Oliver Pötzsch - The Werewolf of Bamberg

He motioned for Jakob to enter the cottage. The hangman had to duck to get through the low doorway. A magnificent bearskin hung over a chest, empty eye sockets staring at the hangman and, below them, a huge mouthful of sharp teeth. The furs of martens, weasels, and polecats lay on a table in the middle of the room next to some scraping knives, and a string of rabbits hung by their ears from a stick over the oven. There was a smell in the room of the wild, the hunt, and death.

“And are you sure Katharina doesn’t want badger fur?” the old furrier asked, rummaging through some furs on the table. Finally he pulled out a beautiful black piece and waved it in front of Kuisl’s face. “That’s much more impressive, while it’s still one of the furs that those in her social caste are allowed to wear.” He stopped and looked suspiciously at the Schongau hangman. “Who are you, anyway? I’ve never seen you here before.”

“Just a member of the family,” Kuisl replied curtly. Then he shrugged. “Katharina wants a fox fur, so that’s what I’ll bring her. What does it cost?”

The little old man waved him off. Putting the badger fur aside, he reached into a trunk containing some musty-smelling, rather shabby-looking remnants. “Keep your money, big fellow. It’s never a bad idea to stay on good terms with the future wife of the executioner, is it? Anyway, fox is not an expensive fur like ermine.” He handed Kuisl a reddish fur full of holes. “Here, take it. The creature got caught last week in one of my rabbit traps. It was foaming at the mouth and snapping in all directions before I killed it. If you ask me, the thing had rabies, a terrible sickness going around in the forests now. My brother-in-law’s nephew was bitten a few years ago by an infected fox, and now. .”

He paused when he saw Kuisl leaning over the trunk and pulling out another fur. The hangman held it in his hand, thinking. It was dark gray, with a long tail and sharp claws.

“Why are you interested in the wolf skin?” the old man grumbled. “I can’t believe Katharina wants to have the big, bad wolf decorating the hem of her wedding dress.” He waved him off, giggling. “That’s just something for poor people. I’m happy I was able to sell five of them all at once a few days ago. Otherwise, who knows how long they would have been rotting away here.”

“ What did you do?” Kuisl stared at the furrier as if he’d just seen a ghost.

The little old man shrugged, not knowing quite how to answer. “Well, uh, I also found it a bit strange, because no one actually wants to have wolf skins. They say it brings misfortune. Especially now, when this werewolf is supposed to be prowling around the city. But if someone offers you a good price for these old, battered things, you don’t ask. I still have two of them, so if you want-”

“What did the man look like?” Jakob interrupted.

The old man pushed his fur cap back on his head and started thinking. “I can’t remember very well, which is funny, actually, because I usually have such a good memory for these things. Hm, wait. .” His face brightened. “Now I remember. He had a beard, and a kind of floppy hat, and he was wearing a broad cape. Exactly!”

Kuisl spat on the floor. “That describes about every other person you bump into on the street. Can’t you remember anything else?”

“Unfortunately not.” The old man frowned. “Why is it so important for you to know?”

“Thanks for the fox,” said the hangman without answering the question. Then he put down the wolf’s hide and headed toward the door with the mangy fox fur. Suddenly he turned around. “Oh, and if this man drops by again, get in touch with me over at the executioner’s house. As you said, it’s never a bad idea to stay on good terms with the hangman.”

“You still haven’t told me who you are,” the furrier replied, and his little eyes flashed suspiciously. “How do I know you’re not just some random punk that the executioner is about to string up on the nearest tree?”

“I’m the hangman’s brother, and I string up people myself-punks, and sometimes guys who are too curious.”

Then Jakob Kuisl turned away, stooping down to get through the doorway, like a giant leaving a dollhouse.

Outside, Magdalena had to watch the boys closely to make sure they didn’t push each other off the dock. For a while they’d been playing hide-and-seek among the skins and furs fluttering in the wind, but now they’d started tussling with one another alongside the rushing water. Though Paul was the younger of the boys, the two were about the same size, and as usual, Peter was losing. Soon his brother had dragged him toward the water and out onto the pier.

“Mama, Mama! Paul’s going to drown me like a witch,” Peter cried.

“For heaven’s sake, can’t the two of you ever play like. . like. .”

Magdalena was about to say girls but caught herself just in time. Sometimes, in her dreams or in moments of reflection, she could see herself telling stories to a little daughter sitting on her lap, as she once had with Barbara. Then the pain and sorrow at the loss of her child came back again, and even now she could feel a burning in her throat. She loved her boys with all her heart, but she still felt there was something in them she couldn’t know. Peter took after his father, and Paul. . Well, there were days when she almost feared his temper tantrums.

She ran after the boys and pulled them apart. Luckily, she still had some licorice left from the gardens around St. Gangolf, and she gave a stick to each of them. Soon they were busily sucking and the fight was forgotten.

Impatiently, Magdalena looked back at the furrier’s house. Why was her father staying so long? For a moment she regretted not going with Barbara to the theater performance that day, but Katharina had asked for her help. And she felt guilty for leaving the children with their aunt every day, even though Katharina clearly enjoyed having them. Surely she wished for some of her own. Why had it taken her so long to find a husband? She came from a good family, and though she was a bit overweight, she was always smiling and was an excellent cook. Magdalena knew that executioners had a hard time finding a suitable wife. Bartholomäus could count himself lucky that-

A creaking sound tore her from her reveries. Carefully she turned around and noticed a figure just two piers away, behind one of the fisherman’s nets that was hung out to dry.

It was no doubt a man, as he was wearing a floppy hat and a wide cloak; she thought she could also make out a beard. At first Magdalena figured he was just one of the many fishermen from that part of town, but then she noticed that he wasn’t working on the nets but just standing there, clearly observing her and the boys. Was he, perhaps, a robber waiting for dusk to fall so he could attack her in a dark alley? The man seemed strangely familiar to her. She looked up anxiously at the sky. The sun was a glowing ball of fire setting behind the Michelsberg hill to the west, and shadows were already falling over the city. She wondered where her father was.

She was about to walk over to the furrier’s house when the door swung open and out came Jakob Kuisl, holding a fox fur that looked like a dirty rag in his hand. He had a pensive look on his face.

Magdalena took a deep breath of relief and slowly started walking over to him, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.

“Do you see the man with the floppy hat over there behind the nets?” she said in a soft voice. “I think he’s watching us.”

Jakob Kuisl squinted and finally nodded.

“Yes, I see him, and I’d like to have a little talk with him, man to man, if you know what I’m saying,” he added with a growl. He turned in the man’s direction, but Magdalena held him back.