Garrido, Antonio - The Scribe

Theresa turned to find Korne smiling sardonically. The rain ran down his grotesque face and over his bare, exposed gums. He stank of incense, which he used to mask his usual rancid stench. She would have happily told Korne the nature of her thoughts, but remembering the past, she bit her tongue and bowed her head. After so much sacrifice, she was not about to give in to provocation. If he was trying to find an excuse to reproach her, he would have to try a lot harder.

“No matter,” continued the parchment-maker. “I must admit, I feel sorry for you: Your father has been hurt… you have had a fright… you’re nervous, of course. Evidently it is not the right time to undertake such an important test. So in consideration of your father, I am prepared to postpone the examination for a sensible length of time.”

Theresa breathed a sigh of relief. It was true that she still had the image of her blood-soaked father in her head. Her hands trembled, and though she felt strong enough, a postponement would give her the chance to calm down.

“I’m grateful for your offer, but I don’t wish to disrupt preparations. However, I would welcome a few days to rest,” she admitted.

“A few days? Oh, no!” he said with a smile. “Postponing the trial would mean waiting until next year. It’s the rules, you see. But in your state… look at you: trembling, frightened… I have no doubt that postponing it is the right thing to do.”

Theresa feared that Korne was right. Candidates who withdrew from the examination could not reapply for admission until a full year later. However, for a moment she had thought that given the circumstances the parchment-maker would make an exception.

“So?” Korne pressed.

Theresa was unable to respond. Her hands were sweating and her heart thumped in her chest. Korne’s offer was not unreasonable, but nobody could foresee what would happen in twelve months. However, if she attempted the test and failed, she would never again be allowed to retake it. Or at least, not while Korne was head of the parchment-makers, for he would use her failure as proof of what he had so frequently proclaimed: that women and animals are merely there to bear children and transport loads.

As Korne waited for her response, he tapped his fingers on a barrel. Theresa considered withdrawing, but at the last moment she resolved to show Korne that she was better qualified than any of his sons to be a parchment-maker. And what’s more: If she really wanted to become a master parchment-maker, she must get used to dealing with problems as they arose. And if for any reason she did not pass the test, perhaps in a few years’ time, she would be able to attempt it again. After all, she told herself, Korne was old, and by then he might have died or fallen ill. So she lifted her head, and with determination in her voice, she informed him that she would take the examination that morning and accept the consequences. The parchment-maker looked unperturbed.

“Very well. If that is what you wish, let the show begin.”

Theresa nodded and turned to head back into the workshop. As she was about to go through the entrance, the parchment-maker called out:

“May I ask where you are going?” he said with nostrils flaring like a horse’s.

Theresa looked at him, perplexed. She was going to her workbench to check the equipment she would use in the test. “I thought I would sharpen the knives before the count arrived, prepare the—”

“The count? What has the count got to do with this?” he interrupted, feigning surprise.

Theresa lost the will to speak. Her father had assured her that Wilfred would be present.

“Ah, yes!” Korne continued with an affected grimace. “Gorgias said something about that. But yesterday, when I visited the count, he was so busy I judged that we should not disturb him for such a trivial thing. I presumed, and I think rightly, that if you are capable of coping with any turn of events, the count’s absence from your examination should not be an impediment. Or should it?”

Theresa then understood that Korne had not assisted her father out of kindness, nor had he suggested postponing the examination out of consideration of her circumstances. He had helped Gorgias knowing that the fate of the workshop, and therefore his own, was bound to the scriptorium’s activity. What a fool she had been! To think that for a few moments she had believed he had good intentions. Now she was at the mercy of this moron, and all her skills would be as much use as a pile of sodden firewood. The young woman bowed her head and prepared to accept the inevitable, but just as she had lost all hope, an idea lit up her face.

“It’s curious,” she said confidently. “My father not only assured me that Wilfred would witness the examination, but also that, aware of my progress, he wanted to keep my first parchment for himself. A parchment that—as you know—I must mark with my seal,” she pointed out. She prayed that Korne would swallow her lie. If he did, perhaps she would have a chance.

The parchment-maker’s stupid smile immediately disappeared from his face. Ultimately, he did not know whether what she was saying was true, but if they were Wilfred’s wishes, he could hardly risk going against them. In any event, he could not care less what the count said or thought, because the girl would not pass the test. Not, at least, while he was master of the parchment-makers.

Theresa was still waiting to hear whether she would be allowed to take the test when Korne summoned the rest of the workers. Laborers and craftsmen immediately stopped their work filling the courtyard and turning it into a sort of arena. The youngest workers nabbed the front spots, spreading out around the yard. One boy shoved another lad, who fell into a pool, making the crowd cheer with approval. The craftsmen made themselves comfortable in the corners out of the rain, but the laborers were unfazed by a little water. One of them came out with a basket of apples to share with those who were waiting impatiently as if for the beginning of the show. It seemed like everyone except Theresa knew what was about to happen. Korne clapped his hands and addressed the improvised audience.

“As you all know, young Theresa has applied for admission to the guild.” There was a roar of laughter.

“The lass,” he said, pointing at her as he clutched his groin, “thinks she is cleverer than you, cleverer than my sons, and cleverer than me. This woman! A woman who shits her skirt and hides under a blanket when she hears a dog bark! But she has some courage, I’ll give her that. Ha! The audacity to ask for a job that by its very nature is for men.”

The laborers laughed in unison. One joker threw an apple core, which flew across the yard and hit Theresa in the face. Another flailed about, imitating a girl running scared, and the rest applauded until Korne interrupted the jesting to continue his tirade.

“Women doing men’s work… can someone explain to me how a woman could work here and also tend to her husband? Who would cook and clean for him? Who would take care of his children? Or perhaps she would bring her brood of little girls here to join the guild, too?”

Laughter rippled around the yard again.

“And when summer comes and the heat arrives, when sweat soaks her body and her smock presses tight against her breasts, will she expect us to look elsewhere and repress our desires—or perhaps she will offer us her fruits as a reward for our efforts?”

The crowd continued laughing, shoving each other and winking as they applauded Korne’s witticisms.

At that moment, Theresa stepped forward. Until then she had kept quiet, but she was not going to put up with any more jeering. “If I have a husband one day, how I look after him will be my business. And as for my breasts,” she said, “given the attention you pay them, I will be only too pleased to inform your wives of your lecherous desires so they can make up for the lack that you so clearly suffer from. And now, if you don’t mind, I would like to start the test.”