
An unnamed narrator, traveling on business at the end of March over poor, thawing roads, overtakes an old man pushing a sleigh loaded with two barrels of tar, pulled by an emaciated horse. The man, ragged, barefoot in wet shoes, and gaunt-faced, explains he is rushing to the city because the parson has threatened him with execution for debt over unpaid interest, having called him a thief when he begged for more time. Despite his own suffering, the old man defends the parson's right to collect, reasoning that the parson bears great responsibility for souls and must be given what is owed. He identifies himself as Svältbacka Matti, whose hut sits between swamp and marsh on land no one else would want, worked by his father before him; he cannot leave it because no one would buy it. The tar he hauls is this year's, produced to pay off the debt. At a rest-house the two stop to feed their horses; the narrator finds Matti eating only black bread and salt, and invites him to share his own food, which Matti hesitantly accepts. The two then part ways, the narrator unable to stop thinking of Matti's poverty and dignity. Days later, the narrator reaches the village and church belonging to Matti's parish and calls on the pastor, a well-fed, richly housed man who is quarreling with his clerk, accusing him of concealing parishioners' cattle counts to shield them from paying what they owe. The clerk retorts that he will not report cows that don't exist and that the pastor has overstepped; the pastor dismisses him as an ignorant, insolent clown. The pastor complains generally that peasants show no gratitude to their benefactors, implying himself as chief among them. The narrator finishes his business and leaves, still comparing Matti's life to the pastor's. Traveling on with a hired young guide, the narrator passes a farm called Svältbacka where an auction — an execution for debt to the pastor — is underway. Only a couple of lean cows, some half-naked hungry children, and Matti's exhausted, tearless wife remain. She confirms Matti went to the city and has not returned; the cows, worth little, were sold for less than enough to cover the debt and auction costs. The guide, indifferent, calls the pastor a fine preacher but so miserly he "steals the very ashes from the hearths." At journey's end, the narrator lodges several days, then returns on a Sunday to find a funeral procession at the church: it is Matti, who died of illness contracted while pushing on toward the city, ill-clothed, wet, and underfed. The pastor, still quarreling with the clerk about parishioners "stealing" from him, conducts the burial with theatrical solemnity, casting earth on the coffin and intoning "Dust thou art, and to dust thou shalt return." The narrator seeks out Matti's widow among the mourners — white-faced, tearless, surrounded by shivering half-naked children fixed on the coffin. After the service the pastor announces the death of "the farmer Matti Antinporka of Svältbacka," aged forty-two years, three months and eight days, and recites verses on how wealth and gold are trash that both rich and poor must relinquish to care and sorrow. He delivers this with apparent eloquence and feeling, seeming to his congregation to scorn riches and to suffer alongside the poor. As the narrator listens, he hears again, in memory, Matti's own uncomprehending, deferential words: that he is too ignorant to understand such things, and that the pastor knows better than he does.
By Pietari Päivärinta · First published 1921 · Genre: Social Critique, Realism, Tragedy · 5,535 words
It was the last of March. The weather was fair and here and there one / could see signs of approaching Spring. Birds were beginning to twitter / in the branches. Sleighing, if not completely broken up, was bad; the / roads were rough and muddy, and in several places the bare ground / showed through. Brooks and rivers were filled with floating snow and / ice and dirt, and only the sharp freezing at night kept them from / overflowing their banks. In favored places many a little brook had / burst through to freedom and was joyfully leaping down the declivities, / and rushing noisily away to the breast of its mother -- the ancient sea.
My Traveling Companion is listed on Textopian as a short story by Pietari Päivärinta, dated 1921 CE.
This source record anchors work identity, reading entry points, and catalog context for checking claims about the work.
travel · journey · adventure · memoir · personal-narrative · self-discovery · reflection · companionship · friendship · exploration · cultural-immersion · wanderlust