The Marian Martyrs of Rosica

132 The Marian Martyrs of Rosica as fast as she could. Am I a horse, to be able to catch up with a running mare? And, of course, I was also burdened by my heavy coat. A few times she actually taunted and teased me, my darling little mare. Finally, after about two kilometers, she was caught by a man who was coming from the opposite direction. The horse probably recognized that she had had enough fun for one day, because she made no more difficulties about stepping onto the ice, especially since I was leading her by the mouth on a short bridle. Father Laszewski took care of the rear part and Sister was driving. The mare could do nothing against three people who had been alerted to her mischief. This was Mr. Napoleon’s beast, and, oh, how she made a nervous wreck out of me! I stayed in Rosica until Corpus Christi. The Germans were not faring very well. One evening we were standing in front of the house when a flare went up in the sky. It flashed, glowed red, and then went out. “They’re parachuting down supplies for the Soviet partisans who just started to show up in our neighborhood,” said Fr. Czeczott. “It will be merry here.” Oh yes, it will be merry. The earth will be soaked with the blood of innocent murdered victims. It will be smoky with burning houses, turned into rubble by punitive SS companies. By Corpus Christi, Fr. Czeczott had prepared a beautiful canopy as well as a beautiful standard, embroidered by the local girls under the supervision of a Sister. For the first and last time, God in the form of the Host was taken in procession through their fields and through the streets of the village. He saw their faces, worried and fearful of the future. He saw their tears. He looked into their souls that stood open to Him. Was it then that the hidden God was moved and cried silently over the future of Jerusalem? “For the days would come to you and sur- round you with a rampart, O Jerusalem.” But Jerusalem was a God-killing city, while they are following You with love, Jesus. The tears of the God-Host must have been bitter indeed. Around that time Fr. Leszczewicz was asked to go to Dryssa to celebrate Holy Mass, and he took me along. We were return-