Sister Pelagia and the Black Monk Read Online Free

Mitrofanii did not grow angry with the sister and the glint of fury in his eyes faded. He waved his hand at the monk. “Go on. But mind, no lies now.”
And so the story was continued, although its telling was somewhat burdened by the lengthy excuses that the terrified Antipa felt obliged to include.
“I'll tell you why I disobeyed the archimandrite's order. It's my calling to work as an herbalist and treat the brothers who think it a sin to visit a secular doctor. And you know the way it is with us monastery herbalists—every herb has to be gathered on the day of a special saint. Lenten Spit, opposite the hermitage, has an area where more herbs grow than anywhere else on the whole of Canaan. Hard-wort, good for overindulgence in wine, grows there under the patronage of Saint Vonifatii; and there's flock-weed, good for lascivious passion, under the patronage of holy Saint Fomaida; and pouch-weed, good for protecting against evil enchantment, under the patronage of Saint Kiprian, and many other healing plants. Because of the prohibition I'd already failed to gather joint-weed or gem-weed, which have to be pulled with the night dew still on them. And on holy Saint Eufimia's day—she guards against the shaking sickness—the late whisper-wort flowers: it can only be gathered on this single night in the whole year. How could I miss it? And so I disobeyed.
“As soon as all the brothers had gone off to sleep I crept out into the yard and past the fence and across the open field to the Farewell Chapel, where the hermits are locked up before they're put in the hermitage— the Lenten Spit is close by there. At first I was afraid and I kept crossing myself and looking around, but then it passed and I felt braver. Late whisper-wort is hard to find—it takes practice and a lot of effort. It was dark, of course, but I had an oil lamp with me, and I covered one side of it with a rag so that no one would see it. I was crawling along on my hands and knees, pulling off the flowers, and I'd forgotten completely about the archimandrite and Saint Basilisk. I reached the very edge of the bank of earth; after that there was nothing but water and a few rocks sticking up. I was just going to turn back. Suddenly I heard it, out of the darkness …”
The monk turned pale at the terrible memory, his breath came faster, and his teeth started chattering, and Pelagia poured him some boiled water from the samovar.
“Thank you, little Sister. Suddenly this voice came out of the darkness, quiet but penetrating, and I could hear every word clearly: ‘Go. Tell everyone.’ I turned toward the lake, and I was so terrified that I dropped the lamp and my bag for collecting herbs. I saw a vague, thin figure just above the surface of the water, as if someone were standing on a rock. Only there weren't any rocks there. Suddenly … suddenly there was an unearthly glow, bright, a lot brighter than the glow from the gas lamps that shine in our streets in New Ararat. And then he appeared before me perfectly clearly. A black monk in a cassock, with light pouring out from behind his back, standing right there on the water—the small waves were splashing under his feet. ‘Go,’ he said. ‘Tell them. It shall be cursed.’ He spoke and pointed to Outskirts Island with his finger. And then he took a step toward me right across the water—and then another, and another. I screamed and waved my hands in the air; I turned and ran as fast as I could …”
The monk began sobbing and wiped his nose with his sleeve. Pelagia sighed and patted the poor soul on the head, and at that Antipa went completely to pieces. “I ran to the father archimandrite, and he only swore crudely at me—he didn't believe me,” the monk complained. “He locked me in the punishment cell, on bread and water. I was in there for four days, shaking and praying the whole day long, my insides all shriveled up. When I came out I was staggering. And there was a new work of penance waiting for