'I think I could find one,' said Maciek, in a voice trembling with delight. The man unceremoniously pushed his wife on one side and drew a large bottle from underneath the seat.
'We are off now,' he said, 'we will go to the gospodarstwo and you shall give me some nails in case of another breakdown, and I will leave you some of this cordial in return. Mind, if your head or your stomach aches or you are worried and can't sleep, take a glassful of this: all your worries will at once disappear. Take good care of it and don't on any account give a drop away, it's a speciality; my grandfather got it from the monks at Radecznica, it's as good as holy water.'
Maciek went into the house, the stranger remained in the yard, looking carelessly round the buildings, while Burek barked madly at him. At any other time the dog's anger would have roused Maciek's suspicion, but how could one think anything but well of a guest who had already given vodka and sausages and who was offering more drink? He smilingly offered a big-bellied bottle to the traveller, who poured half a pint of the cordial into it, and when he took leave he repeated the warning that it should be used only in case of need.
Maciek stuffed a piece of rag into the neck of the bottle and hid it in the stable. He felt a strong desire to taste the drink, if only a drop, but he resisted.
'Supposing I were to get ill… better keep it.'
He rocked the baby to sleep and then woke her up again to tell her about the hospital and his broken leg, about the travellers who had left him such a magnificent present, but nothing could take his thoughts away from the monks' cordial. The big-bellied bottle seemed to hover over the pots and pans on the stove, it blossomed out of the wall, it almost tapped at the window, but Maciek blinked his eyes and thought: 'Leave me alone, you will come in useful some day!'
Shortly before sunset he heard cheerful singing in the road, and quickly stepping outside, he saw the gospodarz and his family returning from church. They were silhouetted against the red sky in the white landscape. Jendrek, his head in the air and his arms crossed behind his back, was walking on the left side of the road, the gospodyni in her blue Sunday skirt, and her jacket unbuttoned, so that her white chemise and bare chest were showing, on the right. The gospodarz, his cap awry, and holding up nis sukmana as for a dance, lurched from right to left and from left to right, singing. The labourer laughed, not because they were drunk, but because it pleased him to see them enjoying themselves.
'Do you know, Maciek,' cried Slimak from afar, 'do you know the
Swabians can't hurt us!'
He ran up full tilt and supported himself on Maciek's neck.
'Do you know,' cried the gospodyni, coming up,'we have seen Jasiek Gryb who knows all about the law; we told him about Jendrek's giving it to Hermann, and he swore by a happy death that the Court would let Jendrek off; Jasiek has been tried for these tricks himself, he knows.'