Jesse Bullington - The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart

“Well, Saint?” said Manfried.

“Well shit,” said Hegel. “We’s in Gyptland proper, so let’s get this done and find grandad’s loot.”

Manfried took one look at the wrecked boat and began smashing wood free for a decent fire, and Hegel set to helping tie off Raphael’s filthy wound. To the horror of all but the Grossbarts, who laid out the first slave who moved to stop them, a bonfire soon raged where the boat had rested. At one point Raphael pitched forward unconscious and by the time the freed prisoners dragged him back the flaming Providence had taken his left hand but seared the wound shut. The result was that the loyal thug lived, although weeks would pass before any could distinguish individual words out of the one-handed man’s shatter-mouthed gabble.

The grandly inflated horde of Grossbarts and Grossbart followers progressed up the Nile with a simpleminded tenacity. The wound of the captain’s passing still festering in his heart, Rodrigo took masochistic succor from their situation, as did Al-Gassur, who despite it all maintained his ruse of being fluent in Arabic by babbling at the freed slaves-a rude assortment of betrayed generals and too-bold beggars who stayed with their liberators more for the food than for the company. Cardinal Martyn believed he had converted a few of the Moslems, and those he had not spared him a beating out of respect for the Grossbarts.

The grains and dried fruit went quickly with so many mouths but the Grossbarts paid no heed to Martyn’s entreaties to ration the remainder-each brother carried a full satchel reserved exclusively for himself and suggested the cardinal do the same. Had they stayed on the river they might have made progress toward reaching at least a small settlement but the Grossbarts insisted that with the swamp bordering the river given over to sandy wastes, forays in pursuit of the tomb-cities were now mandatory. Every few days the water ran low and back they trudged to the Nile to refill their skins, even Hegel and Manfried finally growing weary of the venture. Despair threatening to cripple the spirits of all, Martyn made another entreaty for the Grossbarts to confess their sins.

The party sat in yet another cemetery-free valley amidst the countless dunes, this one thick with enough dead trees to stoke two fires. The thirty-odd freed prisoners sat some distance off at their own blaze, debating amongst themselves the practicality of turning on the Grossbarts as opposed to simply quitting their company that very night. Had one among them understood the words spoken at the other fire-or the reverse-then blows would surely have been the result, but as it stood the majority of the Moslems had at the very least lost their curiosity as to what the bearded Christians intended by hiking into the desert and then back to the Nile several times a week as the food supplies dwindled.

“Told you twice now and I ain’t sayin again,” Manfried grumbled through his last mouthful of dates. “We’s got nuthin to own up.”

“Everyone must confess, Manfried.” Martyn bowed his head. “I will not judge, only He is allowed that.”

“ She ,” Hegel corrected, “and it can’t hurt, brother.”

“So why don’t you do it then?” said Manfried.

“She’s already seen my sins and absolved me.” Hegel looked to the spectral ceiling of the heavens. “Every rotten trespass I committed washed clean.”

“But you admit you have sinned!” Martyn said, excited they were making progress. “So why not confess them to me, absolved though you may be, so your brother can understand that which he does not realize are sins still must be confessed!”

“Well shit.” Hegel rubbed his hands and bit his lip. “There was that witch.”

“Which?” asked Martyn.

“Witch?” asked Manfried.

“That one up in them hills. Alps.” Hegel looked his brother in the eyes. “Guess I oughta come clean with you seein as She knows it anyway. I done that witch.”

“The witch what lived in the valley with the mantiloup? What you did to’er?” Manfried asked.

“No, confess to me,” Martyn insisted.

“Shut it,” said Hegel. “Yeah, that’s the witch. I, uh, done her. Physically.”

“Kilt’er? When you did that?”

“No, meckbrain, carnal-like. She, uh, sexed me.”

“What!?” Manfried burst out laughing. “Ain’t proper to fool with me, Hegel. That old thing?”

“Some a us what possess a proper palate recognize mutton’s superior to lamb.” Hegel crossed his arms.

“Women ain’t the same as meat!” said Manfried.

“Tell that to the lady-fish we et on the boat. But the point with the witch is I should a known better but I didn’t, so I lost my purity. But She gave it back to me. Mary I mean, the Virgin, which is what the witch’s spell made her seem like.” Hegel spread his hands. “See? No shame for those in Her Graces. Confess to me and you’s absolved same as I.”

Martyn wanted to interrupt but could not retrieve his lower jaw from the sand. Manfried continued to laugh until Hegel punched him. Then he tried to talk several times but kept chortling every time he opened his mouth.

“That old thing?” Manfried repeated. “Christ, brother!”

“Why you think I done it, huh?” Hegel said, furious. “Think I was aimin to knock my Grossballs gainst some witch’s stink-hole? If I hadn’t you would a died from that sick wound a yours, you selfish cunt! That was the price.”

“Should a let me die!” snorted Manfried, but observing the pain in Hegel’s face he sobered. “Thanks, brother, that’s better than I deserve. Had no inklin you had to suffer like that on my account. Damned pious behavior.”

“I’d feel a sight better bout it if you came clean yourself so I wouldn’t have to worry bout you burnin in the pit.” Hegel gave his brother the eye. “Thought’s sinful as deed, Manfried.”

“Is it? Yeah, I reckon it is.” Manfried squinted into the shadows behind them, as if the secret lay hidden in the dark beyond the firelight. “Guess I done some things I shouldn’t, thought some things worse than what I did besides.”

“Come on, then,” Hegel prodded. “Out with it, and spite the Old Boy.”

“Uh, well, that nixie…” Manfried swallowed.

“Yeah?”

Martyn wanted to interrupt but his curiosity overpowered him and he remained silent.

“Well, I, uh, kind a got a fondness for her and that song a hers.” Hegel nodded while Manfried continued. “Reckon some a them things I was thinkin was put there by her witchery, but some a them, er, probably come by my own volition. Mecky thoughts, things what’d shame the Virgin.”

“And what’d you call her?” asked Hegel knowingly.

“Eh?”

“By what name was she called in your thoughts, brother? I know cause I’s guilty’s well a callin a witch by Her Name.” Hegel bowed his head. “Terrible sin.”

“Does it count if you say it stead a me?” Manfried kicked his brother. “So yeah, I reckon lackin a better title the name Mary might a been used. I’d creep into that wagon and watch but I never touched her, well, uh, never meant to touch her. Then that time in the river I was kissin that Road Pope, thinkin it was her. If I was right a mind I never would a laid one on her, let lone no bandit.”

“There it is.” Hegel sighed.

“But that ain’t the worst, brother!” Manfried said anxiously. “I done worse yet. Wickedness to blush Scratch’s smooth cheek. See, when we was with the captain the first time we met Angelino, he was fightin with Barousse and you and Rigo was off lookin outside and I was, I was…”

“Whatever it was, you’s forgiven soon’s you tell me,” Hegel said gently.

“I was fillin my wineskin from her tub, and since then on anytime I was feelin low I’d take a sip out a that salty bathwater, even after she went monstrous.” Manfried’s shame brought his chin low. “Still got a little bit left.” Manfried kept his head bowed until he heard a strange noise and looked up. “You laughin at me, you hag-touchin degenerate?”