“Perhaps you didn’t kill her,” Jakob replied hesitantly, “but that doesn’t mean you couldn’t have prepared the sleep sponge. The prostitute smelled of henbane, and you know as well as I do it’s often a hangman’s job to prepare and use that poison to calm the condemned prisoner in his final hour. So tell me why you marked that entry.”
“Good God, how suspicious you are, Jakob. I’m your brother. Have you forgotten?” Bartholomäus was working himself up into a fury. “But you were always like that. You don’t trust anything I do, and you always think the worst of me. Haven’t you ever thought that I might have noticed that strange odor myself? I’m not as stupid as you think. I, too, wondered about that smell, and that’s why I marked the entry. But no, you think right away I must be a murderer.” Bartholomäus glared at him with hate-filled eyes. “You haven’t changed at all, Jakob-always so impressed with yourself, always the cleverest guy in town. But it’s all just for show, and behind it there’s nothing but hollow words.”
Jakob fell silent. He was convinced he’d made a mistake. In his distrust of his own brother he’d made up a mental image of Bartholomäus, a caricature that had nothing to do with reality. Jakob remembered how he’d pursued the stranger in front of the furrier’s shop. He’d had the impression that the man had a limp, but he’d only noticed that after the man had jumped over to the other dock. Probably the stranger had just twisted his ankle then, and the fact that the man looked familiar to Magdalena was likely just a coincidence. Still, Jakob had suspected that the stranger was his brother.
Bartholomäus is right: I’m a fool, a damned fool.
Still, he couldn’t bring himself to apologize-he opened his mouth, but not a sound came out. Then he said in a calm voice: “If you don’t catch this beast soon, Bartholomäus, it’s going to kill someone. If it hasn’t done so already. It could be the cause of at least a few of the missing persons-the apothecary’s wife, for example, who clearly got lost here in the woods.” He looked at his brother calmly. “You should ask the civilian militia for help in the search.”
“So they can kill Brutus and take Damian and Cerberus away from me? Never. Aloysius and I will find that naughty runaway, and then-”
“Good Lord in heaven, it’s not a naughty runaway, it’s a dangerous beast,” Jakob interrupted angrily. “Can’t you see that?”
“You’re not going to tell me what to do!” Bartholomäus was screaming now, and Aloysius carefully stepped to one side. “Maybe there was a time you could push me around, Big Brother,” Bartholomäus continued in a rage, “but that time is long past. You’re a coward. Georg has known that for a long time, and soon Magdalena and Barbara will know it, too.”
Jakob swallowed hard, and his face turned white. “So. . so. . you told him?”
Bartholomäus flashed a sardonic grin. “Of course. You can be sure his image of his father is badly tarnished. I’ve already told you Georg wants to stay here with me, and once Barbara has gotten over her infatuation with this young rogue, she’ll probably consider staying, herself. Especially when she hears what a traitor-”
“You. . you rotten scum.” Without giving it another thought, Jakob charged at his brother. They grabbed one another, fell to the ground, and wrestled-first one, then the other appearing to get the upper hand.
“I’ll shut your filthy mouth,” Jakob hissed. “I should have done that a long time ago.”
He raised his fist to take a swing, but suddenly Bartholomäus squirmed out from under him like a slippery fish. He reached for the cudgel lying on the ground next to him and hit his brother like a madman as he lay on the ground.
“What’s done is done!” Bartholomäus shouted. “And you can’t undo it. Now the whole family is going to know.”
“Like hell they will.”
Jakob reached for the cudgel, ripped it out of his brother’s hand, and flung it far away, almost hitting Aloysius. The servant had been anxiously watching the two combatants and hadn’t moved. The two Kuisls fought now like twelve-year-olds, rolling in the mud, spitting out leaves and dirt, and for a moment Jakob remembered how they’d used to fight then, forty years ago, in almost the same way.
Just before I left, he thought gloomily.
The fight was ending. Even after all those years, Jakob was still stronger, and Bartholomäus lay on the ground, beaten. Jakob clenched his fist, ready to bash him between the eyes, when suddenly a familiar high-pitched voice rang out.
“Stop at once! By God, if Mother knew you were fighting in the dirt with your own brother. Shame on you both, you foolish men.”
It was Magdalena. She was standing next to the dog shed, her arms crossed and her eyes ablaze.
She stared at the two grown men fighting with each other and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Her father was well over fifty, and his brother not much younger. The two were covered with mud and leaves, their clothing ripped, and despite their ages they looked like two little kids. Alongside them, distraught, stood the pockmarked servant Aloysius. The whole scene was unintentionally comical, though Magdalena could see the bloodlust in the eyes of both brothers and knew it was deadly serious and no joke.
Where does this hatred come from? she asked herself. What happened between the two back then?
Even though Magdalena had run after her father as fast as she could, she hadn’t caught up with him until now. At some point along the way he must have left the road and made his way through the forest; there were no longer any footprints on the muddy road. And then, even before she’d reached the knacker’s house, she’d heard the angry shouts and realized at once that there was a serious fight in progress. She ran across the clearing to find her father and uncle fighting like two mongrel dogs.
“Is this the way you settle an argument in the family?” she chided them angrily. “Just stop it, and start acting like grown-ups.”
Her anger helped drive away her fear. If her father beat up Bartholomäus, then the latter would hardly be willing to help them. Everything was just as she had feared.
“Father, you. . you stupid ox,” she shouted. “Just stop-right now. If not for my sake, then at least for Barbara’s.”
This message got through. Jakob rolled off his brother and stood there groaning and wiping the bloody, dirty hair out of his eyes. His hat lay beside him on the ground, beaten and ripped.
“This doesn’t concern you,” he growled. “This matter is between Bartholomäus and me.”
“Oh, but it certainly does concern her,” Bartholomäus hissed. Now he, too, had gotten up, swaying slightly, dragging his crippled leg behind him. “It’s time she learned the truth.”
Magdalena frowned. “About what?”
There was an awkward silence, and Jakob turned his eyes away from her. Finally he looked at Bartholomäus.
“Tell Aloysius to leave,” he said.
Bartholomäus nodded and gestured to his servant. “Go and attend to the dead cow in front of the house,” he said. “This is a family matter.”
“But the dogs-” Aloysius started to say.
“Get out of here, I said!”
Silently, Aloysius withdrew, but not without casting one last, anxious look at his master. Bartholomäus wiped the blood and snot from his beard, then shot a questioning glance at his brother.
“Shall I tell her, or do you want to?”
Jakob shrugged and finally took a seat on a nearby woodpile covered with funguses, and he took out his pipe. “Just go ahead,” he grumbled. “Spit it out so you can have some peace of mind.”
Bartholomäus took a deep breath and also sat down on a woodpile. He was visibly exhausted by the fight, and his hands were trembling.