The Marian Martyrs of Rosica

151 Memoir The old Orthodox believers laughed about my plight. Your priest was so learned. He told you what to do not to fall sick, and now he is sick himself. In proverbial fashion, they said, “He who is destined to fall sick will get sick.” Reportedly, I was in very bad shape. Good caretakers took me in despite my ill- ness. The pastor gave me the Last Rites, but my stubborn spir- it did not yet want to depart my body and I slowly recovered. But our little brother, the young 16-year-old Jozio Mikiel, flew up to God. Death reaped a generous harvest. About 30 people died of dysentery in the parish. Of course, we were also cursed with typhus. One day they called me to visit a sick child. I arrived at the house. There was no one there, but a small girl with a fever lying on top of the stove. The parents had gone to the steam bath. “Are you sick?” I asked her. “Yes.” I lifted her off the top of the stove and wrapped her in a sheepskin. I sat next to her and heard her confession. Her lips were parched and black. Finally, the parents had returned. “What is wrong with her?” I asked them. “Typhus, Father.” In the evening, I felt something crawling up my leg. Quickly I took off my sock. It was a louse, but what a louse! It was enor- mous. It sent shivers down my spine. Someone else had passed it to me and fortunately I didn’t fall sick. Or maybe it just hadn’t had time to bite me. During this critical time, we introduced a service on the First Saturday of each month in accordance with the revelations of the Blessed Virgin Mary in Fatima. The people were coming in throngs, just like on the First Fridays, to confess and receive Holy Communion as well as to meditate on the mysteries of the rosary. They were getting closer to God, gaining spiritual force and hoarding it for the lean years which would soon come.