The Way of Muri by Ilya Boyashov Page B

wouldn’t have expected anything else from such carefree simpletons. Only the spirit of the town hall, occupying his usual position on top of the weathervane, looked down sadly on the mortals gatheredbelow. The custodian of the Sonnenberg emblem never indulged in teasing or mockery. He was the first to notice Else Miller.
    A thin woman had appeared on the square, her face shrouded in a dark scarf. Indifferent to the festivities, she walked quickly past the tables and benches. The snow didn’t even squeak beneath her boots. The woman’s calm and measured movement immediately drew the attention of the people surrounding the mayor. Everyone here knew old Else. Silence fell as she walked past the satiated cats, the well-groomed dogs and the festive crowds of people.
    When Else disappeared behind the town hall one of the revellers, not known for his manners, called out, ‘There goes Else, scurrying off to the old people’s home again, and then on to the church… She won’t associate with us sinners, even when there’s something to celebrate!’
    An aggrieved voice added, ‘She’s been putting on the same old show for twenty years now, deliberately ignoring her neighbours…’
    Others began to chime in.
    ‘She won’t even drink a thimbleful of beer, for fear of losing face!’
    ‘She thinks she’s
such
a saint…’
    ‘She won’t even look at us. That’s how virtuous she is!’
    ‘And all because she couldn’t find herself a husband when she was young,’ said a fat man, tearing himself away from the serious business of drinking beer. He smacked his lips compassionately, but then couldn’t resist elaborating. ‘I mean, why else do women come over all pious? It’s the same every time! If they haven’t been blessed in the looks department they turn to the church, tie a scarf round their heads and start baking pies for the homeless. Look, there she goes again!’
    Just then Martin Peitsmeyer, archetypal bureaucrat, experienced a minor epiphany. Something stirred in his soul, turning the cynical opportunist – albeit briefly – into a preacher. Themayor of Sonnenberg abruptly got to his feet, pulled in his stomach and turned to the jeering crowd.
    ‘Twenty years ago Else Miller took a vow to visit lonely old people every day and to pray for all of humanity, without exception. Since then I have seen her out in the street every single day! Come rain or shine, she follows the same path to the old people’s home and onwards to the church. I can personally testify to this. Not one of us could even interrupt her routine, let alone challenge her conviction. Of course, you might say this proves that she is mad. There are plenty of crazy people walking round our town doing the same crazy things over and over again, whether it’s directing the traffic or trying to escort pedestrians home against their will… But if we dismiss her desire to feed those in need and to pray for everyone who is gathered here today as mental instability, then what does that say about us?’
    After this impromptu speech, which was all the more impressive for its spontaneity, Martin Peitsmeyer paused and looked around at his audience. His eyes were full of enigmatic sorrow and despair at the state of the world, and no one dared to contradict him.
    ‘Is it our place to criticize someone,’ continued the mayor, ‘just because they do things differently? Surely we should envy her, gliding past us and walking through time for the last twenty years… Just look at her face! Whenever I catch a glimpse of her face, it makes me want to cry. There is enough nonsense in this world. How can we not envy someone who knows their purpose in life? We ought to lower our eyes and hold our tongues. At the very least, we should let her pass without verbal abuse.’
    Everyone had listened to the mayor’s speech without interrupting, including those who lacked an opinion on the matter. Someone even gave a sob, as though they’d been forced to confront the