Barely moving his legs, he shuffled away from the gates.
A noisy cavalcade of five or six young horsemen on well-groomed steeds flew toward him from a wide side street. With a practiced eye, Egert absently identified the breed of each horse and noticed how splendidly each of the riders kept his seat. He stood still, waiting for them to pass by, but one of the youths, who was riding a tall, raven-colored stallion, broke away from the company and rode straight toward Egert.
This happened in the blink of an eye—and for all eternity. Egert lost the ability to move.
His legs grew into the pavement of the square, became numb, put down roots: thus must a tree feel, watching the approach of a lumberjack. The horse cantered easily, beautifully, as if on air, but the ground shook loudly from its strong, murderous hooves. Egert saw the black muzzle of the stallion, its wild eyes, the string of saliva hanging from its lower lip, and its chest, as wide as the sky and as heavy as a hammer, was ready to crush him with one blow.
He felt the steam of hot breath in his face, and slowly, so slowly, as if underwater, the stallion rose up on his hind legs.
Egert stared as the glossy muzzle froze right in front of his face. The hooves were thrown up, and the round heads of nails gleamed on newly shod, well-made horseshoes. Then the horseshoes flew up over his head, and the horse’s belly opened up before Egert’s eyes: the belly of a well-cared-for stallion, with a shaggy crest running down the middle. The horseshoes above his head were kneading the sky, preparing to descend from the heights and splatter the contents of a human head across the cobblestones.
Egert’s mind collapsed; he was aware of nothing for the space of five seconds.
As before, Egert was standing in the middle of the square. The patter of hooves and trills of laughter were fading away down an alleyway, and a fine trickle of warm urine was leaking down Egert’s leg.
Death would be better than this.
The guards were snorting with laughter behind him, and their laughter reverberated inside Egert’s head. All the will of Egert Soll, all his remaining respect for himself, all his mutilated yet still living pride, and all his being screamed, slowly writhing in the inferno of this inconceivable, incredible degradation.
The vacant sky above his head and the empty square beneath his feet both whirled like grindstones, and these two black stones scraped against each other as if wishing to grind to dust the bones of this man who had dared to come between them.
Egert, said his will and his pride. This is the end, Egert. Remember the slimy filth on your face, remember the girl in the coach.… Remember your true self, Egert Soll, remember and answer this: Why do you, a man, consent to live in this repulsive, perpetually fearful manner? You have come to the edge: another step, and all your life, all your bright reminiscences, all the memories of your mother and father will curse you, will disown you for eternity. While you still recall what a man should be, put a stop to this despicable monstrosity that has possessed you!
The guards had long ago settled down and forgotten about Egert. Night had already set in: gloomy, moonless, lit only by a few streetlamps. Under one of these streetlamps loomed a wide, squat bit of masonry; it was a well, from which travelers who had just arrived in town usually watered their exhausted horses. Now it was completely lifeless.
Egert walked over to it. A waft of frigid air arose from the well, but Egert forced himself to gaze down into its humid depths. The circular, mirrorlike surface of the water reflected the dim streetlamp, the black sky, and the human silhouette that looked like it was cut out of a soot-black sheet of tin.
He worked quickly. He found a fragment of cobblestone nearby, as cold and heavy as a tombstone. He needed to tie the stone to his neck somehow, but he did not have any rope and his belt kept slipping off it. Fussing and sniveling from terror, Egert finally unbuttoned his shirt and stuffed the cobblestone into the cavity. The feel of the cold stone against his bare chest caused him to squirm.
Holding the stone to his chest with both his arms, he once again walked over to the well. He stood next to it for about two minutes, panting. The city was sleeping; somewhere in the dark heights an unseen weathervane screeched in the nighttime wind, and from afar could be heard the cry of the night watch, “Rest in peace, honest townsfolk!”
May you rest in peace, said Egert to himself. Clutching the stone to his chest like a beloved kitten, he swung a leg, stiff as a board, over the side of the well.
He sat on the stone masonry at the top; he exerted himself again, and his other leg, rebellious and numb, hung over the water. Egert swung around so that his stomach was on the edge of the well; his legs dangled inside without any purchase. Now all he had to do was brace himself and push off from the wall of the well with his hands and knees; then his body would fall over backwards, splash into the water, and the stone secreted in his bosom would immediately drag him to the bottom. The water would wash away all Egert’s fear and degradation, all he had to do was …
His muscles seized up. Desperately attempting to suppress his terror, he tried to unclench his blue fingers, but they clawed at the masonry with a death grip. If only there were someone there who could crack a whip at his hands! But Egert had no one to help him, and the stone in his shirt pressed against the wall of the well; it prevented him from reaching out to his fingers with his teeth and biting them to force them to unclench. Just a bit more strength, just a bit …
But then his terror of death finally tore through the barrier he had momentarily erected in his mind.
Egert clung to the wall of the well with his entire body—his elbows, the soles of his feet, his knees—unable to recall or command himself. He surged upward, gasping for air, willing himself to tear out of his own skin and flee, flee, save himself! Stifled by fear, he tumbled out of the well onto the ground. The cobblestone skidded out of his shirt and Egert, still frantic, crawled away, trembling and weeping.
A guard glanced out of the striped kiosk by the gate and, not seeing anyone or anything, calmly ducked back inside. “Rest in peace, honest townsfolk,” resounded from the watch.
Leaning against a lamppost, Egert finally managed to pull himself together. Only now did he acknowledge the profundity of the trap he was captured in.
He had no mastery over himself. Terror made his life unbearable and his death unattainable. He could not escape. All his mortal years, all his long life until old age he would be afraid, afraid, and he would grovel and betray himself, and he would suffer shame and hate himself, and he would rot alive until he lost his mind.
“No!” Egert’s soul screamed. “No.”
His shirt had already lost all its buttons. Egert cradled the cobblestone to his chest like a mother holding her beloved child, dashed toward the well, and leapt for the edge.
He stopped short with a fraction of a second to spare. Catching a glimpse of the dark water below, the fear of death broke his will as easily as a child breaks a match. It allowed him to come to his senses only when he was already on the ground, shaking and squirming like a newborn rat.
He wept and gnawed at his fingers. He called out to the heavens for help, but the heavens remained dark, as is sometimes the case at night. He wanted to die: he tried to force his heart to stop by strength of will, but his heart paid him no heed and beat as before, albeit irregularly and painfully.
Then he felt a gaze on him.
Never before had he so keenly, so markedly felt his skin crawl with another’s gaze; he cowered, trying not to move, but the gaze, despite his hope, did not disappear. The gaze slid over his shoulders like a heavy palm. Egert clenched his teeth and slowly raised his head.