HALKIDIKI

The blacksmith Deluga rarely went to the shop. He had everything on his property. His workshop, his tools. He had spring water in his well, the likes of which no other shop had. He had chickens, geese, and ducks, raised pigs, and kept a bay horse in the stable. He had fruit in the orchard and vegetables in the garden. He had flour, which his wife used to bake bread for him, because he had a wife too. He had no children because God hadn't given him one, but God had just decided to give the blacksmith Deluga something. The moment he stood before the shopkeeper, Marzena Wójcikówna, asking for a carton of strong alcohol with a filter, God reached out to him.

"You'll play the lottery, Mr. Deluga, maybe you'll win something and even help the poor children," said the shopkeeper, through whom the Most High spoke, though he didn't know it. The blacksmith

was moved by the plight of the poor children and bought the lottery ticket. There was something written there, but it wasn't in Polish, and besides, he didn't have his glasses with him.

"So what?"

"I don't see it, maybe Marzena will read it?

" "Halkidiki.

" "What the hell."

"You won a trip to Halkidiki. "

"That's impossible, me?" "

You bought a ticket and won. What's so strange about that? If you hadn't bought one and won, that would be really strange. It says, "Buy a ticket and win a trip," right there on the box, and you can also win a refrigerator or five vacuum cleaners." "

Trips are on my mind, the harvest is coming, Marzenka will put this ticket in the box, let someone else go to Heikidiki. I'd better take the vacuum cleaner..."

"Everyone would like that. It's against the lottery rules. You have to go."

The blacksmith Deluga was rarely in the shop, he swore even less often, he was now walking down the road, swearing like a sailor, even though he was a blacksmith.

"Oh, stupid head, that's what I was so tempted to do. Marzena will tell everyone I won; it would be a shame not to go." But there's no way to go either. The harvest has to start after Sunday. The rye on the hill has already turned white. Just watch the neighbors start moving. They'll laugh. He's craving trips, and the woman is mowing by herself. What a pig this blacksmith is. He was thinking about the lottery rules, which weren't allowed to be broken. Rules – sacred things – he said aloud, as if he wanted to hear these words. "People make up rules to be respected. There are rules in the army, in school, in the office." The blacksmith grew gloomy and decided to go to a pub to ask people questions, maybe someone could give him some advice.

The blacksmith Delug drank royal ale and pondered his fate. Halkidiki echoed in his mind like a curse. Until then, people had respected him. He had been a blacksmith for centuries, knew his craft like no other, and they came to see him from twenty kilometers away. They praised him, thanked him, and never heard a bad word from anyone. On winter evenings, he would lock himself in his workshop and hammer and clap long into the night. They would laugh that he couldn't bear to look at his wife, asking why he didn't come to the bar. He wouldn't say a word to them, just waved and smiled mysteriously. In spring, people flocked to the blacksmith's field. Head over heels, running through the furrows just to see this marvel. It looked like a cross between a bicycle and a grave digger. The blacksmith would wind a huge spring with a crank, set it down by a pile of manure, shouting for people to get away. No one listened. When the machine, with its devilish clatter of gears, began to fling manure everywhere, groans of delight were heard. "That's how it's going to be," they said, "it's not going to happen." Others, envying themselves, sneered that if the blacksmith was so clever, he should invent a machine that would make manure, or even better, he should immediately create something that would throw money at the turn of a crank; then neither the manure nor the field would be needed. That same year, the blacksmith constructed a berry-picking machine. The blacksmith's wife took it to the forest, wound it up, and sat on a stump reading the newspaper. At first, the women laughed, asking if the blacksmith had invented some device that would crawl under the covers instead of the man. Only when they reached the collection point and discovered that Delugowa had harvested over sixteen kilos in a single day, did they stop. After a few days, the berry-picking machine disappeared without a trace. The blacksmith wasn't looking for her, because the berry shop was almost finished, and she still earned as much as all the women in the village combined. The blacksmith promised to make her an even better one next year, and if he had time, maybe even mushroom picking.

"Halkidiki," the blacksmith shouted to those sitting at the next table, "has anyone heard where it is?"

"It must be far away," said Darek Malenka, frowning. "If it were close, you would have heard."

"I think a few years ago, this guy came to my Zośka's, in a big Fiat. 'Na h' was also the name of this village, something similar. He was a drunkard, so I told Zośka not to bother with him, why waste her life. And what did you remember, blacksmith?" "

I'll tell you, because the shopkeeper will talk to everyone anyway. I'm thinking of going out into the world in my old age. Who knows where Halkidiki is, maybe where the black people are, or in Japan?"

And although the blacksmith was a man and didn't cry in front of others, a few drops now fell into the empty mug.

"But what are you talking about, where to go out in the world, for some work or something?

" "For a trip. I bought a ticket in the shop, the dog scratched it, I won.

" "You're talking nonsense, blacksmith. Put a liter on the table, we need to drink, what's her name, Halkidika."

The blacksmith put a liter on the table and called everyone in. They drank, snacked on pickled cucumbers, and reminisced.

"I was on a trip once too," Paweł Bujniak said, leaning back behind the table as if he were not the son of the village headman, but of a king himself. "I'm telling you, there's no life. You go and go, with no end in sight." "You can't smoke because the ladies in the back are yelling. You'll have a beer, and then you'll have trouble with the beating. You can't get out the window. The driver says he won't stop. I almost damaged him. No life. And that was a trip, Mr. Deluga, to Niepokalanów, eighty kilometers. Now go to that Halka place, maybe even further..." "Things

can change on a trip," Wiesiek Skarpetowski said. "It might be good, but then, sir, this one might be different, and take this one, sir, give me some advice." When a man is at home, he'll think of something, sir, something. On a journey like that, even the wisest man can lose his mind. Sir, there's nowhere to look, not even at a familiar tree, or a neighbor. Sir, I wouldn't go there.

The blacksmith nodded, thanked him for the advice, and returned home, thinking they wouldn't drag him to some shitty Halkidiki with oxen.

The blacksmith's wife, Krystyna, was a respectable and hard-working woman, with one flaw—she talked a lot, usually needlessly and senselessly. From early morning, she'd been poisoning the blacksmith's mind with nonsense that multiplied in her head. "

I dreamed of dark water; there will be misfortune." Wackowa didn't drive out the spotted cow today, probably sick. Yesterday, people saw a falling star before evening; they say the Pope will die.

And so it went all day. The blacksmith thanked God that she hadn't found out about the trip until it had begun. As it turned out, the thanks were premature. All it took was for the blacksmith's wife to step out onto the road; she returned immediately, her cheeks flushed, full of enthusiasm and joy.

"Jesus, what didn't you tell me? You won the lottery, such luck. I knew the Most Holy One would help us someday, too. Witczak's mixer won in the newspaper, Andrzejek Zając won four in the lottery, and we're asking for a trip, well, well."

"If you're so happy, then go.

" "What, is this trip for one person?

" "Of course, for one. What did you think, two trips from one ticket, meaning two for two people?

" "Oh, Jesus, maybe I'll go to the store, fly, buy another ticket. If so, you'll go out into the world yourself, they say, probably to China."

"To Sri Lanka, not China. I'm not going anywhere. You have to mow.

" "Oh, mow there, you'll get a combine harvester, you'd go, old chap, see the world.

" "The world is the same everywhere." What if the sky is different somewhere, or the sun? It's the same everywhere. The earth is black or yellow everywhere, the water is transparent.

People live differently, they build different houses...

"But they don't walk on their heads, only on their legs, yes. And no combine harvester will be driving in my field as long as I live."

Kowalowa usually gave in to her husband's persuasion, and so it was now.

"Maybe that's right. Sit on your ass, Mietek, where in the world are you supposed to go? You've only been to the city once and you got lost.

" "Hush, woman."

"If someone else had won, yes, but you, Mietek, would definitely have gotten lost in this Halkidka.

" "When I go like that."

He did as he said. He packed a bag with his best shirts, a change of socks, and thick sweaters, just in case they were crossing the North Pole. He filled it with dried sausage, smoked bacon, and raw potatoes, because, as he claimed, potatoes certainly hadn't been invented among the savages yet. He set off still with dew, bid farewell by his weeping wife and astonished neighbors, who couldn't believe the blacksmith was setting out into the world, especially right before harvest. But the blacksmith wasn't so foolish. Right after the road, he turned left, instead of heading to the farm, heading straight into the forest. He hid his bag of clothes and food in a hole, covered the hole with branches, and climbed a tree, the tallest oak in the area. He sat smiling to himself, "I've outsmarted everyone." I think the blacksmith has set out into the world, and we'll overtake Deluga with the mowing this year. And here's a fig tree with poppy seeds. At night, I'll climb down from the tree, go to the shed for a scythe, and get to work. I just have to think what I saw there, in Halkidiki.

The next morning, when the blacksmith's wife, herding the cows, looked out at the field, she felt faint. She couldn't believe it, fell to her knees, and began to cry.

"Jesus of Nazareth, the entire field is mowed, forty dozens, a miracle, a miracle has happened on our hill.

People approached this miracle, inspected the sheaves, checked the bindings, turned a blind eye, watching to see if the dozens were evenly spaced.

"No human hand cut it," said the blacksmith's wife, crossing herself. "It must be, angels themselves flew down and helped in human misery.

" "And why are these angels so determined to get your rye? They would come to us, let the blacksmith's wife say I'll pay them better," the neighbors muttered.

That night, the blacksmith's wife couldn't sleep for a long time. She said the prayers three times, sang the litany, and still sleep wouldn't come. She dressed and, taking a jar of compote, went out. "Maybe the gentlemen angels will want to drink," she thought.

In the distance, she could only hear the rustle of the scythe cutting the rye. The fog hung over the field, thick as cream. The blacksmith's wife took a dozen or so steps forward, her heart pounding in her chest; she had never been so afraid. She stopped. There was only one angel. She walked a little closer. "

Lord Angel. "

The angel dropped his scythe and tried to flee, but stopped and began to watch.

"He's not afraid, I'm the blacksmith's wife, I brought the compote, he's probably tired... "

"Why is he wandering around at night, unable to sleep?"

"Mietek?"

She stepped closer.

"You didn't go.

" "If he didn't go, if he did. I, the spirit of Mietek. Mietek in Halkidice, ordered us to bow. "

"It can't be.

" "Maybe, maybe." She hadn't heard of guardian angels.

"Yes, she had. Every morning I say, 'Angel of my God, my guardian, you always stand by me...

'" "Exactly, and now she sees that he's not only a guardian, but also a reaper. Will you give me that apple compote?"

The blacksmith drank the apple compote, looking at his wife. He read in her calf-like eyes that she believed him.

"Let it not stand there, maybe carry the sheaves, it will be faster."

They mowed almost until morning. As daylight began to grow, the blacksmith's wife went home, and the blacksmith went to his tree. The next night they mowed again. This time the blacksmith's wife was strangely silent.

"What is she saying, is she evil or something?

" "I'm thinking so much.

" "What are you thinking so much about?"

"About my Mietek. I'm no use to him anymore. He claps and claps, and when he gets home for the night, he can't even take off his shoes. "

"He's a hard worker.

" "He's hard-working. Too hard. I'm not that old yet, I'm not even forty. "

"What are you drinking the blacksmith's drink for?

" "Wouldn't you come to me? The man's gone; he won't be back until four days later, would you?"

The blacksmith was afraid that if he refused, he'd know it wasn't a guardian angel, but himself. He agreed. The bed in the blacksmith's house creaked and creaked that night, as if something were jammed. The blacksmith tried his best, and though it had been a long time since he'd done it, the blacksmith couldn't complain. In the morning, she sat on the edge of the bed, stretched, and said.

"Well, now I know what it's like in heaven. Angel?

" "What?

" "Couldn't you make a change?

" "What change?"

"Well, let's just say you stay here, and Mietek marries an angel.

" "Er," the blacksmith sighed, "it's not that simple, the government has to agree to that." He glanced at the ceiling. "I have no say in the matter." "Besides, I don't know a damn thing about blacksmithing..."

After a week, the blacksmith emerged from the forest, seeing his neighbors mowing, greeted them in a Christian manner, glanced at his field, and just in case, feigned surprise. He grabbed his head and shouted.

"Ho, ho, Krychna mowed, can't it be?"

"An angel flew in and mowed," Malenka explained matter-of-factly. "And you, Mietek, why is it so white, wasn't there any sun?"

"It was, it was. Just blazing hot. No one goes outside during the day, they live at night like cats.

" "And they stay indoors all day, it must be boring for them...

" "They hide in the forests, under the trees. They're harvesting too, now what kind of calluses have I gotten?"

"Look, they're supposedly on a field trip, but they've put Mietek to work.

If you want to eat, you have to eat; it's the same law everywhere."

It seemed that everything had returned to normal. People were asking the blacksmith about the trip less and less often, because he didn't say anything interesting; everything in Halkidiki was the same, only with different names. Only the blacksmith's wife was getting fatter with each passing day, as if she'd swollen.

"I'm pregnant," she said one day.

"And that's thanks to God," the blacksmith said, continuing his work.

"And to the holy angels," she added, looking up at the sky.