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KNOT AFTER
KNOT, DAY IN, day out, for an entire lifetime, always the same hand
movements, always looping the same knots in the fine hair, so fine and so tiny
that with time the fingers trembled and the eyes became weak from strain --
and still the progress was hardly noticeable. When he made good headway in a
day, there was a new piece of his carpet perhaps as big as his fingernail. So
he squatted before the creaking carpet frame where his father and his father
before him had sat, each with the same stooped posture and with the old,
filmy magnifying lens before his eyes, his arms propped against the worn
breastboard, moving the knotting needle with only the tips of his fingers.
Thus he tied knot upon knot as it had been passed down to him for generations
until he slipped into a trance in which he felt whole; his back ceased to
hurt and he no longer felt the age in his bones. He listened to the many
different sounds of the house which had been built by the grandfather of his
great-grandfather -- the wind which always slipped over the roof in the same
way and was caught in the open windows, the rattling of dishes and the
talking of his wives and daughters below in the kitchen. Every sound was
familiar. He picked out the voice of the Wise Woman who had been staying in
the house the past few days because the confinement of one of his wives,
Garliad, was anticipated. He heard the muted doorbell clang, then the entry
door opened and there was excitement in the murmuring of the voices. That was
probably the peddler woman who was supposed to bring food supplies, textiles
and other things today. Then heavy
footfalls creaked up the stairs to the carpet tying room. That must be one of
the women bringing him his midday meal. Below they would be inviting the
peddler woman to table to learn the latest gossip and to let themselves be
talked into some bauble or other. He sighed, tightened the knot on which he
was working, removed the magnifying lens and turned around. Garliad stood
there with her enormous belly and with a steaming plate in her hand, waiting
to come in until he gave permission with an impatient gesture. "What
are the other women thinking, letting you work in your condition?" he
growled. "Do you want to deliver my daughter on the stairs?" "I feel
very well today, Ostvan," Garliad responded. "Where
is my son?" She
hesitated. "I don't know." "Then I
can imagine where he is!" snorted Ostvan. "In the city! In that
school! Reading books until his eyes ache and having his head filled with
nonsense!" "He
tried to repair the heating and left to get some sort of part...that's what
he said." Ostvan
hoisted himself up from his stool and took the plate from her hands. "I
curse the day I allowed him to go to that school in the city. Was I not
blessed by God until then? Didn't he first give me five daughters and then
one son, so that I did not have to kill any of my children? And don't my
daughters and wives have hair of all colors so that I do not have to dye the
hair, and I can tie a carpet which one day will be worthy of the Emperor? Why
can I not succeed in making a good carpetmaker of my son, so that someday I
can take my place beside God to help him tie the great carpet of life?" "You are
quarreling with fate, Ostvan." "Should
I not quarrel -- with such a son? I know why his mother did not bring me my
food." "I am
supposed to ask you for money to pay the peddler," said Garliad. "Money!
Always money!" Ostvan put down the plate on the window sill and shuffled
over to a chest with steel fittings, which was decorated with a photograph of
the carpet his father had tied. It contained the money which was left from
the sale of that carpet, packed in individual boxes, labeled with year
numbers. He took out a coin. "Take it. But remember that this must last
us for the rest of our lives." "Yes, Ostvan." "And
when Abron returns, send him immediately to me." "Yes,
Ostvan." She left. What kind of
life was this, nothing but worry and aggravation! Ostvan pulled a chair up to
the window and sat down to eat. His gaze became lost in the rocky, infertile
desert. He used to go out occasionally, to look for certain minerals needed
to make the secret compounds. He was even in the city several times to buy
chemicals or tools. In the meantime he had accumulated everything he would
ever need for his carpet. He probably would not go out again. He was no
longer young; his carpet would soon be finished and then it would be time to
think about dying. Later, in the
afternoon, quick steps on the stairs interrupted his work. It was Abron. "You
wanted to speak to me, Father?" "Were
you in the city?" "I
bought sootbrick for the heating." "We
still have sootbrick in the cellar, enough for generations." "I
didn't know." "You
could have asked me. But any excuse to go into the city is good enough for
you." Unbidden,
Abron came closer. "I know it displeases you that I am in the city so
often and read books. But I can't help it, Father. It is so interesting...these
other worlds...there is so much to learn -- so many different ways for people
to live .... " "I want
to hear nothing of it. For you there is only one way to live. You have
learned from me everything a hair carpetmaker must know; that is enough. You
can tie all the knots, you have been instructed in impregnation and dying
techniques, and you know the traditional patterns. When you have designed
your carpet, you will take a wife and have many daughters with different
colored hair. And for your wedding, I will cut my carpet from the frame, bind
it and present it to you, and you will sell it in the city to the imperial
merchant. That is what I did with the carpet of my father, and he did the
same before me with the carpet of his father, and he with the carpet of his
father, my great-grandfather; that is the way it has been from generation to
generation for thousands of years. And just as I pay off my debt to you, you
will pay off your debt to your son, and he to his son, and so on. It was always
this way and it will always be so." Abron gave a
tortured sigh. "Yes, of course, Father, but I am not happy with this
idea. I would rather not be a hair carpetmaker at all." "I am a
carpetmaker and therefore you will also be a carpetmaker!" With an agitated
gesture, Ostvan pointed to the uncompleted carpet in the tying frame.
"For my whole life, I have worked on tying this carpet...my whole life;
and from the profit you will one day eat for your entire life. You have a
debt to me, Abron, and I require that you pay off that debt to your own son.
And God grant that he will not cause you as much sorrow as you have caused
me!" Abron did not
dare look at his father as he replied, "There are rumors in the city
about a rebellion, and rumors that the Emperor must abdicate .... Who will be
able to pay for the hair carpets if the Emperor is gone?" "The
glory of the Emperor will outlast the light of the stars!" Ostvan said
threateningly. "Didn't I teach you that phrase when you could barely sit
up next to me at the carpet frame? Do you imagine that just anybody can come
along and change the order of things which was set by God?" "No,
Father," mumbled Abron, "of course not." Ostvan
watched him. "Now go to work on your carpet design." "Yes,
Father." Late in the
evening Garliad's birthpangs began. The women accompanied her into the
prepared birth room; Ostvan and Abron stayed in the kitchen. Ostvan got
two cups and a bottle of wine, and they drank silently. Sometimes they heard
Garliad crying out or moaning in the birth room, then again there was nothing
for a while. It was going to be a long night. When his
father fetched a second bottle of wine, Abron asked, "And if it is a
boy?" "You
know as well as I do," Ostvan responded dully. "Then
what will you do?" "The law
has always said that a carpetmaker may only have one son, because a carpet
can only support one family." Ostvan pointed to an old, stain-flecked
sword hanging on the wall. "With that my grandfather killed my two
brothers on the day of their birth." Abron was
silent. "You said that this is God's law," he finally erupted.
"That must be a cruel God, don't you think?" "Abron!"
Ostvan thundered. "I want
to have nothing to do with your God!" screamed Abron and flung himself
out of the kitchen. "Abron! Stay
here!" But Abron
tore up the stairs to the bedchambers and did not return. So Ostvan
waited alone, but he did not drink any more. The hours passed, and his
thoughts became more gloomy. Finally the first cries of a child were mixed
among the cries of the mother, and Ostvan heard the women lamenting and
sobbing. He stood up heavily as though every movement were painful; he took
the sword from the wall and laid it on the table. Then he stood there and
waited with somber patience until the Wise Woman came from the birth room
with the newborn in her arms. "It is a
boy," she said calmly. "Will you kill him, sir?" Ostvan looked
at the rosy, wrinkled face of the child. "No," he said. "He
will live. I want him to be named Ostvan after me. I will teach him the craft
of a hair carpetmaker, and should I not live long enough, someone else will
complete his training. Take him back to his mother and tell her what I have
said." "Yes,
sir," said the Wise Woman and bore the child out. Ostvan,
however, took the sword from the table, went with it up to the bedchambers
and killed his son Abron. ~~~~~~~~ By Andreas
Eschbach |