The Soldier Who Searched for Death

Once upon a time a young man named Anthony was working in the turnip patch of his mother’s little farm when an officer of the Czar rode by. From his horse, the officer spoke to the strong, young man.

“You, peasant boy, congratulations!” hailed the officer. “You are now a soldier in the Czar’s army! Come with me!”

Anthony was grief stricken as he said good-bye to his mother. He packed his coat and a loaf of bread, and off he went, following the officer down the road. By the end of the day, the officer had recruited 24 new soldiers in service of the Czar.

Anthony learned to enjoy soldiering. He was based on the frontier, where he and his comrades protected the peasants from bandits who crossed into Russia from Romania. Anthony was well loved by his fellow soldiers and by the peasants whom he protected. He could not think of a better life for a Russian than to be loyal to the Czar.

Twenty years passed, and one day while Anthony was sitting idle in the barracks, an officer approached him. “Congratulations, soldier, you have served the Czar faithfully for twenty years! You are free to go home! As a sign of appreciation for your service, the army would like to give you three pieces of bread to help you on your return. God bless you!” With that blessing, the officer gave Anthony three round pieces of flat bread.

Excited to see his mother again, Anthony packed the bread, slung his rifle over his shoulder, and marched out of the barracks toward home. He knew that he had a ten-day journey ahead of him, and he knew that three pieces of flat bread would not be enough food, but Anthony smelled the fresh autumn air and declared, “I am a Russian soldier! I can handle any challenge that comes my way!”

After a day of walking Anthony found a tall tree by the road and sat down beneath it. He took out the first piece of flat bread and held it to the heavens. “Thank you, God, for the bread,” he prayed. When he was about to bite into the bread he noticed an old man limping down the road. The man walked with a cane and his coat was weather worn and patched. He had a look of pain on his face.

“Grandpa!” Anthony called. “Are you okay? You look like you are in pain.”

“Do you have any bread to spare?” asked the old man with a raspy voice.

“Why yes, I do!” answered Anthony. He held the round bread up and snapped it into two equal pieces. “Here you are, grandpa! Blessings to you!”

“And many blessings to you, soldier,” the old man returned, before continuing on his way down the road.

The next morning Anthony woke up chilled to the bone, but he got up, thanked God for the day, and started off down the road. He felt very hungry.

“I have nine more days to walk and I only have two pieces of bread,” Anthony reflected, “but I am a Russian soldier, and I can handle any challenge that comes my way!”  

At the end of the second day, Anthony found another tall tree, and sat down beneath it. He took out his second piece of bread, held it to the heavens, and thanked God for the food. Just as he was about to eat, he noticed another old man limping his way down the road. The man had a look of pain on his face.

“Grandpa!” Anthony called. “Are you okay?”

“Do you have any bread to share?” the old man asked. “I have not eaten in two days.”

Once again Anthony held up the piece of round flat bread, broke it into two equal parts, and gave half to the old man. They exchanged blessings and Anthony returned to his tree, satisfied that he had been able to help.

The next morning Anthony woke up with frost on his legs. He limbered up, thanked God for the day, and continued down the road with hunger gnawing his stomach. “I am not worried,” Anthony declared to the heavens. “I am a Russian soldier! I can handle any challenge.”

At the end of the third day Anthony once again found a tall tree by the road. He sat down, took out his last piece of bread, thanked God, and was about to eat when again he saw an old man limping slowly down the road.

“Grandpa! Anthony called. “Are you okay? You look like you are in great pain!”

The old man shook and grimaced as he called back, “I have not eaten in three days! Do you have any bread to spare?”

Once again Anthony divided his bread equally with the man. After exchanging blessings, Anthony ate his bread and fell asleep beneath the tree.

The next morning frost covered Anthony’s entire body, but he limbered up, thanked God for the day, and continued walking. “I have no bread,” Anthony reflected. “But I am not worried, for I am a Russian soldier, and I can handle any challenge that faces me!”

That afternoon Anthony passed a pond. On the pond were two geese. Anthony was very excited, for he had two bullets in his pocket. He loaded his gun, aimed, and fired, killing the first goose. Even as the second goose began to take flight, Anthony reloaded and fired, killing that goose as well. He waded into the pond, retrieved the geese, and scanned the horizon. He saw that there was a farm house in the distance, and decided to bring his geese there.

At the farm house Anthony knocked on the weather-worn door. “Who is there?” called an old voice.

“I am a Russian soldier who has faithfully served the Czar for twenty years!”

“Any soldier who has served the Czar is most welcome here!” called the voice. The door was opened, and there stood an old man and an old woman.

“I would like to give you a gift of a goose,” Anthony began, “but I was hoping you could prepare the second goose for me, and perhaps give me lodging for the night.”

The old couple were elated with the gift of a goose, and they welcomed Anthony with open arms. That evening they feasted, and then Anthony fell asleep on the bench by the stove. The next morning, feeling quite content, Anthony stretched, and through a small window saw a sprawling estate on the horizon. “That is quite a mansion that overlooks the fields!” Anthony exclaimed. “It is like a castle! Who lives there?”

The old couple shuddered. “No one lives there,” said the old man. “There is a band of demons who live there, so the landowner has been forced to move to town.”

“Why doesn’t he just get rid of the demons?” Anthony asked incredulously.

“Many have tried,” said the old woman. “Everyone who has tried has been eaten alive by those demons.”

“I am a Russian soldier,” Anthony declared, “I will get rid of those demons.”

The old couple paled and warned him not to try, but Anthony was not frightened by demons; he went to the nearby town in order to meet the landowner who owned the haunted estate.

When they met, the landowner immediately warned Anthony to stay away from the mansion. “Too many men have been killed already,” he finished.

“I am a Russian soldier, and I can do anything!” Anthony declared. “All I need from you is a turnip and a small sack of almonds.”

Although greatly confused, the landowner got these things for Anthony and blessed him.

That afternoon Anthony walked out to the estate. It was very quiet and still in the yard. He approached the large double doors of the mansion and opened them slowly. He walked through the house, his footsteps echoing in the empty rooms, until he reached the ballroom. Here he sat down near the fireplace and lit his pipe.

The light in the ballroom grew dim as the sun began to slip away over the western hills, and as the blues and purples of night entered the room, Anthony heard hundreds of clacking and bounding footsteps through the ceiling above him. Some of the footsteps were light, and scattered quickly across the upstairs floor, while other footsteps were heavy, causing the house to shake. Screams and yells, with shrieks of laughter began to be heard, and then the footsteps found the staircase and thundered down to the main hall, outside the ballroom. Anthony stood up and leaned on the mantle, refilling his pipe as he did so.

The ballroom door rattled for a moment. “Flesh! Human flesh!” voices shrieked ecstatically. The doors to the ballroom burst open, and in flooded the band of demons, followed by the king of the demons, a seven-foot-tall beast bulging with muscles, with horns on his head and long, sharp claws on his hands and feet. The demon was salivating, and his fanged mouth and yellow eyes grinned with evil delight when he saw the Russian soldier standing by the fire place.

“We will eat well tonight, boys!” thundered the king of the demons.

“I am not afraid of you,” declared the Russian soldier with a steady voice, “for I am stronger than you!”

The band of demons howled with laughter over the soldier’s claim, and the king of the demons stepped closer. He could have killed Anthony with one swipe of his arm, but he was now intrigued by the soldier, who continued to stand at ease beside the fireplace, enjoying his pipe.

“No mortal is stronger than me!” the king of the demons bellowed.

“Why don’t we have a contest of strength?” asked the soldier. “Or are you too scared?”

The king of the demons laughed again, but his dull-witted mind was now racing to catch up to his foe’s intentions even as he asked, “And what shall we wager?”

“Well, clearly my soul is at stake. But what can you offer me?” asked the soldier.

The king of the demons thought for a moment. His yellow eyes lit up. “This sack,” he said, pulling a white bag from his belt. “It is a magic sack. If you see something you desire, then simply wish it to be in the sack, and there it shall appear.”

“We have a bet,” the soldier stated with satisfaction. Then, before the king of the demons could dictate terms of the contest, the soldier continued. “I can squeeze water from a stone! Can you?” With that, the soldier pulled out the turnip and began to squeeze it with all his might. In the dim, blue light of the ballroom the demons gathered around the soldier, watching his attempt to squeeze water from a stone. For a minute or so the soldier squeezed and the demons laughed, but suddenly, to everyone’s surprise, a drop of water emerged from the soldier’s stone, and the drop fell to the floor.

The demons sucked in their breath, greatly impressed. “Bring me a stone!” bellowed the king of the demons. The smaller demons flew out of the ballroom and soon returned with a nice sized stone that would fit in the palm of the giant demon’s hand. The large, growling demon began to squeeze the stone, but the stone would not yield to his strength, and suddenly there was a snapping sound and the demon cried with rage, for he had broken his own hand.

Before the demon could gather his wits, the soldier pulled out the bag of almonds. “I can also chew gravel!” he declared, and quickly threw the almonds into his mouth, crunching them loudly. Once again, the demons could not help but be impressed.

“Bring me gravel from the yard!” the king of the demons bellowed, and again the smaller demons scurried out of the room and soon returned with a small pile of gravel. The king of the demons took the gravel and threw it into his mouth, but the moment he began to chew the gravel his sharp teeth began to break. As the demon screamed in pain, now intending to kill the soldier with one swipe of his taloned hand, the soldier quickly leapt past the stunned demons and grabbed the magic sack from the demon’s belt.

“I wish for all the demons to be inside this sack!” yelled the Russian soldier in triumph.

Swoosh! All the demons ended up inside the magic sack, squirming like a sack of toads.

The soldier laughed as he tied up the sack. Then he lay down on a couch and fell asleep.

The next morning the soldier returned to town with the magic bag slung over his shoulder, the sack still squirming with the frantic demons.

The soldier went to the blacksmith, a tall, strong man with arms like steel pipes. “Hey smithy! I am a Russian soldier who has served the Czar faithfully for twenty years. I need a favor from you. I want you to grab your heavy sledge hammer there, and I want you to take some mighty swings at this sack!”

The blacksmith was happy to help a Russian soldier who had served the Czar faithfully, and he put the sack on his anvil and began to hammer away at the sack. The demons screamed in horror, and begged to be released from the magic bag. “Do you promise to flee from this land and never return?” asked the soldier. “We promise!” cried the demons.

The Russian soldier opened the bag and released the demons, and they flew past the forest and over the hills, never to return.

After receiving a generous reward from the estate owner, the Russian soldier continued on his way. The walking was tiring now, and one day on his travels, he saw a beautiful horse. He wished for the horse to be in his magic bag; he saw a saddle, nice clothes, and some gold in a shop front. He wished to have all these things, and soon he was traveling in style on a beautiful horse, staying at all the fancy inns along the way.

The Russian soldier’s homecoming was a wondrous affair. Thanks to the magic sack and the gold he could acquire with it, soon he and his mother were wealthy, with a large, sprawling farm. They became the most important people in their district, and they hosted many fine parties in their new and wonderful house.

The years passed. The Russian soldier was growing old, and one day his dear old mother died. He bought the finest coffin, and there was a funeral mass in the town church, attended by people far and wide, for the soldier and his mother had touched many lives.

As the soldier continued to grow older his life began to quiet. One morning he woke up and he could hardly breathe. When he opened his eyes he saw that death was sitting on his chest. Death had a skull for a face, and it was wearing flowing black robes.

“It is time to return home, soldier,” whispered death, beckoning with a long, bony finger.

In this moment the Russian soldier panicked. He took the magic bag from his bedside and called out with his last breath, “I wish for death to be in this sack!” Death let out a scream of protest but it was too late. Death was in the bag.

“You can’t do this!” screamed death. “I mustn’t be contained! I belong in this world!”

The soldier laughed with relief, and took the magic sack to the horse barn, where he hung it up on a peg usually kept for the spade. When death continued to protest, the soldier swatted the bag with a rake until death quieted.

Three days passed, and the Russian soldier decided to go into town. He went to the horse barn, ignored the protesting pleas from death, who continued to be a prisoner in the magic bag, and saddled his favorite horse.

As he entered into town he met a decrepit old man standing on a street corner. He was hollering loudly, calling for death, and people scurried past him, covering their ears.

“Grandpa!” called the Russian soldier. “What are you hollering for? And why are you calling for death?”

“I was supposed to die three days ago,” the old man moaned. “I was ready to enter into Paradise when suddenly this life snatched me back! I felt death holding me, and then he released me! Why? I am ready to meet my Redeemer!”

The Russian soldier realized with horror that he had upset the natural order. He turned on his horse and galloped back to the farm.

Inside the barn he grabbed the magic bag. “I realize now that I must release you,” the soldier began, “but you better leave me alone, or back into this sack you will go!”

“Release me! Release me!” called out death.

The soldier opened the bag and death flew away in a flash, his shadow flying over the ground for a moment before disappearing in the bright sunlight.

Seven more years passed. The Russian soldier began to feel lonely. All of his friends had died, and now he felt like a visitor in his own town. Worse still, everyone in town knew how old he was, and they would stare at him oddly when he passed them. In his loneliness, the soldier began to desire death’s return.

One morning he went to the horse barn as usual to tend to his horses, who he loved dearly. As he approached the stall of his favorite horse with a bag of oats, a shadow passed before him, and when he glanced over his shoulder, he saw that death was standing in the open barn door.

“It is time, soldier,” death said tersely. “You have been here too long already.”

The Russian soldier turned and smiled, for he was ready now to die. When death saw the Russian soldier turn and smile, he also saw that the soldier was holding a sack. Mistaking the sack of oats for the magic sack, death screamed in terror, “Oh no you don’t!” and flew away like a lightening bolt. 

“Wait!” cried out the old soldier, but it was too late. Death had flown far away from him.

The old Russian soldier waited quietly on his farm for a few more days, and then, feeling quite despondent, put on his boots and coat, grabbed his walking stick, and left his farm in search of death.

He walked to the gold mines deep beneath the Urals in search of death, but could not find him in the darkest and loneliest mineshafts. He went to the hospitals where plague claimed the young and old, but he could not find death there either. Then the old Russian soldier went to the wars on the frontier, and he could not find death their either. The old Russian soldier wandered through Europe for a hundred years, searching in vain for death. Eventually he found passage on a tall masted sailing ship, hoping to find death in the stormy ocean, and arrived in the new world, and there he journeyed and searched for death. The old Russian soldier is still wandering the earth in search of death. So if you see an old man, wearing rags, and walking with well-worn boots and walking stick, with a long grey beard that reaches his belt, he may well be the old Russian soldier, still looking for death.

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