Baka's Wish
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Her father, whom she called Tata, had died in the war. It actually would be more appropriate to simply say he died in "a" war rather than "the" war since there always seemed to be some kind of war going on at any given time.
Most of the men of the village had died in a war somewhere at some time. Her Grandpa on her Father's side had died in a war. Her other Grandpa, Baka's husband whom they called Djeda, was shot in a war and lost an arm, but didn't die because of it. He lived to be quite old, actually, and finally and died only recently despite his ancient wounds.
Most of Mara's uncles had died in wars. In fact, there were virtually no men in this village except for a few little boys who scampered around, and a couple of old men. There was the priest too, since priests didn't usually get killed in wars. There were also some men who had been wounded and couldn't fight anymore, but they weren't much help with the work. For the most part, they just sat around and told stories and toasted each other with slivovits, home-made plum brandy, the national drink.
Yes, fathers and husbands, as fierce as they could be as warriors, were a lot like children as far as the women were concerned. That was because even though they were proud fighters, drinkers and story tellers, they had no idea how to do something as simple as boil a potato or wash a dish. Consequently they always needed to be looked after. It was as if they were royalty, or crippled or mentally retarded, if you wanted to make a comparison. Still, Mara and Mama would much rather have had Tata and Djeda around to love and care for than to have them in a grave somewhere. Mara and Mama knew that their men appreciated them and loved them even though they didn't always have the sense to show it. It was symbiosis of a kind, and everyone seemed OK with it.
So then, this was how they lived. Mara supposed, consequently, that there was no alternative way to live. It was either "work or die," according to Baka. Mara certainly didn't want to die, at least not because she was lazy or too self-centered to do what needed to be done. In fact, Mara was so conditioned to spin, that when she wasn't spinning she would become anxious and actually feel guilty for not spinning. If she stepped away from her spinning wheel, even for a moment, she'd soon have to scurry back to work as quickly as she could before she'd be overcome with anxiety. She didn't want to tease fate. To tease fate was to tease death.
Death was a constant topic of concern. Baka, in so many words, implied to Mara that dying, for the most part was something unnatural. You did all you could to avoid it. And it happened to you as a result of you doing something bad. It was a punishment even though it was obviously a natural occurrence. If you were a bad enough person, a tree might fall on you, or you might get tuberculosis and cough yourself to death. In that case, she figured, you were being called in early by God so He could chew you out for something you'd done. You'd irked the Almighty. Ironically, you never really quite knew what riled God, so you had to keep a constant vigil, burning Holy candles and making the sign of the cross so as not to offend Him.
Of course you could die of old age while you were sleeping, which is what Baka always hoped would happen to her. Dying in your sleep in old age meant that God wasn't mad at you. It also meant that you were probably going to heaven. This was Baka's greatest wish.
Despite her earnest desire to secure a place in heaven, and everything she did to guarantee it, Baka was still paranoid for the most part. She was frightened that God might scoop her off the earth prematurely. She was so afraid of slipping up and committing an unforgivable sin that she seemed to always be clutching her Bible and making the sign of the cross. It was her never-ending cyclic ritual. It was as if these were her nuclear weapons against the Devil's spell. You see, the Devil wanted to lure you away from God and trick you into sinning, so you constantly needed to fend him off. You needed to be ready to slug it out should, he suddenly appear. He was like a supernatural, evil gnat, only this gnat could steal your soul. The problem was that he was covert. He was insidious, like carbon monoxide. You could never quite tell when he was working the puppet strings of your mind, or when you were just being your puny self.
While you were busy fending off the Devil, ironically, you also needed to remember that you were inherently unworthy of God's goodness. Because of that, you would unceasingly have to prove your worthiness to Him. Consequently, you could say there were always two ongoing battles in life: the one against the devil stealing your soul, and the one to win favor with God.
To convince God that she actually was worthy of His blessing, Baka wore an ever-present, tattered shawl. It showed humility. She also wore a small crucifix dangling on a chain from her neck. It showed God that she was rooting for His team and not the Devil's. And she prayed endlessly.
Mara noticed that Baka prayed more than anyone else she'd ever seen, even the priest. She would pray with such earnest, that Mara believed that Baka was actually pleading with God not to kill her. She especially didn't want to die unpleasantly, like by being kicked in the head by a horse, a true sign of damnation. But considering Baka was still alive, and very old, it seemed that her mania about praying was getting the results she desired .
Most every morning, Baka would whisper her prayers in her bedroom with such intensity that the you'd hear a sort of hissing coming through the door. You couldn't actually hear any words, just sibilance. The "ess" sounds of words like "please," "mercy," "worthless" and "sin," were the only sounds that could penetrate the closed door.
"Dying," Mara thought to herself. "How mysterious." It meant that you weren't here anymore. You were somewhere other than here. You were "there." No one really knew what went on over there. Certainly, the priest was confident that a here and a there existed. Here was good and there was bad. There was Hell, and he quoted the Bible to prove it. Heaven, on the other hand, was neither here nor there. It was a completely different place altogether, a sort of "alternate" there. It had its own rank. Heaven was, of course, the optimal place to be. Here was second best. You always hoped to get into Heaven, but you wouldn't know for sure where you were until you were actually dead. It was just a crap shoot until then.
Being here wasn't exactly a picnic, though, even though it held second place to Heaven. Especially during a blizzard, for example, or when you had influenza, it was hard to appreciate the beauty of here. It certainly was better than Hell, though, if you believe what they say about it. They say that in Hell you burn for eternity. Here at least, when you burn, you burn for just a little while, then you die.
There was a lot of irony surrounding death in the village, Mara thought. Considering all the wars that had been fought over the years, people were convinced that the best way to resolve major conflicts was to punish your opponents by causing them to die. Doing so would send them "over there." The thinking was that damned fools deserved to be sent over there for trying to take something that didn't belong to them. Your nation, for example.
They might gallop into town, twirling swords over their heads, shrieking curse words in some unintelligible language. They might try to grab the women or burn the houses down. For that they'd earn a bullet in the head, or maybe a sword in the gut along with a ticket to Hell. It's true that the Bible said, "Thou shalt not kill," but this was the exception. It was like being attacked by a wolf; It was your duty to protect yourself. And God would admire you for being so courageous. The enemy, on the other hand, had brought his fate upon himself and was now doomed. His was truly a foolish act.
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