All Souls’ Day

The house of Ninković in B. used to be a prosperous one. However, out of nowhere, the family began dying out and, in a few years, none remained save Stojan Ninković, the sole male heir to once a grand and virtuous family. To save the household from oblivion, Stojan married a fine and honest girl with neither property nor family of her own. All their friends and acquaintances used to say: “No people love each other more or have a better life than Stojan and Nera!” But the good life lasted for a short time – less than two years. A severe and unanticipated illness struck Stojan down, and, after a week, he closed his eyes forever! Poor Nera remained a widowed mother of a baby boy in the cradle.

She raised her son and cherished him dearly, like the apple of her eye. He had already completed his third year. The child grew up like a golden fruit: sturdy, healthy, and so cheerful, talkative, lively, and sensible. For poor Nera, he was all she talked about, all her joy, her entire world. Out of humility, she gave him a beautiful name: Rade.

She is preoccupied with him all day long, dressing him up, cuddling, amusing him – one might say, she has entered her second childhood.

The poor woman often thinks: “Dear Lord, I beg you, let my only son outlive me, may he throw earth over my grave!” Then she would sigh and take a look at her Rade with a shudder.

The little Rade would embrace her and hang round her neck, hugging her, kissing her, babbling to her. His tiny voice, like a chime, gets her talking and lightens her up, so she returns to laughing and playing with him.

Kind women from the neighbouring houses often visit her. They cannot get enough of caressing and kissing this beautiful child.

Nera would complain of her solace, about feeling lonely and unhappy. She would mention the brief happy days she used to spend with Stojan, and tears would begin flowing down her cheeks.

The neighbouring women comforted her, saying: “Pray to God, Nera, for the long life of this child! God help you!”

* * *

Palm Sunday arrived. Nera dressed the little Rade – like a dandy. He was so cheerful, to the point of not knowing what to do. Having run around with the other children, laughing, playing, he rushed into the house, like a butterfly – nestling around his mother, caressing, cuddling, then again – out with the children.

Noon passed. Nera had her acquaintances, Mara and Pava, as guests – it was the holiday, so they had a little chat. They asked:

– Where is our little Rade?

– He is playing with the children.

– Let him play, bless him – Pava said.

– Good for you, Nera, – Mara said – God has given you someone to talk about! Poor Milja, our godmother, she had had such a beautiful child, almost as old as your Rade, but the sun struck it, and God took it away . . .

– God’s will! – Pava said and sighed.

– This year, the wretched heat did away with a lot of children! – Mara added – As if it there was a list . . .

Suddenly, little Rade ran inside with a flushed face. He started running around the room, then around the table at the centre of the room – rushing, running, one might say, he would bump into something.

– Calm down, Rade! – Nera attempted to quiet him down since he was disturbing their conversation.

The child kept on running, one might say, without even hearing it.

– Well, calm down, son! Why are you running so much? – Nera told him again.

– I want to go to papa, mother! I want to go to papa! – Rade replied while rushing around the table.

– Enough, Rade! Stop it already! You have had enough of running in the field!

– I want to go to papa, mommy! . . .

– God help you, child! What papa? – Nera said while feeling a cold sensation around her heart.

– What day is it today, mommy? – Rade asked her suddenly and stopped for a moment.

– It’s Sunday, son.

– And tomorrow?

– Monday.

– And the day after tomorrow?

– Tuesday.

– And then?

– Wednesday.

– And then?

– Thursday.

– And after that?

– Friday.

– Ha, ha, ha! – little Rade started laughing, so strangely, so peculiarly, that they looked at each other in amazement.

He was laughing, laughing – he burst out, and then he continued running around the table, saying “I want to go to papa! I want to go to papa!”

The neighbours ceased their conversation and watched him closely. He was running, rushing, then, once again, he stopped and asked:

– What day is it today, mummy?

– Tuesday, son – Pava jocularly said.

– And tomorrow?

– Wednesday.

– And the day after?

– Thursday.

– And then?

– Friday.

Little Rade burst out laughing again and continued rushing around the table.

– God in heaven! What is wrong with him today? – Nera said while a foreboding feeling overwhelmed her.

The neighbourhood women remained silent. They frighteningly got up and left while whispering amongst themselves: “May God help her!”

* * *

Little Rade was constantly restless until sunset. However, his restlessness was not the same as before, but rather strange, peculiar.

Twilight was falling.

Little Rade fell into his mother’s lap, then, with his tired, almost hoarse voice, he quietly said:

– Mommy, my head hurts so much!

– It will pass, my hero! – Nera said and held him close to her. Indeed, he was burning up with a fever and breathing heavily.

– And my back hurts, mother!

– Well, you were running around so much, my dear child. You were outside all day . . .

– But, sweet mother, my head hurts so much! – Rade whispered and leaned his tiny head on Nera’s arm.

– Son, do you want mommy to put you to sleep, and then it will pass?

– Not yet, mommy! I am not sleepy . . . Is it Friday tomorrow?

– No, son, it is much later. Tomorrow is Monday, there are three more days after, and then – Friday.

Little Rade smiled again.

– And why, my dear, do you ask about Friday?

– Mommy dearest, don’t be cross with me! Friday is beautiful, a really beautiful day . . . Papa will come too, and take me away . . .

– Where to, son? – Nera inquired and her voice quavered.

– Far, far away . . . Far away . . . – little Rade said quieter and quieter.

– Rade, my son! – Nera called him and raised his little feverish head. – You see, you are sleepy. Do you want to sleep?

– Yes, I do, mommy! . . . Ow, my head hurts, it hurts so much! . . .

Nera sighed . . . She lay him on the bed and put him to sleep.

– Oh, mother, I am so tired! . . . – Rade whispered, barely audible. – I shall get up on Friday . . . Go far away with papa . . . Far away . . . Far away . . . – and he sank into some sort of delirium.

* * *

Three days had passed.

Little Rade kept getting worse and worse. He was so delirious that he could not even recognise his mother. Every so often, one might say, he came round a little, and barely whispered: “My head, ow, my head hurts”.

Poor Nera did not move from his side, she neither had any sleep nor moved her eyes away from him.

Out of intense fear for her only child, she had almost lost her voice, so she barely spoke.

Mara and Pava were constantly with her. They encouraged her and tried to keep her company, but – all in vain. Rade was growing ever worse, and she was growing ever sadder.

Neither the medications nor the treatment seemed to be working.

On Thursday night, the doctor came to visit the little patient again. Nera looked at him with desperate hope in her eyes, like a god, like a saint. The doctor examined him and dubiously shrugged his shoulders.

– What is it, sir? – the poor soul barely uttered.

– It’s quite serious! Take good care of him! – the doctor quietly said.

At that moment, the poor mother saw the image of the kind and tender doctor turning – darker and more terrible than the devil himself. She covered her face and sobbed loudly . . .

It was the third cockcrow. The Morning Star rose – it was almost dawn. Little Rade was in agony. Poor Nera, tucked him in different ways, trying to calm him down. Finally, she took him in her arms. Rade recollected and began talking:

– Mommy, dearest, I am leaving you now. Papa is here, can you see him?

Nera’s face became covered in tears.

– Do you see that star over there, mommy? – the troubled child pointed with its finger, as yellow as wax. – I am going up there . . . Look how far away it is!

– What will your mother do, my dear child? – Nera barely uttered.

– Don’t cry, sweet mommy! – Rade comforted her so eloquently, so intelligently, that his mother felt even sadder. – One day we all must go there. I shall pray to dear God, to take care of you . . . – then he embraced her and drew close to her. – Papa is calling me! . . . I am coming, papa, I am coming! – Rade’s voice faded into silence, while his hands were already ice-cold.

His poor mother lay him down to bed once again. It seemed that he attempted to reach out and embrace her once again. His head fell upon his chest, and a faint smile spread across his tiny lips . . .

A few moments later, the candlelight shone over the little one’s mortal remains, conjoining itself with the light of a new day. And a sorrowful voice of the lamenting mother mourned with an even more sorrowful song . . .

* * *

There is no greater mourning than that of a mother for her child.

Poor Nera remained all alone – like a solitary stone.

Kind women visit her, keeping her company, comforting her. But there is no one apt to soothe a grieving mother.

For the entire day, she would sit like a statue, without uttering a single word. One might say, she neither sees nor hears anything.

As soon as the sun comes out, and even before sunrise – she is at the graveyard. She falls on her Rade’s grave with such passion, as if she would gladly lay her bones there. It is the only place where she loosens her tongue, wailing and shrieking like a banshee. The people passing by, even with the coldest of hearts, turn their heads away with tears in their eyes.

She shrieks there until she gets exhausted and loses her voice, then, she returns home, slowly and silently, like a shadow. On her way home, she gives Rade’s food offerings to the poor.

* * *

It was the eve of All Souls’ Day.

For the whole day, poor Nera was making food offerings for her Rade. She intended to have everything prepared in the evening, tomorrow she will go early to the graveyard, many people will be there. She had arranged all the mourning items on the table in the room where Rade used to run around peculiarly.

It was well past sunset. The night was quiet – not a gust of wind. The moon would reveal itself every so often through the pale thin cloudlings. The censer in front of the icon had long burned out. The room was well-lit by the moonlight. Clouds were still stretching, but they were thin and pale, so it was quite well illuminated.

Poor Nera, all dressed up and prepared for tomorrow, drooped by the bedside. Fatigue got the best of her, yet, she refused to close her eyes. One might say ‒ she is wide awake . . . She sees her Rade dancing, running towards her, cuddling, hugging her, he is merry and smiling at her. She takes him in her lap, kissing him, stroking his beautiful raven-black hair . . . But lo, he is ill, so ill. She is trying to humour him, trying to find medicine, calling the doctor, tending to him ‒ saving him from death. Alas, all in vain . . . Eventually, the funeral procession accompanies him to the chapel with the mournful “Holy God”. Oh, how dark is that detestable chapel! . . . Her eyes are filled with tears. She cannot see anything. Intense and heavy darkness came upon her. She could barely breathe. How long did it last, she could not tell . . . All of a sudden, she saw a beautiful field, full of all kinds of flowers and a plethora of children, in countless numbers! My God, they are as amiable as little chicks and as cheerful as butterflies. Her Rade is standing in one corner with his head bent down, feeling mirthless . . . “What is the matter, son, my dear child?”, she asked him. „Where are you, mommy?”, Rade replied with tears glimmering in his eyes. “Can’t you see that all the mothers have come to visit their children, and you are still not here!”. . .

‒ Oh, dear! ‒ Nera moaned and twitched. ‒ It is almost daybreak! Woe is me, I am late!

She swiftly collected everything she had prepared and rushed to the graveyard.

* * *

Nera hastily arrived at the graveyard. She rushed without ever looking around herself.

Upon entering the churchyard, she made haste straight to her Rade’s grave, so that the sad woman could pay her respect on All Soul’s Day. Later, she would go to church to the commemoration service.

She fell on the grave and started lamenting so sadly that the tombstone itself would crumble. She had been wailing for quite a long time, then she slowly got to her feet and looked around . . . There was not a living soul at the graveyard! “Look, there is no one here!”, a thought slipped through her mind. “Isn’t it daytime already!?” . . .

Indeed, it was not daytime yet, but the moonlight shone through the pale thin cloudlings making it seem almost as if it was the light of day.

All of a sudden, the poor mother felt a chill running through her. All alone at the graveyard in the middle of the night! It almost seemed unfathomable to her. She slowly turned around and began walking towards the church, as there might be some people inside. Upon arriving ‒ the church was closed! Silence, dead silence.

A shudder ran through Nera.

She slowly walked through the churchyard. But the yard itself looked somewhat different. Suddenly, she looked down at the church gate and saw ‒ a funeral procession entering. She took a closer look ‒ it was indeed a funeral procession. Deacons walked forward with candlesticks, then the priests dressed in their robes, then the pallbearers with the casket covered in black pall, then the congregation . . . women, men, one could not tell the number. An incomprehensible hum came to her ears as if they were singing the mournful “Holy God” . . . She stepped aside from the path and stood still while they were passing. She watched them ‒ unknown priests, unknown deacons, men, women . . . She could not recognise anyone, they were all strange, unfamiliar faces!

Nera was struck by a hot gust of wind, she broke out in cold sweat, and an odd whirring sound filled her ears.

She rushed towards the gate while tottering along the way. No sooner had she intended to exit the churchyard than an old man appeared out of nowhere ‒ his beard was white and down to his waist ‒ and he said in a quiet, barely audible voice: “Halt!” She inadvertently stopped. “I know what it means for a mother to mourn her only child,” the old man said. “But excessive sorrow is not convenient. Calm yourself down and go . . . Once you reach the side-street ‒ keep your footsteps quiet! My old lady is sleeping there, and she went to rest in an angry mood . . .” Then, the old man vanished.

Nera’s head started bowing down as if she was about to faint. She gathered her all the remaining strength she could muster and rushed forward as quickly as possible. Having reached the side-street, indeed, she saw an old lady, all clad in white, sleeping on the ground. Nera felt numb from fear. Tiptoeing, almost breathlessly, she sneaked away and ran home without ever looking back.

* * *

Upon arriving ‒ she fell on the bed like a log.

She had been suffering from an intense fever for a long time. There was little hope for her survival.

Barely did she manage to revive and somewhat recover herself, but ‒ she has not been in her right mind ever since.