"Thank you, father." His old man had tried anyway. "I’ll head off, then." he jumped up, put the coins in his pocket, grabbed the old wicker basket with the old clay jug and left the hut.
The baker would be his first port of call. The wonderful smell of fresh bread in his basket should accompany him for as long as possible. Surprised at his own good mood, for which there was no logical reason, he decided not to darken today with depressing thoughts. Not even thoughts of smart-arse chimeras that might be floating around in his head.
Farin headed on the path towards Heap at his customary brisk pace, and it wasn’t long before he spotted the ropemaker in the distance with his enormous shaggy dog heading towards the market. The wares he was going to peddle were in a bulgy basket that he carried on his shoulders.
Farin increased his speed and called, long before he reached them: "Growler, my old friend!"
The dog spun around, his ears pricked upwards like two little steeples, then he stormed towards the gravedigger’s son, barking joyfully.
"Don’t knock me over, you big mop!" he laughed.
Growler arrived and was just about to jump up at him as usual. But at the last second he planted his forepaws into the ground, his hackles stood on end and he emitted a growl such as Farin had never heard from him. The muscles in the dog’s head were tensed up, and his eyes had become so big that Farin could see their whites. A look, harder than this morning’s bread, hit him forcefully. Growler arched his back, curled up his lips, and bared his impressive incisors threateningly.
Farin stood there, dumbstruck, and stared back. What was going on? The dog was pure aggression and about to attack him.
"It’s only me, Growler," he said, trying to calm down the dog.
The ropemaker had stopped and turned. Of course, he noticed that something was amiss and called loudly: ’Growler, come here! Now!"
Farin didn’t want to provoke the dog, so he looked past him and made no further effort to greet or even to touch him. Growler growled again, then ran back to his master.
The ropemaker shrugged his shoulders, turned and continued his journey. Farin stood there for a while, rooted to the spot. His good mood had evaporated. How could that be? Downcast, he shuffled onwards. He didn’t bother trying to catch up with the ropemaker. Did the animal hate him now too? He felt as though he’d lost his last remaining friend in the village – and this was, in fact, the case.
The villagers jostled and pushed their way among the stalls on the marketplace between the church and the bakery. The baker’s stall, which stood directly in front of his establishment, attracted a group of children who were hoping to scavenge a few crumbs. When he was younger, Farin too had waited there wide-eyed and occasionally got a morsel by begging. Today he bought two loaves of bread, broke a little corner off one of them and tossed it towards one of the boys. The lad caught it skilfully and called out in a bright voice: "Thanks!"
He bought the goat’s milk two stalls further on, where it was poured into the clay jug. A chunk of cheese changed hands too. His enjoyment of the abundance of colours, the aromas, the voices of the market criers supplanted his unpleasant experience with Growler. Peat and his cronies were horsing around at the last stall with its knives, daggers, axes, saws and whetstones. Farin remembered Peat’s name, but what were the others called again? Blunt, Dull and Dense were what he had in his head. He quickly turned around. He really didn’t want to tangle with them again. Too late – Peat was already pointing at him with a derisive grin. Farin pushed himself between two women who were haggling loudly with a fishmonger. They prodded at two herrings, claiming the fish were older than their grandmothers. It struck Farin, that he hadn’t bartered at all – he simply paid the price the sellers had demanded. Which was probably why his father sent him to the market so rarely. Well, it wasn’t so tragic when it came to bread and milk, the prices for those wares barely fluctuated anyway.
After half an hour he’d spent all his coppers, and so he left the market. He marched back towards the gravedigger’s cottage with a full basket, hardly feeling the weight, his anticipation of dinner filling him with joy. At one point he held the basket directly under his nose. Aromatic bread, ham and cheese – they smelled better than any perfume.
Halfway between Hubstone and home he saw four figures standing in the middle of the road: Peat and his companions. Holy shit, they were waiting for him – there was no doubt about it. They were taking this fight-your-way-through-life far too literally – and they had just found their newest victim.
"Ah, our friend, the desecrator of bodies," said Peat to him in greeting, his attitude and voice poisonous. "You still haven’t described to us how you played around with the lovely Gerlunda."
"Tee-hee," said the others as if on command.
Was he expecting an answer? Farin said nothing.
With an angry face Peat spoke accusingly: "I had to carry corpses around for a whole afternoon because of you."
"I did it too," suggested Farin.
"You can’t do anything else. Didn’t I promise you that you were going to pay for it?" He waved his forefinger self-importantly. "And I always keep my promises."
How could Farin respond to that? Did the four of them really want to beat him up again?
"What are those lovely things you’ve bought for us?" asked Peat and tried to grab the basket.
"Hands off!"
"Well, look at that skinflint!" Without warning Peat rammed his elbow into Farin’s stomach. The gravedigger’s son bent over double, and one of the other three took advantage of his pain-induced position to give him an almighty kick in his backside, throwing him off balance and knocking him forward. He let go of the basket as he tried to protect himself with his hands before landing on his stomach. The long one – now he remembered his name, Kaal – grabbed the basket and began unpacking the newly bought purchases. He offered the clay jug to Peat.
"How sweet," answered the alderman’s son. "The scoundrel needs his milk."
Peat took the container and splashed some over Farin’s head. He stretched out his long arm demonstratively and then let the jug fall to the ground – of course it smashed into a thousand pieces, and the rest of the milk splattered on the stony surface. "It fell. It slipped out of my hand."
The four thought this was hilarious.
"He’s also bought us bread," said Kaal provocatively, and tossed a loaf towards Peat. He took a big bite and gobbled it noisily. "Very decent of you, gravedigger’s son."
Lying on the ground, full of hate and yet with astounding calmness, Farin said: "Be careful, Peat, eat slowly or you’ll only puke again."
The chewing stopped involuntarily. "What?"
Just as a few days earlier, he began kicking Farin. "Beating him up isn’t enough, we have to give him a good thrashing, one he’ll remember for a long time", he ascertained.
"His teeth – his pretentious teeth – we should knock a few out. We’ll start with the upper incisors. That way he’ll remember today for the rest of his life," said Kaal, proud of his original idea.
Blunt placed a foot on his back, the others were still kicking him. Kaal bent down, dug his hand into Farin’s shock of hair and yanked his head upwards. "Come on! I need a hand, then I’ll treat his ivories." He sniggered.
Farin was paralysed by horror and fear. They were deadly serious. This time he wasn’t going to escape with two black eyes. Pearly tears were dripping from his nose. The spilled milk hurt him just as much as the kicks to the kidneys and back.
How long are you going to put up with that, worm?
The chimera – that was all he needed!
His thoughts were screaming with rage, with hatred of himself, with scorn towards these four idiots, with feebleness, defencelessness, hopelessness.
What can I do against their superior strength? And now you too. Are there five beating me to a pulp now?
Rubbish! I’m not doing anything to damage you. Apart from asking you in this…rather tense situation…a thoroughly justif
iable question. Why are you letting this happen?
What can I do against these four assailants? I don’t stand a chance.
What about sobbing and begging for mercy? It chuckled in amusement. But a moment later and the voice was scornful. These types make me sick. Leave it to me to sort this out.
Never! Piss off!
Right, so. This will be fun because very soon they’re going to smash in your teeth. Then you’ll have fewer to clean tomorrow. The chimera thought for a moment. They might smash your skull in too, and then I’ll be free.
Indeed, Peat had found a rock the size of his fist on the side of the path and pressed it into Kaal’s hand.
Farin twisted around like a rabid dog, trying to free himself from their grasps. He managed to knock Peat off his feet, so that he crashed to the ground beside him. The gravedigger’s son made an almighty effort to get back onto his feet. Dull aimed a kick at him, connecting his boot with Farin’s head. Although he was kneeling on the ground, everything was spinning around him, dizziness and consciousness were competing with each other. Peat had leaped back up onto his feet and was even more enraged than before. All four were looming over him now, holding him down with their combined force.
"Turn him on his back", ordered Kaal.
They rolled him over, then the four men pressed his arms and legs hard against the ground. He felt as if he were in a vice.
You have to do something effective and not thrash about blindly like a little baby.
His eyes were burning, his heart was pounding, his head was spinning. Farin was close to bawling.
Close your eyes, please, I can’t look on at this any longer.
This stinker in his head was even worse than Peat and Kaal combined. Another blow to the head, his senses were waning.
Let go! Not much further, just a little step. It’s high time you let go.
What did the voice want from him? What was he supposed to do? What was he to let go of? He wasn’t holding onto anything.
"Only the upper incisors this time, we’ll deal with the lower ones at our next meeting. That’s thoroughly decent of us. You have to stay still, though, otherwise I can’t guarantee anything." Kaal gleefully showed him the rock in his hand A four-voiced musical round of laughter. Kaal slowly raised his arm.
He’s winding himself up now. Not much time left. Let go!
The hand with the big rock raced towards his mouth. The movement lasted little longer than the blink of an eye, but to Farin it felt like an eternity.
Let go!
Everywhere fog, everything grey. Was he falling unconscious, or was he dying? The hand with the rock was flying towards Farin’s mouth. In his mind he heard his teeth cracking already.
The worst thing is, it’s not only your teeth they’re destroying.
At the very last moment the gravedigger’s son yanked his head sideways. Kaal smashed the rock into the ground, grazing Farin’s ear in the process. The mishit meant Kaal’s face was now within reach. Farin’s forehead flew straight upwards and smashed into the bridge of Kaal’s nose. The cracking of the bone rang crisp and clear. In shock and pain, Kaal released Farin’s right arm. A karate chop on Blunt’s gullet ensured the gravedigger’s son’s left arm was freed. His enemies bent over him, furious. Still lying on his back, he grabbed Kaal’s head and smashed it into Dull’s. And dull, ironically, was what the collision sounded like. Dull. Head to head, a mundane sound, as if he were tapping against a gravestone with his knuckles but to greater effect. They both rolled their eyes and let go of him. Lacerated, Dull crumpled in a heap, Kaal held his nose and temple, while his blood dripped through his fingers and onto Farin’s cheek. A single bound and the gravedigger’s son was back on his feet. So was Peat, but Farin kicked his heel into the back of his knee, sending him crashing backwards onto the ground with a groan. Blunt was still holding onto his throat, emitting a rattling noise. A kick at his shins and he too collapsed, smashing his shoulder against the ground.
"HOW CAN THAT HAPPEN?" Kaal’s face, with its smashed-in nose and lacerated temple, looked like meat on display in the market. "WHAT’S POSSESSED HIM?"
Don’t tell me he’s seen through us. This was followed by a demonic giggle.
Kaal threw himself furiously at the gravedigger’s son, hate pulsating in his pupils. Farin remained calm. A shimmy to the left, a feint to the right, and Kaal had stumbled past him into nothingness. The gravedigger’s son was already behind his opponent and ramming his knee into his back. Screaming loudly, Kaal fell forward and curled up into a ball on the ground. A shadow to his left – Farin spun and with his left arm the gravedigger’s son parried a right hook from Peat, his other arm was already flying on its way. Farin feinted again and grabbed it with both hands. As if he had done it a hundred times, he raised his knee and broke Peat’s twisted forearm. It cracked like a brittle branch; the screams of the man rang out even louder.
"Stop! I want to talk to you!" Farin grabbed Peat’s throat with his right hand, and the screaming died down. The leader of the four wretches stared at him as if paralysed, then fear flickered in his eyes.
Farin heard himself speak: "So, bog-nose. The sun is shining, and all is well. Which is why you see me now calm and sober and in the best of moods, but if I catch sight of you and your numbskulls one more time, I will get angry. And then all good things will come to an end."
Never before had Farin seen such an incredulous look. A pathetic gape, first at his groaning, wheezing, bleeding cronies on the ground, then at Farin. Peat’s eyeballs were bulging out of their sockets as if they wanted to flee in terror.
Farin loosened his grip. "And, to answer your question: Of course, I had fun with Gerlunda. And I can tell you it was much more enjoyable than that time with your mother."
How was it possible to heighten Peat’s amazement even more? Dismay was dribbling from his mouth and nose.
"If you bother me just one more time, I’m going to kill you, one after the other. You’ll be the first, and that’s a promise." Farin raised his forefinger. "Abd I always keep my promises." He held Peat’s chin. "It doesn’t matter to me what happens after that. I’ve nothing to lose. I’m the gravedigger’s son."
Peat’s lips were quivering.
"You still owe me money for the milk and the bread."
He held out his open hand before him. Unable to move his arms, Peat’s eyes looked downward and gestured to the alderman’s son’s belt. With a quick movement Farin opened the moneybag hanging there and took out a few coins. This dirtbag even had silverlings. He counted out four coppers for the milk, the clay jug and a loaf of bread. He put the other coins back into the moneybag and threw it down at Peat’s feet. The alderman’s son was holding onto his broken arm, which was hurting him horribly; he was still incapable of uttering a single word.
Farin picked up his basket serenely and threw a scornful look at the four mauled maulers. They were sobbing and bleeding to beat the band, a heap of misery, as befitted their home village.
Back to the market. He’d really had to work hard for his supper today.
Fate
F arin examined his ear with his right hand and felt a crust behind the earlobe where Kaal had caught him with the rock. Whether it was his own blood or not didn’t bother him. But he certainly needed to make a detour to the stream so he could wash himself first before heading back to the market. When he knelt down at the bank of the stream, he saw his own mirror image looking back at him: smeared with blood, serious and above all, strange. Farin scooped a handful of water up to his face and rubbed it clean with both hands. All that cold water ought to wake him up.
Shit! What had happened? What on earth had he done?
Your pretty incisors nearly went astray, don’t forget.
The chimera! He’d lost his self-control. Semi-conscious from the kicks to his head he had…let go and left the rest to the whoever-or-whatever-it-is-you-are.
Now sob your little heart out and feel pity for your four benefactors.
There
were a few boulders lying near him. Shaking his head, Farin sat down on one of them.
Unbelievable – those four are going to kill me the next time they get a chance.
Nonsense! I know enough of their types. Only strong when they’re in the majority against the so-called weaker. They’ll never talk to you again – run away more like.
With fists clenched, Farin shouted: "How could that have happened? I…I’m not able to fight, certainly not against four."
Now you see what you have inside you! It chuckled.
He instinctively rolled his eyes so much they hurt. Chimera-sarcasm or chimera-humour? Both! "You constantly scold me and laugh at me! Tell me why you helped me at all?"
Ah come on now! I only helped myself. Without incisors you’d be mumbling until the end of your hundred years of existence – that would have driven me mad.
"Is that all?"
Because I like doing things people don’t expect of me. The voice paused for only a moment. And also because I can do it. And anyway, it’s fun.
"Lots of people in the village are going to wonder about what happened. They’re going to ask questions."
So what? It doesn’t bear contemplating that they might suddenly be saying: The gravedigger’s son isn’t the wimp we thought he was after all. It sounded as though the chimera was pausing for breath. Forget it! I’m telling you, the four wretches won’t spill the beans. Not a single word. Are they going to admit that you beat the living daylights out of all of them? Alone – one against four? And the sluggish gravedigger’s son of all people! Now, come on! Start thinking like a man, start being a man.
"How many wretches do I have to beat the living daylights out of before I am a man?"
Hm. Good question. Perhaps I’ve underestimated you. For the first time the voice was sounding moderately friendly and even a little contemplative.
"Yes, I admit you helped me, but I still don’t feel good about it."
If I hadn’t helped you, would you be feeling better now?
The Gravedigger’s Son and the Waif Girl 1 Page 16
