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Speaker 1: The Worker in Sandalwood by Marjorie L. C. Pickthall. The

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Good Cure of Terminaison says that this tale of Yasant's

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is all a dream. But then Madame points triumphantly to

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the little cabinet of sandalwood in the corner of her room.

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It had stood there for many years now, and the

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dust has gathered in the fine lines of the little

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bird's feathers, and softened the petals of the lilies carved

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at the corners, and the wood has taken on a

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golden gleam, like the memory of a sunset. What of that,

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my friend, says Madame, pointing to the cabinet, and the

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old Cure bows his head. It may be so, God

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is very good, he says gently, but he is never

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quite sure what he may believe. On that winter day

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long ago, Yasant was quite sure of one thing, and

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that was that the workshop was very cold. There was

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no fire in it, and only one little lamp. When

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the early dark drew on, the tools were so cold

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they scorched. His fingers and feet were so cold he

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danced clumsily in the shavings to warm them. He was

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a great clumsy boy of fourteen dark faced, dull eyed,

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and uncared for. He was clumsy because it is impossible

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to be graceful when you are growing very fast and

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have not enough to eat. He was dull eyed because

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all eyes met his unlovingly. He was uncared for because

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no one knew the beauty of his soul. But his

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heavy young hands could carve things like birds and flowers perfectly.

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On this winter evening, he was just wondering if he

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might lay aside the tools and creep home to the

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cold loft where he slept, when he heard Pierre L'read's

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voice shouting outside. Be quick, be quick, and open a door.

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Thou imbecile, It is I thy master. We momet, said Yasance,

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and he shambled to the door and opened it slow worm,

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cried Pierre, and he cuffed Yasant as he passed in.

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Yasance rubbed his head and said nothing. He was used

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to blows. He wondered why his master was in the

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workshop at that time of day instead of drinking brandy

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at the sank Chateau. Pierre Loread had a small heavy

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bundle under his arm, wrapped in sacking, then in burlap,

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and then in fine soft cloths. He laid it on

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a pile of shavings and unfolded it carefully, and a

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dim sweetness filled the dark shed and hung heavily in

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the thin winter sunbeams. It is a piece of wood,

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said Yasance, in slow surprise. He knew that such wood

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had never been seen in Terminaison. Pierre Loreard rubbed the

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wood respectfully with his knobby fingers. It is sandalwood, he

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explained to Yasance, pride of knowledge, making him quite amiable,

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A most precious wood that grows in warm countries. Thou

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great goblin, smell it, idiot. It is sweeter than cedar.

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It is to make a cabinet for the old Madame

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at the big house. We mommet, said the dull Yasance.

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Thy great hands shall shape and smooth the wood, nigor,

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and I will render it beautiful, said Pierre, puffing out

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his chest. Yes, Master, answered Yasance humbly. And when is

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it to be ready for madame? Madame will want it?

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Perhaps next week, for that is Christmas. It is to

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be finished and ready for the holy festival, Great Sluggard,

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hearest thou, and he cuffed Yasant's ears again furiously. Yasantin

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knew that the making of the cabinet would fall to him,

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as most of the other work did. When Pierre Laread

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was gone. He touched the strange sweet wood, and at

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last Lady's cheek against it, while the fragrance caught his breath.

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How it is beautiful, said Yasans, and for a moment

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his eyes glowed and he was happy. Then the light passed,

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and with bent head, he shuffled back to his bench

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through a foam of white shavings, curling almost to his knees.

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Madame will want the cabinet for Christmas, repeated Yasance to himself,

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and fell to work harder than ever, though it was

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so cold in the shed that his breath hung in

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the air like a little silvery cloud. There was a

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time any window on his right, through which, when it

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was clear of frost, one looked on Terminaison, and that

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was cheerful and made him whistle. But on the left,

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through the chink of the ill fitting door, there was

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nothing to be seen but the forest and the road

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dying under the snow. Brandy was good at the sant Chateau,

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and Pierre Loreard gave Yasans plenty of directions, but no

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further help with the cabinet that is to be finished

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for Madame at the festival. Sluggard said he every day

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cuffing Yasance about the head finished, and with a prettiness

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about the corners. Hearest thou roussint, Yes, Monsieur, said Yarsance,

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in his slow way. I will try to finish it,

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but if I hurry, I shall spoil it. Pierre's little

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eyes flickered. See that it is done, and done properly.

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I suffer from a delicacy of the constitution and a

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little feebleness of the legs these days, so that I

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cannot handle the tools properly. I must leave this work

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to thee gacheur, and stand up and touch a hand

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to thy cap when I speak to thee slow worm, Yes, monsieur,

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said Yasant wearily. It is hard to do all the

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work and to be beaten into the bargain, and fourteen

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is not very old. Yasanth worked on at the cabinet

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with his slow and exquisite skill. But on Christmas Eve

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he was still at work, and the cabinet unfinished. The

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master will beat me, thought Yia Sanz, and he trembled

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a little, for Pierre's beatings were cruel. But if I hurry,

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I shall spoil the wood, and it is too beautiful

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to be spoiled. But he trembled again when Pierre came

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into the workshop, and he stood up and touched his cap.

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Is the cabinet finished, Ambasil, asked Pierre, and yasanthe answered

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in a low voice, No, it is not finished yet, monsieur.

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Then work on it all night and show it to

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me completed in the morning, or thy bone shall mourn

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thine idleness, said Pierre, with a wicked look in his

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little eyes, and he shut Yasanz into the shed with

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the smoky lamp, his tools, and the sandalwood cabinet. It

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was nothing unusual. He had been often left before to

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finish a piece of work over night while Pierre went

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off to his brandies. But this was Christmas Eve, and

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he was very tired. Even the scent of the sandalwood

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could not make him fancy. He was warm. The world

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seemed to be a black place, full of suffering and despair.

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In all the world, I have no friend, said Yasanz,

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staring at the flame of the lamp. In all the world,

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there is no one to care whether I live or

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die in all the world, no place, no heart, no love,

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O kind God, Is there a place a love for

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me in another world. I hope you feel very sorry

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for Yasant, lonely and cold and shut up in the

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workshop on the eve of Christmas. He was but an overgrown,

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unhappy child. And I think with old Madame that for

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unhappy children at this season, no help seems too divine.

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For faith. There is no one to care for me,

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said Yasance. And he even looked at the chisel in

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his hand, thinking that by a touch of that he

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might lose it all and be at peace somewhere not

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far from God. Only it was forbidden. Then came the

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tears and great sobs that shook him so that he

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scarcely heard the gentle rattling of the latch. He stumbled

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to the door, opening it on the still woods and

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the frosty stars, and a lad who stood outside in

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the snow said, I see you are working late, comrade.

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May I come in. Yasanth brushed his ragged sleeve across

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his eyes and nodded, yes. Those little villages strung along

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the great River see strange wayfarers at times and Yasins

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said to himself that surely here was such a one.

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Blinking into the stranger's eyes, he lost for a flash

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the first impression of youth, and received one of incredible

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age or sadness. But the wonderer's eyes were only quiet,

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very quiet, like the little pools in the wood where

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the wild doze went to drink. As he turned within

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the door, smiling at Yasant and shaking some snow from

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his cap, he did not seem to be more than

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sixteen or so. It is very cold outside, he said.

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There is a big oak tree on the edge of

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the fields that had split in the frost and frightened

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all the little squirrels asleep there. Next year it will

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make an even better home for them. And see what

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I found close by. He opened his fingers and showed

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Hiasance a little sparrow lying unruffled in the palm. Pauvrette,

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said the dull Yasance, Pauvrette. Is it then dead? He

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touched it with a gentle forefinger. No, answered the strange boy,

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it is not dead. We will put it here among

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the shavings, not far from the lamp, and it will

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be well by the morning. He smiled at Yasanth again,

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and the shambling lad felt dimly as if the scent

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of the sandalwood were sweeter and the lamp flame clearer.

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But the stranger's eyes were only quiet. Quiet. Have you

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come far, asked Yasance. It is a bad season for traveling,

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and the wolves are out A long way, said the other,

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A long long way. I heard a child cry. There

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is no child here, put in Yasans. Monsieur Lerayad says

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children cost too much money. But if you have come far,

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you must need food and fire, and I have neither.

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At the sant Chateau you will find both. The stranger

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looked at him again with those quiet eyes, and Yasinth

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fancied that his face was familiar. I will stay here,

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he said. You are late at work, and you are unhappy.

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Why as to that, answered Jasance, rubbing his cheeks and

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ashamed of his tears. Most of us are sad at

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one time or another. The good God knows. Stay here

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and welcome if it pleases you, and you may take

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a share of my bed, though it is no more

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than a pile of balsam boughs and an old blanket

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in the loft. But I must work at this cabinet,

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for the drawers must be finished, and the handles put on,

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and the corners carved, all by the holy morning, or

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my wages will be paid with a stick. You have

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a hard master, put in the other if he would

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pay you with blows upon the feast of Noel. He

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is hard enough, said Yasanth. But once he gave me

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a dinner of sausages and white wine, and once in

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the summer melons. If my eyes will stay open, I

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will finish this by morning. Stay with me an hour

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or so, comrade, and talk to me of your travels,

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so that the time may pass more quickly. And while

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Yasanth worked, he told of sunshine and dust, of the

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shadow of vine leaves on the flat white walls of

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a house, of rosy doves on the roof, of the

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flowers that come out in the spring, and nemones, crimson

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and blue and white sicklemen in the shadow of the rocks,

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of the olive, the myrtle, and the almond, until Yasin's

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fingers ceased working, and his steepy eyes blinked wonderingly. See

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what you have done, comrade, he said, At last, you

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have told me of such pretty things that I have

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done but little work for an hour, and now the

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cabinet will never be finished, and I shall be beaten.

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Let me help you, smiled the other I also was

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bred a carpenter. At first Yasanth would not, fearing to

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trust the sweet wood out of his own hands. But

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at length he allowed the stranger to fit in one

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of the drawers. And so deftly was it done that

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Yasanth pounded his fists on the bench in admiration. You

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have a pretty knack, he cried. It seems as if

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you did but hold a drawer in your hands a moment,

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and hey, it jumped into its place. Let me fit

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in the other little drawers while you rest. Awhile, said

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the stranger. So Yasinth curled up among the shavings, and

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the other boy fell to work upon the little cabinet

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of sandalwood. Jasinth was very tired. He lay still among

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the shavings and thought of all the boy had told him,

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of the hillside flowers, the laughing leaves, the golden bloom

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of the anise, and the golden sun upon the roads,

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until he was warm. And all the time the boy

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with the quiet eyes was at work upon the cabinet, smoothing, fitting, polishing.

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You do better work than I, said Yasinth. Once, and

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the stranger answered, I was lovingly taught. And again Jasinth said,

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it is growing towards morning. In a little while I

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will get up and help you. Lie still and rest,

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said the other boy, and Yasinth lay still. His thoughts

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began to slide into dreams, and he woke with a

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little start, for there seemed to be music in the shed,

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though he could not tell whether it came from the

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strange boy's lips, or from the shabby tools as he

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used them, or from the stars. The stars are much paler,

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thought Yasance. Soon it will be morning, and the corners

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are not carved. Yet. I must get up and help

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this kind one. In a little moment, only the music

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and the sweetness seemed to fold me close, so that

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I may not move. Then behind the forest there shone

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a pale glow of dawn, and in terminaison the church

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bells began to ring. Day will soon be here, thought Hasans,

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And with day will come Monsieur Loread and his stick.

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I must get up and help, for even yet the

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corners are not carved but the stranger looked at him,

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smiling as though he loved him, and laid his brown

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finger lightly on the four empty corners of the cabinet,

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and Yasinth saw the squares of reddish wood ripple and

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heave and break as little clouds when the wind goes

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through the sky, and one of them thrust forth the

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little birds, and after them the lilies for a moment living.

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But even as Yasant looked, settling back into the sweet

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reddish brown wood, then the stranger smiled again, laid all

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the tools in order, and opening the door, went away

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into the woods. Yasanth crept slowly to the door. The

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winter sun, half risen, filled all the frosty air with

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splendid gold. Far down the road a figure seemed to

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move amid the glory, But the splendor was such that

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Yasanth was blinded. His breath came sharply as the glow

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beat on the wretched, shed on the old shavings on

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the cabinet, with the little birds and the lilies carved

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at the corners. He was too pure of heart to

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feel afraid. But blessed be the Lord, whispered Yasath, clasping

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his slow hands for he hath visited and redeemed his people.

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But who will believe? Then? The Son of Christ's stay

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rose gloriously, and the little sparrow came from his nest

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among the shavings, and shook his wings to the light

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end of The Worker in Sandalwood by Marjorie L. C.

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Pickthall