Sasa Stanisic - Before the Feast

It was on the second day of the New Year that the girl felt a great appetentia for food, which soon assumed such proportions that her father, in his concern and uneasiness, sent for me. I found the girl in an unusual conditio ! Her forehead was burning, she was sweating, etc., yet when she was not asleep she kept calling for food. But her stomach would not accept any thing, and the girl vomited it all up again. Before my eyes, she devoured a large chicken, bones and all, a loaf of bread and a piece of butter, putting it straight into her mouth with her hand. In addition she drank milk and beer, and poured rye flour down her throat, but all of this came back up and out of her again.

I tried to prohibit her from eating, but a very strange thing happened: when she was not fed as she demanded, the girl bit her own finger! I told her father to tie her down to her bed, which he did, being full of love for the poor little soul. The child screamed as if in pain, and begged us for food.

The casus was hard for the blacksmith to bear, and in these circumstances I must praise his generosity and hospitality in entertaining me in his own home as well as I could hardly expect at the best of inns. In thanks I shaved both him and his brother in the same way as I shave gentlemen of a certain age and station in Berlin, with a little pointed beard and a slender mustache curving to left and right!

We now gave the girl nothing but vegetable broth, which could not diminish her craving for food. She drank the hot broth straight down, without caring that it burned her throat, and immediately called for more.

On the fifth night, a terrible thing occurred. The girl freed herself from her bonds, and gnawed the flesh from her own hand and arm, so that much blood was shed, and the bare bones were exposed. Before God, that was the worst sight I ever beheld.

In spite of all her bleeding, the girl was still alive. She demanded an apple, which was surprising, for she had not cared what she ate before. Her loving father hurried out and came back with apples. The girl took a bite out of each and then said, in her fever, that these were the wrong apples. The fruit that she desired was to be found in a fallow field run wild, under a solitary oak tree. Once again the father set out, so he was not obliged to see his little daughter die in convulsions and pain. He did not, however, find an apple where he had thought to do so.

I left that poor, sad village not without a troubled mind myself, in fear of God, and thanking Him that He does not show that same countenance to all His flock.

HOW’S THINGS?

Can’t complain.

JOHANN’S LIST OF TOP CANDIDATES FOR HIS FIRST time ever:

1. Wiebke, daughter of Herr Krone. Unfortunately her father is always sarcastic, and a butcher too (dangerous mixture).

2. Andrea from the eco-café in Parmen. Tricky, because eco people have to keep so many rules.

3. New on the list: Anna riding her bike in her dress with spaghetti straps.

After two hours of solitary confinement, Johann is beginning to feel bored. He opens the chest that he pushed to the side of the room earlier. There is a single book in it, wrapped in cloth, old and thick. Instead of a title it has a cross on the cover.

Johann sits on the table, takes a sip of Cola. It is a church register, or maybe a chronicle. The first entry dates from 1587.

Johann leafs on through it.

In the year of Our Lord 1615, in the Month of June, the Following took place. After Konrad Köhler wasted away, losing his Hair and his Power of Speech, and then perish’d of his Sickness and lay Dead, his Mother suspected a young Maidservant, Anna Meier, whom he was said to have reprov’d once, and so the Meier Girl was taken Prisoner, and confess’d under Torture that she was to blame. According to the Sentence pronounc’d on her as a Witch in Brandenburg, she was torn to Pieces with Six pairs of hot Pincers, and then burn’d at the Stake. This Execution took Place on the Eve of the Anna Feast, and was of unusually long Duration, for a violent Storm was raging over the Village, with much Thunder and Lightning .

4. Or maybe Jessie from the Landshop supermarket would be a better choice? MILF. Experienced, an older woman, wears those Crocs shoes with holes in them. Lada says women over thirty who wear Crocs are particularly randy. Jessie is married. Married women, says Lada, are even randier. Lada says they’re like war veterans who still want to prove their worth on the battlefield.

THE FERRYMAN ONCE SAID THAT THERE IS SOMEONE in the village who has more memories of other people than memories of his own. The village immediately felt sure that he meant Ditzsche. But we think he could have meant other people.

Ditzsche checks the egg box. There is still music playing in his apartment. He takes the coins out of the box, counts the eggs. Eight euros, and Piazzolla’s Argentinian music playing indoors. Ditzsche: a thin man, sinewy. He closes the lid of the box, taps out the rhythm of a few bars on it.

We don’t know what to make of Ditzsche. What is it that the night finds interesting about him? The fact that he’s always a loner? The loneliness of an old man? But we have Herr Schramm for that. Ditzsche never seems seriously bothered by being alone. Not with his chickens, not with his music, not with our letters. Maybe that’s it? The postman as an informer. On the other hand: nothing was ever proved against him, and he himself has denied acting on anyone’s instructions. And certainly he denied reading our letters.

Dietmar Dietz is like an earworm, a catchy phrase from a song you hardly know. A song of which you remember just that one memorable line from the refrain, and very likely you get that wrong (betraying the village, passionately keen on dancing, clucking chickens, shy with other people). The tune won’t let go of you, you hum and whistle along with it, you don’t even know whose song it is.

Ditzsche disappears into the yard and checks up on his poultry. The vixen is lurking in the darkness outside, the limping vixen, blind in one eye now. She has probably caught the scent of the eggs. She crosses the road and gets up on her hind legs, forepaws propped against the table, nose against the box. With one leap she is on top of it.

The song is the song of those whose aim doesn’t go wrong. The song of the driven and unforgiven. Even hurt, even in a spin, we and the fox both want to win. The song is unorthodox, the song of a fox, the song of a fox who opens a box.

FRAU REIFF LETS HER CAT OUT AND WAITS WITH her hand on the door, out of curiosity or civility, for Anna, Herr Schramm and Frau Schwermuth to be within hearing distance so that she can wish them a good evening. “Still out and about so late?”

The trio, as if in chorus: “Yes.”

A few years ago Frau Reiff bought the old smithy, renovated it with the help of friends and the village, and now has a pottery workshop there. We think it’s the most beautiful house in all Fürstenfelde.

What do we mean by beautiful? Nicer than the neighboring houses. The sun comes in, the house stores up the warmth, it has a history, that kind of thing. One very important point is that Frau Reiff did much of the renovation herself. It has its own garden, another plus point. For instance, think of all the extra vegetables that can be given away to neighbors who don’t have any garden! Or her family in the city, who can be persuaded of the advantages of a country life by having their mouths literally stuffed with those vegetables to silence them. Something else that matters is what kind of a person you are. If you have a nasty character, the facade of your house is nasty too, that’s what we say here. Who’s going to praise someone’s hedge if they don’t like the hedge’s owner? We also think Frau Reiff’s house is beautiful because Frau Reiff is not to blame for anything. Or not so far as we know, anyway.