoke out boldly. Leave me alone."

"I'll not."

"You'd best," she said. "I'm sore offended in the lad I'm wifed to."

"Love, _Ich bin sorry_," Aaron said. "The Book, though, says just what our neighbors told me: Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free. I have found the truth, the truth of our dark-skinned friends.

I did not want to wound the ears of _da Oppel fuun mein Awk_, apple-of-mine-eye sweet Martha; but I must speak out the truth."

"It is not good enough," Martha sobbed, "that you accept this brown-skinned, jewel-bedizzened woman-G.o.d; but you must make love to her; and I, wed to you by the Book, nine months gone with _Kinndt_, am to make no fuss."

"I loved the Mother-G.o.d with the plow, and accidentally," Aaron bellowed. "_Haagott!_ woman; have you no funny?"

"I will birth our child in my lap from laughing," Martha said, weeping.

"Aaron, do what you will. I can hardly walk home to my Mem to bear a son in my girlhood bedroom. We are like _Awduum uuu Ayf_, like you said; but the serpent in this Eden pleases me not."

"When I spoke of colts, and the borning of them," Aaron said, "I forgot me that mares are more sensible than human women. Martha, _liebe_ Martha, you wed a man when you married me. All your vapors are naught against my having seen the light. If to stay here, on this land already watered with my hard sweat, I had to slaughter cattle in sacrifice to the Mother, I'd pick up the knife gladly, and feel it no blasphemy against our G.o.d."

"Aaron Stoltz," Martha said, "I forbid you to lend honor to this G.o.d!"

Aaron sat. He unlaced his shoes and tugged them off. "Woman," he asked softly, "you forbid me? Martha, for all the love I bear you, there is one rule of our folk that's as holy as worship; and that's that the man is master in his house." He pulled off his black stockings and stood, barefoot, with callouses won on the black earth of his father's farm; dressed otherwise meetly as a deacon. "I will walk to Datura on my naked feet to show our friends I know my wrong-doing, that I have hurt the belly of the pregnant earth. I will tell Sarki Kazunzumi that I have seen his light; that my horses will be unshod as I am, that the Mother will not feel my plow again until the gra.s.ses spring, when her time will be accomplished."

Martha crossed her hands about her middle. "Ach, Stoltz," she said. "Our _Buu iss reddi far geh_, I think. Today will be his birthday. Don't let your tenderness to the earth keep you from walking swiftly to Datura; and when you return, come in a wagon with the Sarki's ladies, who understand midwifery. I think they will find work here."

"I will hurry, Mother," Aaron promised.

The End.