Come Hell or High Water: The Complete Trilogy

by Stephen Morris

  “Help me!” Bonifác croaked. “Cut these knots and help me up!”

  No answer.

  Bonifác repeated himself, in German this time.

  “Help you?” the man answered him in German. “Of course I will help you, lad. After you have helped me and my family.”

  Did Bonifác know that voice? He thought it seemed familiar but his ears seemed as clogged as his eyelids had been. Or was that one of the after-effects of drinking? He remembered drinking many tin cups of wine last night, but with whom?

  “Who are you? Have we met?” Bonifác whispered, as afraid to know the answer as he was hopeful.

  “Have we met? How could you forget me, boy?” the man chided. “Do you not wish to know how you can help me and win your freedom?”

  “So this is not a dream?” Bonifác forced himself to ask the shadow in the boots.

  The shadow-man laughed and walked around to Bonifác’s feet and squatted down. There, without the sunlight shining so directly into his eyes, Bonifác could see the man’s face and the memory of last evening rushed back.

  “Djordji!” Bonifác exclaimed. “What is it you want? I have no coins to buy my freedom nor does my family have any means to pay a ransom…. Please!”

  Djordji clucked his tongue in his cheek. “Patience, boy! Do not excite yourself! Your difficulty is easily resolved.”

  “What… what is it you want?” Bonifác begged, shutting his eyes tight to hold back the tears.

  “I only want to know the secrets you have studied with your tutor, the alchemist,” Djordji told him. “Our horses ran away a week ago. My granddaughters are many and will each need a large dowry. We need coins; we need gold for these reasons and for many more. Surely you understand? We need gold and you have studied with alchemists. Tell me the secrets and that will buy your release.”

  “Gold? Alchemists?” exclaimed Bonifác. “I have studied with the one alchemist at home and hope to continue these studies, but I have no idea of how to make gold! That knowledge is far beyond what I have studied!”

  “Is it really?” Djordji asked. “Perhaps a few hours here on the ground will help you remember some secrets you have studied but forgotten.”

  “No! I cannot remember what I have never studied!” whispered Bonifác in despair.

  “Ah, but I think you can,” answered Djordji. “But I also think you might make a great deal of noise and try to avoid remembering your studies.” He pulled a large bandana from a pocket and rolled it into a ball.

  “No! Please, no!” gasped Bonifác as Djordji leaned forward and stuffed the bandana into Bonifác’s mouth, leaving the young man unable to do more than sputter feebly.

  The old gypsy studied the face of the young Bohemian. “We need coins and Sarah-la-Kali, the great mother of all gypsies, surely brought you to us for this very purpose. She looks out for us and will care for you as well, if you obey her in this one small matter.

  “I will return later,” Djordji promised. “I hope your memory will have improved by then.”

  He stood and walked into the forest.

  With the bandana in his mouth, it was difficult for Bonifác to swallow the spit that pooled in the back of his throat. It felt at times as if he might drown in his own saliva. It did not take long for his muscles, stretched taut against the hard earth, to ache and cramp. Even though the day was cool, sweat drenched his shirt and more than one bird relieved itself from the trees above him. The breezes that occasionally rustled the undergrowth or the branches high above chilled him. No voices, no sound of humans passing nearby reached his ears. Although he thought he had eaten well the night before with Djordji, his stomach began to growl again by what he guessed was midafternoon.

  At first Bonifác thrashed and struggled against the ropes, hoping the knots might come undone or he could pull up the pegs the rope bound him to. Neither proved possible and he grimaced as he struggled to adjust his position to avoid further chafing the skin rubbed raw by his efforts.

  “Proboha! My God, help me escape this place!” Bonifác cried in his mind. “Svaty Bonifác, pray for me!” But no miracle set him free.

  Occasionally a crow would flutter to the ground beside him and strut about the little area of the clearing that was not filled by Bonifác’s outstretched limbs, but would then return to the branches. Once, two birds, starlings, Bonifác thought, descended and pecked along his trouser leg, but he shook his leg as best he could and they flew off again.

  As the day wore on, he felt the stirrings of his bladder, gentle at first, a quiet need he might not have noticed if he had been free and walking along the road. But tied down, the rope biting into his flesh, every need that rose within him—whether for water to slake his thirst or to stretch his muscles or for a crust of bread or to empty his bladder—seemed extreme. He struggled to avoid urinating on himself but later in the day, he was unable to stop the urine from flowing and soaking his trousers. At some point, he gave up the struggle against fouling himself with excrement as well. The stench nauseated him.

  His hands and feet grew numb. Sensation waxed and waned along his lower legs and arms, tingling came and went over the course of the day. He drowsed off into short naps, and though the sunlight told him it was still midday, the canopy of branches and leaves hid the sky and he could not track the progress of the sun, and so the passage of time was the hardest to gauge. The hours seemed to last forever and he began to doubt Djordji’s promise to return. But even if Djordji did return, what could Bonifác tell him? He had not studied many of the physical transformations that some alchemists were famed for accomplishing, least of all the transmutation of base metals into gold or other precious elements.

  Day became night and then day again. His waking dreams and sleeping dreams became almost indistinguishable. It became impossible to judge the passing of time and he could only guess that late afternoon had come because the sunbeams were slanting through the darkening shadows of the trees. Bonifác thought he heard footsteps approaching him through the undergrowth again. There was a rustle as branches parted, a harsh “swish!” as one snapped back into place, and then Djordji stepped from behind a tree near Bonifác’s left foot.

  Djordji stood surveying Bonifác.

  “Has your memory improved?” Djordji demanded.

  Bonifác stared at him, struggling to hold his head up and look Djordji in the eye, and then nodded. Djordji leaned over and pulled the sodden bandana from Bonifác’s mouth.

  The student gasped, eagerly drinking air down his parched throat.

  “Water?” Bonifác asked. “Did you bring water?”

  “I will bring water when your recipe for making gold proves successful,” Djordji answered. “Until then, your thirst may help you remember what I wish to know.”

  Bonifác considered this with mounting despair and fear. “You’ll not release me when I give you the recipe, will you? You will want to test it before you cut me free.” Bonifác let his head fall back onto the ground, grinding earth into his scalp. “Many of these processes take time. The transformations can often be slow. I could die of thirst or starvation before you release me!”

  “Or the brigands that wander these woods might find you,” the Roma grandfather suggested. “Or the wolves that hunt in the night.” Djordji flashed a smile at Bonifác. “So many things might happen to such a fine young scholar here in the forest.” Djordji paused. “It would seem that the sooner you recall what I need to know, the sooner you will be safe again.”

  Bonifác winced.

  “You may be interested to know that your great dog has become a close friend of my granddaughter Drina,” Djordji continued. “The dog never leaves her side. He insists on remaining with her, even as she sleeps in the night. She delights to play with him and he seems to regard himself her special protector. He seems to have completely forgotten you, Bonifác. Forgotten you and left you to perish, if you cannot recall the recipe I need. His loyalty was short-lived, indeed.”

  Bonifác’s chest heaved wit
h anger. He had not known the dog long, but the theft of the animal’s affection felt like his most trusted companion and friend had been stolen. He strained against the ropes, smearing blood around the rough cords. Distracted by the pain and his anger, he lost control of himself and his urine spilled out, drenching his trousers and the ground beneath him.

  Djordji smirked. “Think about what you have studied,” he told Bonifác, who struggled to hold back tears. “Perhaps your memory will have improved in the morning.” He leaned over and pushed the wet bandana back into Bonifác’s mouth.

  Bonifác sputtered in anger and frustration, frantic to keep Djordji with him for another few moments. But the gypsy patriarch turned and strode away between the trees, and Bonifác heard the tendrils of undergrowth snap and swish at his passing.

  His headache, which he realized had faded away earlier, returned now as the shadows gathered him up in the deepening gloom. His throat cried out for water even as he struggled to avoid choking on the saliva that dripped in the back of his throat, although the dripping was considerably less than it had been the first morning he found himself staked to the earth.

  He closed his eyes, hoping that sleep would come, but the rippling, sharp pricks that swept across his shoulders and buttocks because of the constant, unavoidable pressure on them kept him awake. His teeth wanted to chatter, but because of the bandana, it was only his jaw that fluttered in the chill, which would have seemed slight if he were sitting up and eating his supper.

  At some point, he realized that he was waking and had indeed fallen asleep. But for how long? It was impossible to know. The darkness was total and little light from the moon or stars reached him through the leaves. Strange noises in the underbrush around him, magnified in the dark by his fear, kept him darting his head from side to side in his attempts to see what animals might be coming near. He heard whining in the night and only realized it was himself whimpering when the sound paused as he gasped for breath.

  With his senses heightened in the dark and nothing to distract him, he could feel tiny insects—ants? flies?—walking over the raw and bloodied wrists beneath the ropes. He shook his hands as vigorously as he could to drive them off without exacerbating the pain by rubbing against the stiff rope any more than necessary. The insects scattered and then returned. Bonifác grimaced and began to cry again.

  Then, as he gasped for breath between sobs, he heard a low, steady growl in the bushes to his left. Terror pierced him. What was coming? A stray dog? A wolf? He was certain his death was only moments away. He held his breath and closed his eyes, tears still slipping from beneath his eyelids.

  The growling continued and grew louder as the animal prowled closer, slowly stalking the man tied to the earth. The only sounds Bonifác could hear now were the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears and the approaching growling. His muffled screams caught in his throat.

  From his right, another growl—deeper, more powerful, and more threatening—emerged from the bushes. Bonifác could feel urine spilling out along his leg again in his fright.

  Did he dare open his eyes and watch? Which was more frightening: to hear death come or see it approach? He peered into the darkness just as the larger, more threatening animal charged from the shadows and leaped over him. He screamed and gagged on the bandana trailing into his throat.

  In the darkness, he was unsure what had jumped over him, but he heard the two animals snarling, jaws snapping, paws scrabbling in the dead leaves. The trees shivered in the night as the beasts fought. Snarls and growls filled the air as the animals threatened and intimidated each other, circling around each other between bouts of bloody battle. Tufts of dark fur wafted through the air and settled on or around Bonifác.

  The animals remained in the deeper shadows interlaced with the undergrowth, and gradually the fight seemed to move further off into the woods, away from Bonifác. The snarls and yaps came less frequently and eventually silence descended once more.

  His chest heaved. Had the animals retreated and forgotten him in the midst of their fierce struggle? Or would the victor return to claim him as its prize? Bonifác was terrified of the silence and terrified that the snarling, snapping jaws would return.

  At some point, he realized one of the creatures was plodding through the trees back towards him. He trembled uncontrollably, the chill and the terror overcoming him. The creature paused just beyond where Bonifác could make out shapes in the darkness. Was it pausing to gather its strength before charging back to attack him? A scream grew in his throat, unable to escape through the bandana in his mouth.

  The huge black dog loped from under the trees and over to Bonifác. His large tongue hung from between his teeth as he panted. He came to a stop over Bonifác’s hand, bent over, and licked the man’s chafed wrist.

  Bonifác wept with joy and relief. He could not believe that the mysterious dog had returned to him just as the other animal—wild dog or wolf—had drawn near to attack him. The black dog dragged his rough, wet tongue in sloppy strokes over the first wrist repeatedly and then strolled to Bonifác’s other side and did the same for the second wrist. The tongue scraped the smeared blood and the insects feasting on it from Bonifác’s flesh, and the pain of the rough tongue against the raw skin was delicious.

  Having completed the cleaning of Bonifác’s wrists, the dog stood over the man and peered into his face. He seemed to be studying the man in the dark, making sure Bonifác was the man the dog recalled. Then the beast leaned down and carefully grasped the corner of the soggy bandana in his teeth and plucked it from the man’s mouth. Bonifác coughed, gulping air. The dog then lay beside the man and dropped the bandana between his paws and panted again, his heavy tongue hanging out. The animal lay his head down on his front paws, blinked, and yawned loudly.

  Bonifác tried to call out but his throat was too parched and his weeping too copious to do much more than croak like a bullfrog in the night. But he kept weeping in delight. Simply having the dog there, keeping watch beside him, restored the man’s hope that he might regain his freedom and his life.

  The morning sun woke Bonifác. The salt of his tears and the dust from the ground had caked together in streaks across his face, and although he could see his limbs, he could not feel them. The muscles in his shoulders and back, his thighs and buttocks were warping in opposing spasms. His throat felt cracked and dry. His stomach was knotted with hunger. But the dog still stretched out asleep on the ground beside him, and his hope still soared. A bird sang above them and the sound was glorious.

  The dog had several bloody wounds that had escaped Bonifác’s notice in the dark, wounds borne as a result of the fight to protect him last night.

  Bonifác heard dry leaves crackle under a boot and turned his head. Djordji stepped from behind a tree. Was his memory tricking him or was Djordji always approaching him from a different direction? Bonifác wasn’t sure his memory was trustworthy.

  Djordji stood drinking in the sight of Bonifác and the dog sprawled together on the earth. But when the gypsy whistled, the dog leaped to his feet and looked about, startled. Seeing the gypsy, though, the dog sat back on his haunches, and again his tongue fell out of his panting mouth.

  “I see that your companion has found you,” Djordji observed. “Again.”

  Bonifác nodded as best he could.

  Djordji walked over and squatted down beside Bonifác, across from the dog. Djordji retrieved the crumpled bandana from between the dog’s paws. The dog’s panting was the only sound for a while.

  “My granddaughter said that the dog jumped out of the wagon during the night.” Djordji spoke again at last. “We thought he had run off to find a new traveling companion, but here he is, sleeping with you. Should I leave him with you? Perhaps I shall. Perhaps I shall not.” Djordji looked sternly into Bonifác’s eyes. “Has your memory improved? Do you recall the recipe for the making of gold?”

  Bonifác nodded again. “I have,” he croaked from parched, cracked lips. “Not every detail, but
enough for some measure of what you desire.”

  “I thought your mind might work more clearly after some time alone to reflect here in the forest,” Djordji crooned, stroking Bonifác’s dirty and salt-streaked forehead. “Tell me the recipe.”

  Bonifác slowly recited a recipe that he had performed under the direction of his master in Kostelec, but it was a recipe for… Bonifác could not recall. But it was not the recipe for making gold. No matter. The lie would keep Djordji busy for the day and perhaps Bonifác and the dog could make their escape in the meantime.

  Djordji listened carefully to the directions Bonifác gave him and nodded when the directions seemed complete and Bonifác lapsed into a hacking cough and then silence.

  “Very good,” Djordji congratulated him. “I will test this recipe.” He took the sodden bandana and stretched it lengthwise between Bonifác’s teeth and then tied it behind the would-be alchemist’s head, the knot making it difficult for Bonifác to rest his head against the earth. Turning, Djordji began to walk into the forest but then paused and turned back to Bonifác.

  “Come along with me, rikono!” the gypsy called cheerfully to the dog, slapping his palm against his thigh. The dog cocked his head to one side and barked but did not move. The gypsy slapped his thigh again. The dog barked once in response but continued to sit beside Bonifác.

  “Sit there, then!” the gypsy laughed, waving at the beast. Djordji disappeared among the trees, his hearty laughter trailing behind him.

  Bonifác waited briefly and then grunted at the dog. The dog cocked its head, as if to ask a question.

  Bonifác grunted again and shook his hands and feet as best he could, trying to convince the dog to try gnawing the ropes. The dog stared in apparent amusement. Bonifác struggled against the ropes again, realizing that his arms and legs were growing numb. The dog barked once and then came closer.

  “Yes!” exploded in Bonifác’s mind. “Chew the ropes!” he attempted to say, hoping the animal could somehow comprehend his thoughts, if not his words. The dog leaned over, licked Bonifác’s face, and then lay down.