#28 Zemlya
Bereslavka, Kherson Guberniya, February 18th 1895
Olek’s body moved slowly, with the deliberation of a man knowing that little food beyond chor-nee klebphand perhaps some shchi and potato soup would be available to refuel his body at the end of the day’s labor. Calculating the energy input required to chopping wood for the new stove and comparing it to the energy saved by increasing the temperature within the family’s Izba beyond the shivering level was, of course, beyond the ken of the near illiterate Musik. But generations of accumulated wisdom led him to force his two sons out of the semi-hibernation which so many peasants entered into in winter and lead them in a dawn march them towards the woods still owned by Adam Rodwizi, the noble whose father once held his family in bondage.
“We should have done this in the fall,” complained Flame haired, fiercely freckled Mykhailo, the eldest son of his first wife, his teeth chattering. Olek casually and playfully cuffs him.
The lad was smart and had spent much of the winter puzzling out letters he had brought back from the parish school, instead of shivering cuddling into the communal huddle in the corner of the family Izba. Too smart for his own good perhaps- he was forever questioning his father’s wisdom. However, Olek was not displeased. He had worked hard to improve the lot of his family and to give them more opportunities than he himself has had. He was not sure what use letters would be for a Musik still bound to his Mir and to the payment of the redemption fees but dimly suspected that some advantage could be found in his son’s literacy. But there was other, more immediately useful wisdom, to be learned outside the pages of the priest’s books.
“In October Adam’s watchmen and his dogs would be out- and we would need to pay for the privilege of chopping our own wood. However, they are not fools enough to be freezing their dicks off now, are they? Besides, we would not have had the time to put in the potato crop on the land we rented if we had spent the time chopping wood. Next year maybe we can pay another family to chop the wood for us and rent even more land.”
Dark haired Ivan, Marina’s younger and quieter son, raised his voice timidly.
“Won’t the Rodwizi’s be angry if we are caught chopping their wood?”
Olek frowns, clucking Ivan’s chins and looking into his dark mournful eyes.
“It’s not their wood. Until your grandfather's time these woods and the pastures as well, belonged to all of us. However, yes, they will be angry… which is why we will not be caught, will we? No more chatter- and if you hear dogs run into the creek and flee until you can climb a tree. We can always come back and collect the wood later.”
His sons are silent and they rapidly lean into the work of collecting as much wood as they can before the morning’s sun warms the frozen earth sufficiently to bring out Adam’s foresters.
Olek strives to banish doubts regarding the risks he is undertaking and leans into the task. Ivan’s questions disquiet him sufficiently to signal an end to the illicit wood gathering after no more than two hours of labor. No forester stops them on the way back to the family Izba and Olek breathes a sigh of relief.
Another gamble has paid off. But is not all life a risk with only death certain?
Mykhailo grumbles when they return home. “The Tsar should not allow the Rodwizis to claim the woods. We are his people and they are no more than foreign heretics.”
This time the cuff is not nearly as playful.
“Where has you heard such words? Do you want us to lose all that I have worked for?”
Mykhailo sets his jaw stubbornly and clenches his fists silently. Olek suddenly realizes his gangling sixteen-year-old son is as tall as he is.
“God is in heaven and the Tsar is far away… and besides, the Katsaps have been here for far less time than the Rodwizis. And they care more for their wealth and station than they do for our supposed brotherhood. Your grandfather died rising against them (1). Three generations of hard work- lost. Keep your nose down and look after your own. That is the path we must take.”
Olek’s remonstrations are cut short by the clattering of the hooves on the road leading to the Mir’s central square. Olek curses and does what he can to hide the wood at the brush at the side of the road. Horses mean government or gentry and perhaps uncomfortable questions. But the horseman shows no interest in him or his sons and simply canters past them towards the Mir.
“Government courier.” Ivan says quietly.
“Government? What would they want here?” Olek wonders.
Mykhailo stares after the courier. “Perhaps I should ask around and find out”.
Olek considers his impetuous older son and slowly nods.
“Do so. But be cautious.”
Bereslavka, Kherson Guberniya, February 20th 1895
“Well, what does it say?”
Mykhailo stares at the ukase. Puzzling out the letters is hard enough but the words and sentence structure are written in the language of the Northern Katsaps, not in the local Surzhyk dialect he is used to speaking.
“It says that the Tsar has decided to permit the members of the Mir the right to dissolve the authority of the Mir over its members and to divide all Mir lands between its households permanently. The government will divide the Mir’s lands, should its members so wish, into family lots with sufficient land for each family to live and provide those left without land with assistance in resettling in the East. All obligations to the Mir will be ended!”
Olek gapes.
“What about the Rodwizi lands?”
Mykhailo scans the Ukase carefully. “Nothing. It says nothing about them.”
Olek snorts, deflated. He is not sure there is any advantage to him in this. The Mir can be irksome, but it also provided a safety net… and he has spent the past year politicking, solidifying his position and making careful alliances with other families. Enough, perhaps to improve his holdings in this year’s repartition, especially given Marina’s pregnancy.
“Well, when does the government intend to enact this Ukase?”
Before or after the repartition? That is the critical question.
“It orders the Mir to hold a general assembly on the matter. Only if two thirds of the Mir vote in favor of dissolvent will this occur.”
Olek shakes his head.
“It will never occur then. The paupers will see no advantage to this, and the elders will not wish to risk their position. And they will all fear any change they do not understand”
“But father, if the Mir assembly does reject dissolvent we still have the option of applying for repartition provided we can provide a small down payment.”
Olek scratches his beard.
“What, pay to place ourselves outside the Mir? Gain the hostility of all who remain within it?”
Mykhailo stiffens as he puzzles out the Ukase again.
“We stand to gain more than that father. If we make the down payment, which is proportional to our remaining redemptions, we will also be free of all further redemptions, as well as enjoy tax reductions for two years! In addition, the Ukase says that those who first apply for severence from the Mir will have first pick of the lots and government assistance in improving it! It also says that all lots will be consolidated, not broken up into strips”
“Let me see that!”
Olek cannot, of course, puzzle out the contents of the Ukase. He has long since forgotten most of his letters. But just staring at the official looking paper in the Mir Hall provides him with some confidence. He licks his lips. Uncertainty, yes, but also opportunity. And is not all life risk?
“How do we apply?”
(1) During the Polish-Lithuanian revolt of 1863. Kherson was on the outer fringes of the uprising and some of the unrest trickled eastwards. Not enough for Alexander II to back the serfs against their Polish landlords as he did further westwards to some extent.
