hired hand at the mill, of Rabstejnka
“I survived the lung fever, ay, the lung fever, but my holy vow is unkept and it haunts me. I am just a man trying to keep out of the master's way.”
Things Simon had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the feast of St Pancras, at Compline
I looked toward Sedletz today from the yard. The vow weighs on me like a millstone, ay, a millstone. I am terrified of the monks, and terrified of the Lord's wrath. But my feet are so blistered from the yard work, I cannot walk barefoot yet. I am damned, ay, damned.
Nota scribaeHe dictated this in a great hurry, looking nervously over his shoulder toward the weir.
the third day of Easter week, at Sext
The master is ungodly, ay, ungodly. Making us haul the heavy sacks even now, in the holy week. We grumbled, and he docked our soup! We haul and we haul, and my back is too stiff to even think of a pilgrimage. The Lord sees my suffering, ay.
The river doesn't stop flowing for the holidays, and neither do the stones. You will get your soup when the grain bins are full.
the eve of St Joseph, at None
That boy John drives me mad, ay, mad. Crawling around the dusty loft looking for his late mother's bone comb. I told him the river fairies took it just to watch him crawl! And Jan keeps cursing by the hopper, making the flour sour. God preserve us.
Marushka wouldn't have let the fairies take her comb. It must be under the floorboards somewhere.
Leave the boy be, Simon. And the flour is sour because the grain is cheap, you whoreson, not because of my words.
Nota scribaeThe man brushed his sleeves continuously while speaking, though there was no flour on them to speak of.
the Monday after St Matthias, at Vespers
The mud on the road to Sedletz is too deep for barefoot walking, ay, too deep. The master works us from dawn to dark anyway, I have no time to keep my vow. The monks are strict there, they will understand a man must wait for dry earth, ay.
Candlemas, at Prime
The fever broke, ay, it broke at last. I was shivering in my blanket all winter, but God spared me. I swore a solemn oath to God I would walk barefoot to Sedletz to give thanks. I will go as soon as the frost thaws, ay, as soon as it thaws.
You will lose your toes to the frost if you go now, lad. Better stay in the loft and work.
God spared you so you could haul the rye, not wander the roads. Get back to the hopper.
Nota scribaeDictated from a pile of sacks in the grain store. He crossed himself four times during the telling.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You worry too much, lad. I owe the priest silver for poor James's masses, and the sky hasn't fallen on me yet.
Don't say that by the race! You'll bring a curse on all of us, ay, a curse!