Ludmila by Paul Gallico. Part 7.
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Soon they came to a kind of glade opening out from the lower part of the glen through a rocky path. Here the land leveled for a space, a rushing brook quietened, as it meandered through this hidden meadow ringed with trees, and rich with sweet-smelling herbs and flowers, yellow blossoms with broad leaves amongst ferns, lichens, and algae, arenarias and saxifrages growing amidst dark grasses.
The little Weakling commenced to feed contentedly, shaded by a gigantic oak tree that spread its branches in huge circumference and beneath which, amidst a scattering of sweet acorns, the flowering herbs and weeds grew in thick profusion.
Comforted by the sound of the bell about the neck of the Weakling and her eager munching, Ludmila explored the boundaries of what was obviously a magie circle on enchanted ground; watching the long blue shadows of the trout as they sunned themselves in the brook, discovering a gray badger with shining eyes working at the mouth of his hole, startling a young deer, coming upon a whole family of little hamsters feeding on acorns and noting hundreds of tiny green-breasted finches and blue-headed tits flitting through the branches of the trees and peering out from behind the leaves.
And in this manner, with the Weakling feeding placidly, and the child, herself turned into the very kind of woodland and mountain elf she sought, playing in and about the beautiful glen and all its wild things, time passed. The shadows grew longer, the air cooler, and the sun began to dip toward the jagged rim of the mountain peaks visible through the trunks of the tall pines, and her instincts told Ludmila that it was time to return home.
But the day had been long, exciting, and strenuous, and she was both hungry and thirsty. And since she was a herdsman’s daughter, Ludmila knew both where and how to provide herself with food and went directly to the source. She secured the Weakling’s trailing halter and led her to a sapling where she made her fast. Then seating herself at the hind quarters she took one of the soft teats, directed it at her mouth, closed her eyes, and began to milk.
At the touch of the little hands, so different from the rough, strong, horny palms of the herdsmen, it seemed as though a shudder ran through the Weakling. For the first moment as the child tugged, first at one then at another, there was no response. Not even the thin bluish trickle rewarded her efforts. But again, the shudder shook the animal and she stood there, her feet spread apart, trembling as though in the grip of a mountain chill. All her pent-up anguish seemed to find expression in the single cry, half a moo and half a moan that came from her throat and echoed from the pillars that represented the frozen friars of the Bettlerjoch above and went sighing off into the peaks. And then her milk began to flow.
A few drops at first, then a trickle, then a stream, and soon, a warm, rich, fragrant jet shot into the mouth of Ludmila, causing her to gurgle and laugh with surprise, pleasure, and satisfaction, a sound which surely to the Weakling must have been the most beautiful she had ever heard. At last, she was giving, as God had intended her to do.
The child drank until she could hold no more, and thereafter led the Weakling to the stream to let her refresh herself, and then taking her in tow, set off through the rocky path that led from the enchanted meadow, through the glen and up the ravine on the homeward path. And for the first time since she had matured, the Weakling, her heart filled with joy, felt the ache of plenitude in her udders and the need to be further relieved of the gift she carried there.
That night, when the herdsmen, accompanying their proud, sleek cattle, returned from the high pasturage by the Sareiser joch, to the huts and stables just below the slopes of Malbun and the milkers took to their metal pails and one-legged milking stools, the miracle of Saint Ludmila, the holy milkmaid Notburga, began.
The Weakling was already standing in her stall, emitting low moos, of pleasurable pain, when from force of habit the milker arrived at her side, set stool and pail, seized the nearest teat and squeezed perfunctorily, for he was weary from serving the heavy yielders and was grateful that the day was drawing to a close.
But the first sound of the powerful stream of milk landing with a clang at the bottom of the pail awoke him and caused him to cry out in amazement, as by the light of the lantern that hung from the roof of the milking shed he saw the distended skin of the swollen udders bearing such a burden as he had never encountered before in this unfortunate little animal.
He remembered the poor quality of her yield and still by habit, milked on, but when the pail was half full, his cry arose over the stamping of the hoofs in the shed, the switching of tails, and the rush of the milk —”Hola, Alois! Hola there, send for Alois. The chief herdsman is to come here at once to see what has happened.”
Alois came and stared likewise, for now the pail was three-quarters filled with creamy liquid topped by foaming bubbles of fatty froth, as rich as any that ever came from the big Swiss champions in the herd.
The pail was filled to overflowing, another was placed beside her, once again the powerful jet of milk clanged against the empty sides, the liquid, warm and pungent, began to foam as it climbed up the pail. The other milkers and herders crowded into the shed as word spread of the astonishing thing that was happening to the little Weakling, and a moment later there was a movement in the throng and the huge bulk of Father Polda bent over to pass through the door.
He glanced at the full milk pail, the second filling beneath the fingers of the milker, the color of the fluid and the oily quality of the froth that topped it, and crossed himself.
“Holy Saint Ludmila, Holy Notburga!” he cried. “It is a miracle!” for he wished it so.
Alois grunted as was his custom when he was about to become hardheaded and did not wish to admit something, especially to the priest. “Some of these sickly ones come into milk late sometimes. We will see. The milk may be sour, or deficient. Wait until it has been separated.”