THE BLACK SPIDER Part Two
The godmother strode briskly down the slope along the path that led to the church, the child full of life and energy in her strong arms. Behind her came the two godfathers, the father and the grandfather, to none of whom it occurred to relieve the godmother of the weight of the child, although the younger godfather sported a fine hawthorn blossom on his hat, marking him out as bachelor, and his eyes rested with content on the godmother, all of course hidden behind the façade of nonchalance.
The grandfather recounted what terrible weather there had been the day he himself was carried to church. Between hail and lightning the churchgoers could scarcely believe that they would escape with their lives. Afterwards people had made all sorts of predictions about him on account of this storm – some that he would suffer a terrible death, others that he would make enormous luck in warfare. But things had moved on for him in life serenely just like everyone else, and now in his seventy-fifth year he would neither be dying prematurely nor experiencing roaring military victories.
They had gone more than half of the way when the maid came chasing after them. She was to bring the child home as soon as he had been baptised, while, according to a fine old custom, the kinfolk and godparents stayed to listen to the sermon. The maid, too, had taken pains to look beautiful. This handiwork had detained her, and now she was ready to take the child from the godmother. But the godmother would have none of it and refused no matter how much they tried to persuade her. It was just too good an opportunity to demonstrate to the handsome, unmarried godfather how strong her arms were and how much effort they would be willing to endure. Strong arms on a woman are much more prized by a proper farmer than delicate, puny sticks that can be blown in all directions by any passing north wind; and strong arms on a mother have proved the salvation of many a child, when upon the death of the father the mother was left alone to take the reins, and all by herself had to pull the household ship out of whatever troughs in which it threatened to founder.
But all of a sudden it was as if someone had grabbed hold of the sturdy godmother by her braids or struck her between the eyes. She gingerly fell back, handed the child to the maid, then stayed back and pretended to be occupied with her garter. Then she caught up with them again and stayed with the menfolk, joining in their conversations. She tried in one way or another to interrupt the grandfather and to distract him from the topic he had taken up. But as is most usual with old people, he stuck to his subject and would patiently pick up the broken threads ever anew. She then descended on the child's father and attempted to draw him into a private conversation through all sorts of questions. But he is laconic and kept dropping thread after thread of conversation she was attempting to spin. Perhaps he was immersed in thoughts of his own, such as every father should have when his child is being carried to its baptism, and especially when it is his first son.
All things change, nothing perishes.
Ovid
The nearer they drew to the church, the more people joined the procession. Some were already waiting along the path with their psalm books in their hands, while others hurried down the narrow footpaths and they all approached the village like a grand procession.
Next to the church stood the inn, the two so often in close association, sharing the joys and sorrows, and in all the honours at that. They stopped at the inn, attended to the baby, and the father ordered a jug of wine, disregarding the pleas from the others not to and their protests that they had just consumed all to their heart’s content and desired nothing more to eat or drink. But once the wine was served, they all drank, especially the maid, who must have thought she should drink wine every time she was offered, and that did not happen at times for a whole year. Only the godmother could not be moved to take a drop, despite of
