Chapter VIII

Yet even by this deadly winter the germ of hope was
not to be kept from sprouting in their hearts. It was just
at this time that the great adventure befell Marija.

The victim was Tamoszius Kuszleika, who played the
violin. Everybody laughed at them, for Tamoszius was
petite and frail, and Marija could have picked him up and
carried him off under one arm. But perhaps that was
why she fascinated him; the sheer volume of Marija's
energy was overwhelming. That first night at the wed~
ding Tamoszius had hardly taken his eyes off her; and
later on, when he came to find that she had really the
heart of a baby, her voice and her violence ceased to ter~
rify him, and he got the habit of coming to pay her visits
on Sunday afternoons. There was no place to entertain
company except in the kitchen, in the midst of the family,
and Tamoszius would sit there with his hat between his
knees, never saying more than half a dozen words at a
time, and turning red in the face before he managed to
say those; until finally Jurgis would clap him upon the
back, in his hearty way, crying, "Come now, brother, give
us a tune." And then Tamoszius's face would light up
and he would get out his fiddle, tuck it under his chin, and
play. And forthwith the soul of him would flame up and
become eloquent -- it was almost an impropriety, for all the
while his gaze would be fixed upon Marija's face until she
would begin to turn red and lower her eyes. There was no
resisting the music of Tamoszius, however; even the chil~
dren would sit awed and wondering, and the tears would
run down Teta Elzbieta's cheeks. A wonderful privilege
it was to be thus admitted into the soul of a man of genius,

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