Magic at Midnight

by Lyssa Chiavari

  “By laughing, by smiling, by singing, by”—his voice faltered as the emotions again broke through—“by just existing.”

  I watched as he squeezed his eyes shut and vainly fought the tears. After several seconds, he took deep breaths and tried to compose himself. There are few things as uncomfortable as watching a grown man cry.

  Feeling quite awkward, I offered, “If you would like, we can take a break.”

  “No,” he said, struggling to keep his composure. “If this has to be done, then let’s do it now.”

  I wasn’t so sure that was a good idea. I still had some very difficult questions, and my next question was bound to be one of the most difficult.

  With great hesitation, I finally asked, “How old was your daughter when she became sick?”

  v.

  At my question about his daughter’s illness, the prisoner did not answer right away. His eyes were downcast and I could see his jaw clench and unclench, as if he were chewing on his response. After several seconds, he finally got out, “Twelve.”

  Softening my voice, as if that would help take the sting out of it, I asked, “Was it the same illness that took your wife?”

  A slow nod was all he gave as an answer.

  I tried to sympathize and said, “To see your child sick, after losing your wife, that must have been quite vexing.”

  The Piper looked up at me and had an expression of pure disbelief. “Quite vexing?” His expression evolved into one of anger. Breathing heavily, he spat out, “It was the end of the world! It was the fading of anything good in life!”

  As he stared at me, I understood that, despite my intentions, I had grossly understated his situation. Quickly, and sincerely, I said, “My apologies. I did not mean to make light of such an awful circumstance.”

  His glare slowly faded and, in a softer voice, he said, “After my wife died, I saw Abigail as a kind of gift. An offering of forgiveness for the loss of my true love. There was no solace outside of the joy of my daughter. When she fell ill and it looked like I was going to lose her…I couldn’t fathom the unendurable pain of my future.”

  His demeanor, as much as his words, told the level of his torment. Despite his awful crime, I could not help but feel some pain for him. “What did you do?”

  “I tried all the remedies I knew—herbs, salves, teas—but they had no effect, just like before. I grew desperate and decided to try the one thing I hadn’t done with my wife.”

  That puzzled me. “Which was?”

  “Curse my solitude and try and retrieve a healer from town.”

  “Wait,” I said in surprise, realizing something that I had missed earlier. “You didn’t bring a healer, a doctor, to see your wife when she was ill?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Why not?” I cried, exasperated at the revelation.

  “It’s not my family’s way. We keep to ourselves; we are self-sufficient. On the very rare occasion when a healer was called, we had dubious results. Besides, going to town would mean leaving her alone for much of the day and I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

  I couldn’t believe it. “Your wife might have been saved!”

  “No,” he said, adamantly.

  “You know this for a fact?”

  “I do.”

  His simple answers were beginning to irritate me. “How do you know this?”

  “Because of my daughter,” he answered firmly.

  I did not understand what he meant by that answer, but I could see that he was completely assured in the correctness of his conclusions. I was not. How could he have not contacted a doctor for his wife?

  Forcing myself to calm down, I decided to try and put the issue to the side and allow for the account about his daughter’s illness to continue. After taking another deep breath, I said, “All right, so you went to get a healer for Abigail. Did you bring her with you?”

  “No. Abigail was far too weak to travel. I can’t express how painful it was to leave her alone, but I saw no other way. I traveled to town as quickly as I could. Every step away from her was crushing, but I felt I had to try.”

  “What then?”

  “I reached the town gates and asked everyone I came across for the healer. People looked at me as if I were deranged, but, finally, an older man led me to the mayor’s office.”

  That was an odd place to go. “The mayor’s office? Why there?”

  “Because the healer, the mayor, and other men of so-called importance, were in a meeting. Being far too upset to be very considerate, I thanked the old man and burst into the mayor’s chambers unannounced.”

  “I imagine that they were quite shocked.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t care. I looked around the room and told them that I needed a healer because my daughter was deathly ill. An older gentleman to my right identified himself as the doctor and asked about my Abigail’s symptoms. I told him everything; I was nearly in tears having to recount her illness.”

  It felt like we were finally getting to the heart of the account. I leaned forward and asked, “What happened next?”

  “The doctor said that it was a grave situation and that he would like to confer with the gathered council. Then they sent me outside while they discussed the situation. I did as asked, but was confounded as to why anything but action was required. I paced anxiously, feeling horrible at the thought of my daughter being all alone at home, dying. My patience wore thin quickly and I was about to reenter the chamber when the door opened and they invited me back in.”

  The Piper was growing more animated as he told his tale. Under much different circumstances, it could have been considered humorous to see him trying to gesture while his hands were confined by the shackles.

  He continued, “When I entered the chamber, all the men looked very somber. The mayor spoke for the group, saying, ‘Our doctor has explained the seriousness of your daughter’s illness. You were right to see the situation as dire. However, we may have a way to help.’

  “At hearing that, my heart leapt within me. His words gave me hope where I previously had none. I quickly asked what needed to be done. ‘Let us not waste an instant!’ I declared in my exuberance.

  “‘There’s one problem,’ the mayor responded. ‘The treatment needed to help your daughter is very expensive. A thousand guilders.’”

  When the prisoner said the amount, I had to repeat it in my head to make sure I’d heard him correctly. There was no mistake, and I couldn’t help but exclaim, “A thousand guilders! That’s an enormous sum!”

  The Piper nodded and said, “It was vastly beyond my means—beyond most anyone’s means—and my hope started to fade. I’m not a rich man. I never really had much use for money. Happiness was my one and only goal in life, and I had that in my daughter. I told them that I’d give all I had, which was a fraction of the amount, and would be willing to do anything to make up the rest.”

  I wasn’t hopeful, but asked, “How did they respond?”

  “At first, they all looked despondent and I was certain that I’d be turned away. But one of them recognized me and asked if what he had heard about my pipe was true—that it could attract animals. I responded that it was, confused as to why that mattered in the least. The men then whispered amongst themselves until finally the mayor looked up and told me he had a proposition. ‘We are in a bad situation,’ he said. ‘This situation was, in fact, the purpose of the meeting that you interrupted. Rats have occupied every corner of our town, eating our food stores, ruining fields, spreading illness, even attacking people. Do you think, with your remarkable pipe, that you could lure them away and rid the town of these infernal pests? If so, we would consider that as full payment for the treatment that your daughter needs.’

  “I took a moment to consider what was being offered and if I could do it. Although I’d never attempted anything like it, I was certain that it was possible—I would make it possible, even if I had to catch every rat by hand. So I told them that I would agree with the terms pro
vided.”

  Nodding, I commented, “You had something they needed and they had something you needed—a classic barter.”

  The prisoner shook his head slowly. “If only that were true. Once the agreement was struck, I begged them to start assisting my daughter, but the mayor said that they could not possibly expend so great a sum on the faith that I would hold up my end of the bargain. I was insulted at the implication, but they would not budge. Being that my pipe was not with me, I told them that I would come back the next day to accomplish my task.

  “I returned home and rushed to tell Abigail all that had happened. She looked so very weak, but she managed to say that she was happy. I tried to hide my tears from her, but I was happy too. We had hope! I asked if she had missed me, but she had slept so much that she hadn’t even realized that I was gone for the day. It was torture to see her like that, but it was slightly easier to endure now that we had a glimmer of light given to us.”

  I would never claim to completely understand his emotions, but no one could miss the clear feelings of relief expressed in his words and expressions. I knew, of course, that things did not work out as the conversation was leading. I asked, “And the next day?”

  “I returned to accomplish my task.”

  vi.

  “I awoke early,” said the Piper, “attended to Abigail as best I could, and then left for town. I still hated leaving her alone, but I had no choice. As I walked along the forest path, I practiced playing my pipe; working on the best song that I thought would attract the rats of Hamelin. I also had to think of how to collect all the rats in the entire town, and, when successful, what to do with them. By the time I reached the gates, I was confident in the tune I had selected, but no more than hopeful in the method I decided upon.”

  Although I tried to hide it, I was quite interested in the story that was being told. Never had I heard an account as uniquely fascinating. “How did you do it?”

  “In the end, it was simple. Starting at the east gate, I walked up and down each street, north and south, while slowly going westward across the city.”

  I was almost afraid to ask, “And the rats?”

  A look of disgust crossed his face. “Innumerable. When I reached the north end of the first street, I turned around to see what, if anything, I’d accomplished. What I saw, for at least thirty yards, was nothing but rats. Now facing them, I could hear their horrid squeaks and squeals over my music. They writhed over one another, a living mass of dirty animals. I was so surprised and disturbed that I faltered in my tune for an instant. The rats immediately started to disperse, some heading toward me with wild eyes. Regaining my composure, I quickly began the tune anew and the horrid creatures once again fell under the effects of the music.”

  “That was only after one street?” I exclaimed. “No wonder the town was willing to pay so much!”

  At that comment, the prisoner gave me another cold stare. There was clearly something he knew that I did not. Without saying why he was so insulted by my statement, he went on with his story.

  “As I continued through the streets, I didn’t turn around again until the end. However, I was certain that I still had my trail of gruesome followers, for I could hear exclamations and screams from the townsfolk.”

  I tried to imagine the scene—hearing some music and sounds of animal noises, looking through my window or stepping outside to understand what was happening and to see a mass of rats following a man down the street. The confusion and fright would have been extreme.

  “When I reached the west gate, having completed my tour of the city, I finally looked back once more. I didn’t falter in my music, but I could hardly believe what I saw. Rats covering the street as far as the eye could see. The constant scurrying made it seem like the town was flooded, not with water, but with disgusting, disease-ridden vermin. Despite the awful sight, I felt a sense of happiness, or perhaps relief, since I was accomplishing the task that would attain Abigail’s treatment.”

  What he had claimed to accomplish was incredible, but it hadn’t yet fulfilled the bargain. “Now that you had all the rats from town, what did you do with them?”

  “I continued west out of the gate toward the river Weser. At its shore, I waded in while continuing to play. The rats followed. I continued forward until just my mouth was above the water and I could continue to play. The current pulled at me, but I managed to not move too much. The rats, however, were out of their depth. The water boiled with their thrashing as they tried to swim, tried to stay with the music. Eventually, they drowned and washed down the river. Even though I have no affection for such vile creatures, it was a most unpleasant sight.”

  Again, I tried to picture it, but quickly stopped as it was too horrible. “This took care of all of them?”

  “All but one that I saw scurry off along the banks. But I like to think that he joined up with other rats somewhere in the countryside and warned them to stay away from Hamelin.”

  Despite the seriousness of our conversation, I could not help but give a small laugh at that. “I have to imagine that once the task was done, you rushed back to town to collect your payment.”

  He nodded. “I did. As I reached the gates, many people had gathered and, since they then understood what was happening, were cheering me. But I ignored them. What could I care about accolades when my daughter was dying? I found the mayor easily—he was among the people gathered, and he approached to shake my hand. Then, at my insistence, he invited me back to his chambers to discuss payment.

  “When we reached his chambers, all the councilmen from the previous day were with us. The only person absent, conspicuously, was the healer. I assumed, or at least hoped, that he was off making preparations to help Abigail.

  “The mayor, and the others, lauded my accomplishment once again, but I continued to insist that we focus on the treatment. That’s when the truth came out.”

  His expression became dark, although I still didn’t know what was exactly behind it. “What do you mean, ‘the truth came out’?” I asked.

  With slow, heavy words, the Piper explained, “At first, the mayor stated that my task was far easier for me than they anticipated and that they could not possibly give me my full wages. Instead, they offered me fifty guilders.”

  “What?” I exclaimed. If what the prisoner was saying was true, it hadn’t been presented in any of the accounts I had heard.

  He nodded. “Fifty guilders. I protested and argued that we’d had an agreement and that the difficulty of the task was not part of it. Then I told them that the money was not important, but the treatment was. At that, the men looked from one to another and the mayor finally admitted that there was no treatment. It was a ruse, a lie, in order to get me to use my pipe to help the town. They’d seen my anguish only as an opportunity.”

  I leaned back in my chair in disbelief. If true, the cruelty was unfathomable—unbelievable! And yet, the sincerity of the man before me led me to believe his words. Filled with indignation, I asked, “Can you prove this?”

  He shook his head. “Only if my word is believed. But I’m quite certain that the mayor and his associates will not substantiate my claims.”

  “That’s outrageous!” I declared, my anger growing.

  “It is,” the prisoner replied calmly. “But there is nothing to be done. Besides, at this point, I think I’ve done enough.”

  That comment reminded me of why I was there and why the man known as the Pied Piper was in prison awaiting a trial for his very life. A surprising sadness at the situation started to eat at my conscience. A trickle of remorse for the man in front of me that I was certain would be put to death. His account did not, could not, justify what he’d done, but it made his monstrous act almost understandable.

  Knowing that he was right, in not being able to prove his claim and in knowing his alleged actions since then would make it all moot anyway, I pushed forward with his account. “What happened next?”

  “I left. I went home. I spent every remainin
g moment that I could with Abigail. And then, a few weeks later…” His voice stopped, his face converting to the picture of sadness.

  I knew what he was going to say. “You don’t have to continue.”

  “No!” he said sharply. “You’re here to understand me, to understand why I acted as I did. Then you must hear me say this part—more than any other. A few weeks later”—he again paused, took several breaths, then—“I buried my precious daughter next to my wife.”

  vii.

  I asked the prisoner again if he wanted a break. The truth, however, was that I wanted one. His account was overwhelming and I was completely unprepared for it. Shock, anger, sadness. My emotions had never been so thrashed about as they had during our brief time together.

  But no reprieve was to be given. The prisoner answered, “I would rather not break. We’re nearing the end. Let’s finish it.”

  I thought of insisting, but instead gave in to his wishes. As hard as it was on me, I was certain it was immeasurably harder on him. “All right, then, what happened next?”

  “Day and night, for two days, I lay across the graves of my family. I had no desire to eat, to drink, for almost anything but to despair. I was ready, eager, to die.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “Not yet. My great sadness was rivaled only by my anger. To die at that moment, as sweet as it sounded, would allow the mayor, the town, to be free of any repercussions for their actions. They stole from me a day that I could have spent with my daughter. But worse, they gave us hope. It was fleeting and absolutely false, but it was still cruelly given. My sense of justice demanded action. I began to want only one thing before I died. I wanted them to feel my sorrow.”

  My blood felt chilled at his words. They were so cruel, so full of malice, that I was again frightened of him. Was he human or, as I’d believed earlier, a monster? I could not satisfactorily answer the question. “So you developed a plan for revenge?”