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Acolyte, vol 1, issue 3, whole 3, Spring 1943
Page 21
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KEEPER OF THE GATE by Henry Andrew Ackermann -oOo- I was in my house when I saw that my cousin's time had come. I took my staff and told my wife, "Sandor is finishing now. Make a little prayer here in the house. I am going to him." My wife is wise, she knows all that concerns me; I did not need to tell her more than that. Then I set out for Sandor's house, in the latter part of the afternoon when the sun is low but still hot. As I walked along, at first I merely let my thoughts run of their own accord about my cousin, this man of whom I was so fond. As an old man will, I looked at the bright pictures of our childhood within my heart. Being of the family of Zara, we were slightly apart from other children of the village. There was a distinction which drew all of us cousins together. From among us, more than from other families, would come persons of sacred gifts, to use the Natural Powers, to Show the Road, to Teach Prayer, and to Heal. Some group of brothers and sisters among us were children of the Keeper of the Gate; upon some one of us in his time, the gods would lay that burden. There are villages nowadays in which the Keeper of the Gate is known to all; he performs his task as if it were an office; he receives honor and his power is slight. Those are the villages where many men speak German, even some of the women; where they are beginning to put on shoes and become civilized. We of Brunn keep to the true way; only the burgomaster of the village and a few priests know who is the Keeper of the Gate, save for his wife and perhaps his sons. Wherefore our people do not die when they go far away, traveling, and there is no sorcery among us. When he was a boy, Sandor knew, as I learned much later, that his own father was the Keeper of the Gate in those days. It made him feel a responsibility. When he was already a big boy, he was thoughtful of us little ones. He was considerate, so that we grew up loving him, and I particularly, as we became older, was intimate with him. It is a good league from where I live to Sandor's house. I had plenty of time to remember my grief when the soldiers came and took him to carry their packs while they went to war. For two years he was with the Nazis, and he was corrupted. He tried to make himself a German. He was ashamed then to make his prayer and his offering to the cross of his fathers. Far away among the men who wear shoes, he began to feel his powers, and after their custom he studied sorcery, the evil black magic. He came back speaking German, dressed like a German--pretending to be one. He was at odds with his own people; he bore a grudge against the world. I remembered him as he was then, how sorry I felt for him, how I thought for him. As I climbed the hill to the house where death and the Black One waited for him and me, I fixed the details of his life in my heart. I was afraid, as the sun dropped low. Over and over in my heart I built my strength as I came to Sandor's house. I entered without knocking, calling a greeting as I crossed the threshold. The fire was dead; there were no offerings, no flowers of myrtle or spread of garlic around his little father cross ont he altar, and the place was already almost dark. He lay on his bed under an old blanket, his face drawn up and pale. One could see the fear sitting on his heart. "It's no use, Anton," he said. "I cannot answer any more questions. I cannot show you the road now. I am finished. Leave me alone, cousin." -- 21 --
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KEEPER OF THE GATE by Henry Andrew Ackermann -oOo- I was in my house when I saw that my cousin's time had come. I took my staff and told my wife, "Sandor is finishing now. Make a little prayer here in the house. I am going to him." My wife is wise, she knows all that concerns me; I did not need to tell her more than that. Then I set out for Sandor's house, in the latter part of the afternoon when the sun is low but still hot. As I walked along, at first I merely let my thoughts run of their own accord about my cousin, this man of whom I was so fond. As an old man will, I looked at the bright pictures of our childhood within my heart. Being of the family of Zara, we were slightly apart from other children of the village. There was a distinction which drew all of us cousins together. From among us, more than from other families, would come persons of sacred gifts, to use the Natural Powers, to Show the Road, to Teach Prayer, and to Heal. Some group of brothers and sisters among us were children of the Keeper of the Gate; upon some one of us in his time, the gods would lay that burden. There are villages nowadays in which the Keeper of the Gate is known to all; he performs his task as if it were an office; he receives honor and his power is slight. Those are the villages where many men speak German, even some of the women; where they are beginning to put on shoes and become civilized. We of Brunn keep to the true way; only the burgomaster of the village and a few priests know who is the Keeper of the Gate, save for his wife and perhaps his sons. Wherefore our people do not die when they go far away, traveling, and there is no sorcery among us. When he was a boy, Sandor knew, as I learned much later, that his own father was the Keeper of the Gate in those days. It made him feel a responsibility. When he was already a big boy, he was thoughtful of us little ones. He was considerate, so that we grew up loving him, and I particularly, as we became older, was intimate with him. It is a good league from where I live to Sandor's house. I had plenty of time to remember my grief when the soldiers came and took him to carry their packs while they went to war. For two years he was with the Nazis, and he was corrupted. He tried to make himself a German. He was ashamed then to make his prayer and his offering to the cross of his fathers. Far away among the men who wear shoes, he began to feel his powers, and after their custom he studied sorcery, the evil black magic. He came back speaking German, dressed like a German--pretending to be one. He was at odds with his own people; he bore a grudge against the world. I remembered him as he was then, how sorry I felt for him, how I thought for him. As I climbed the hill to the house where death and the Black One waited for him and me, I fixed the details of his life in my heart. I was afraid, as the sun dropped low. Over and over in my heart I built my strength as I came to Sandor's house. I entered without knocking, calling a greeting as I crossed the threshold. The fire was dead; there were no offerings, no flowers of myrtle or spread of garlic around his little father cross ont he altar, and the place was already almost dark. He lay on his bed under an old blanket, his face drawn up and pale. One could see the fear sitting on his heart. "It's no use, Anton," he said. "I cannot answer any more questions. I cannot show you the road now. I am finished. Leave me alone, cousin." -- 21 --
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