Tyll Page 27

  “What do we do now?” Tyll hears Matthias ask.

  “Find the pickax,” replies Korff. “It must be lying around here someplace. If not, I tell you, we can save ourselves the trouble. Then we’re done for.”

  “Kurt had it,” says Tyll. “It must be under Kurt.”

  He hears the two of them scraping and pushing and groping and cursing in the dark. He remains sitting—he doesn’t want to be in their way, and above all he doesn’t want them to remember that it wasn’t Kurt who had the pickax but he himself. He is not entirely certain, because you grow more and more muddleheaded here. You can still remember distant events clearly, but the closer something was to the bang a short while ago, the more soupy and runny it is in your mind. He is in fact fairly sure that he had the pickax but that, because it was heavy and kept dangling between his legs, it is now lying somewhere in the shaft. He doesn’t say a word about this, though. It’s better if the two of them think that the pickax is with Iron Kurt, for he has moved on; however angry they get, it doesn’t matter to him.

  “Are you helping, bag of bones?” asks Matthias.

  “Of course I’m helping,” says Tyll, without budging. “I’m searching and searching! I’m searching like mad, like a mole, can’t you hear?”

  And because he is a good liar, this satisfies them. His aversion to moving is due to the air. It is suffocating, nothing is flowing in, nothing out, you could easily pass out and never wake up. In air like this it’s better not to move and to breathe only as much as absolutely necessary.

  He shouldn’t have joined the miners. That was a mistake. The miners are deep down below, he had thought, and the bullets fly up above. The miners are protected by the earth, he had thought. The enemy has miners to blow up our walls, and we have miners to blow up the shafts the enemy digs under our walls. Miners dig, he had thought, while up above there’s hewing and stabbing. And if a miner pays attention, he had thought, and takes advantage of the moment, then he can also simply keep digging and dig himself a tunnel and pop up somewhere outside, he had thought, beyond the fortifications, and make off before anyone’s the wiser. And because Tyll had thought this, he told the officer holding him by the collar that he wanted to join the miners.

  And the officer: “What?”

  “The commandant said I can choose!”

  And the officer: “Yes, but…really? The miners?”

  “You heard me.”

  Yes, that was stupid. Miners almost always die, but they didn’t tell him that until he was underground. For every five miners, four die; for every ten, eight die; for every twenty, sixteen; for every fifty, forty-seven; and for every hundred, all of them die.

  At least Origenes got away. It was due to their quarrel, just last month, on the way to Brno.

  “In the forest there are wolves,” the donkey said, “hungry wolves, don’t leave me here.”

  “Don’t worry, the wolves are far away.”

  “They’re so close I can smell them. You’re climbing a tree, but I’m standing down here, and what do I do when they come?”

  “You do what I say!”

  “But what if you say something stupid?”

  “Even then. I’m the human. I should never have taught you to speak.”

  “They shouldn’t have taught you to speak either, you almost never make any sense, and your juggling is not what it was. Soon you’ll be slipping off your rope. You can’t order me around!”

  And then Tyll simply remained angrily in the tree and the donkey remained angrily down below. Tyll has slept so often in trees that it’s no longer hard for him—you need a thick branch and a rope to tie yourself up, and a good sense of balance, and as with everything else in life you need practice.

  For half the night he heard the donkey cursing. Until the moon rose he grumbled and muttered, and Tyll did feel sorry for him, but it was late, and at night you cannot move on, what could you do. So Tyll just fell asleep, and when he woke up, the donkey was gone. No wolves had come, he would have noticed; apparently the donkey decided that he could make it on his own and didn’t need a ventriloquist.

  And Origenes was right about the juggling. Here in Brno, in front of the cathedral, Tyll blundered and a ball fell to the ground. He pretended it had been intentional, made a face that made everyone laugh, but something like that is no joke, it can happen again, and if next time it really is the foot on the rope, what then?

  Well, that’s one less thing to worry about. It doesn’t look like they’re going to get out of here.

  “It doesn’t look like we’re going to get out of here,” says Matthias.

  Yet it must have been Tyll, those were his thoughts that strayed into Matthias’s head in the darkness, but perhaps it was the other way around, who could tell. Now they also see little lights, buzzing like glowworms, which, however, are not really there either, Tyll knows that, for although he sees the lights, he also sees that it is still completely dark.

  Matthias groans, and then Tyll hears a thud, as if someone had punched the wall. Then Matthias utters a wild curse—one that Tyll never heard before. Have to remember that, he thinks, but then he has immediately forgotten it nonetheless and wonders whether he only imagined it, but what was it anyway, what did he imagine? Suddenly he no longer knows.

  “We’re not going to get out of here,” Matthias says again.

  “Shut your stupid trap,” says Korff, “we’ll find the pickax, we’ll dig ourselves out, God will help.”

  “Why should he?” asks Matthias.

  “He didn’t help the lieutenant,” says Tyll.

  “I’ll bash your heads in,” says Korff. “Then you definitely won’t get out.”

  “What are you doing here, anyway?” asks Matthias. “You are Ulenspiegel, aren’t you?”

  “They forced me. You think I’d volunteer? And what are you doing here?”

  “I was forced, too. Stole bread, was put in chains, bim bam boom. But you? How did that happen? You’re famous, aren’t you? Why would they force someone like you?”

  “Down here no one is famous,” says Korff.

  “Who forced you, then?” Tyll asks Korff.

  “No one forces me to do anything. Anyone who tries to force Korff, Korff kills. I was with the drummers under Christian von Halberstadt, then I went to the French as a musketeer, then to the Swedes, but when they didn’t pay, I went back to the French as an artilleryman. Then my battery was hit, you’ve never seen anything like it, direct hit with heated shot, all the powder blows up, fire like the end of the world, but Korff threw himself into the bushes and survived. Then I went over to the imperial forces, but they didn’t need cannoneers, and I didn’t want to be a pikeman anymore, so I came to Brno, and because I didn’t have any money left and no one gets paid as well as the miners, I mined. Been doing it for three weeks now. Most don’t survive that long. I was just with the Swedes, now I kill the Swedes, and you two dirtbags are lucky that you’ve been buried alive with Korff, because Korff is hard to kill.” He wants to say more, but now he is running out of air, and he coughs, and then he is quiet for a while. “You, bag of bones,” he finally says. “Have any money?”

  “Not a penny,” says Tyll.

  “But you’re famous. Can someone be famous and have no money?”

  “If he’s stupid, he can.”

  “And you’re stupid?”

  “Brother, if I were smart, would I be here?”

  Korff can’t help laughing. And because Tyll knows that no one can see it, he pats down his jerkin. The gold pieces in the collar, the silver in the button border, the two pearls, securely sewn into the bottom of the lapel—all still there. “Honestly. If I had anything, I would give it to you.”

  “You’re just a poor wretch too,” says Korff.

  “Forever and ever, amen.”

  All three of them can’t help laughing.


  Tyll and Korff stop laughing. Matthias keeps laughing.

  They wait, but he is still laughing.

  “He’s not stopping,” says Korff.

  “He’s going mad,” says Tyll.

  They wait. Matthias keeps laughing.

  “I was there outside Magdeburg,” says Korff. “I was with the besiegers, it was before I was with the Swedes, at the time I was still with the imperial troops. When the city fell, we took everything, burned everything, killed everyone. Do what you want, the general said. It’s hard to get the hang of it, you know, you have to get used to it first, that you really are allowed. That it’s possible. To do what you want to people.”

  Suddenly it seems to Tyll as if they were outside again, as if the three of them were sitting in a meadow, the sky blue above them, the sun so bright that you had to squint. But while he is narrowing his eyes, he also still knows that it isn’t so, and then he no longer knows what it was that he just knew wasn’t so, and then he has to cough, because of the bad air, and the meadow is gone.

  “I think Kurt said something,” says Matthias.

  “He didn’t say anything,” says Korff.

  He’s right, thinks Tyll, who didn’t hear anything either. Matthias is imagining it, Kurt didn’t say anything.

  “I heard it too,” says Tyll. “Kurt said something.”

  Immediately they hear Matthias shaking the dead Iron Kurt. “Still alive,” he cries, “still there?”

  Tyll remembers yesterday, or was it the day before yesterday? The attack when the lieutenant was killed. Suddenly the hole in the wall of the shaft, suddenly knives and screaming and banging and crashing, he pressed himself very deep into the dirt, someone stepped on his back, and when he lifted his head again, it was already over: A Swede stabbed the lieutenant in the eye, Korff slit the Swede’s throat, Matthias shot the second Swede in the belly with his pistol, making him scream like a stuck pig, for nothing hurts like a shot in the belly, and the third Swede beheaded one of theirs, whose name Tyll never learned, for he was new, and now it doesn’t matter, now he no longer needs to know the name, with his saber, making him spray like a fountain of red water, but the Swede couldn’t rejoice for long, for Korff, whose pistol was still loaded, now shot him in the head, clip-clop, zip-zop, it took no longer than that.

  Things like that never take long. Even that time in the forest it went quickly. Tyll can’t help it, he has to think about it, because of the darkness. In the darkness everything gets muddled, and what you have forgotten is suddenly back. That time in the forest he was closest to Godfather Death, he felt his hand—that’s why he knows so well how it feels, that’s why he recognizes it now. He has never spoken of it, has never thought about it again either. For it’s possible to do that: simply not think about something. Then it’s as if it never happened.

  But now, in the dark, everything wells up. Closing your eyes helps as little as opening your eyes wide, and to fend it off he says: “Shall we sing? Perhaps someone will hear us!”

  “I don’t sing,” says Korff.

  Then Korff begins to sing: There is a reaper, they call him Death. Matthias sings along, then Tyll joins in too, whereupon the other two go silent and listen to him. Tyll’s voice is high, clear, and forceful. His power’s from God on high. He’ll come and steal away our breath, no matter how we cry.

  “Sing along!” says Tyll.

  And they do so, but Matthias immediately stops again and laughs to himself. Fair flower, beware. So fresh and green, so bonny and bright today, tomorrow with his scythe so keen, he’ll cut your life away. Now Kurt can be heard singing along too. He doesn’t manage it very loudly and is hoarse and doesn’t hit the right notes, but he shouldn’t be judged too severely; when someone is dead, singing can certainly be hard for him too. You roses red and you lilies white that gladden the meadows and hills, you lilacs that fill the air with delight, you hyacinths and you daffodils. Fair flower, beware.

  “My goodness,” says Korff.

  “I told you he’s famous,” says Matthias. “It’s an honor. A respected man is dying with us.”

  “I am indeed famous,” says Tyll, “but I have never been respected in all my life. Do you think anyone heard it, the singing, do you think anyone’s coming?”

  They listen. The explosions have resumed. A rumbling, a trembling in the ground, silence. A rumbling, a trembling, silence.

  “Torstensson is blasting away half our city wall,” says Matthias.

  “He won’t succeed,” says Korff. “Our miners are better than his. They’ll find the Swedish shafts, they’ll smoke them out. You’ve never seen Tall Karl angry.”

  “Tall Karl is always angry, but also always drunk,” says Matthias. “I could strangle him with one hand behind my back.”

  “Your brain has gone to the dogs!”

  “Shall I show you? You think you’re a great man because of Magdeburg and wherever you’ve been!”

  Korff is quiet for a moment. Then he says softly: “I’ll beat you to death.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ll do it.”

  Then they are silent for a while, and they hear the bangs of the explosions from above. They also hear stones trickling. Matthias says nothing, because he has understood that Korff means it seriously; and Korff says nothing, because all at once he is overwhelmed by longing, as Tyll is well aware, for due to the darkness your thoughts don’t stay with you alone, you overhear those of the others, whether you want to or not. Korff feels the longing for air and light and the freedom to move wherever he pleases. And then, because this reminds him of something else, he says: “Fat Hanna!”

  “Oh, yes,” says Matthias.

  “Those thick thighs,” says Korff. “That behind.”

  “My God,” says Matthias. “Her behind. Her arse. Her arse behind.”

  “You had her too?”

  “No,” says Matthias. “I don’t know her.”

  “And the tits on her,” says Korff. “At Tübingen I knew another one with such tits. You should have seen her. She did anything you wanted, as if there were no God.”

  “Have you had many women, Ulenspiegel?” asks Matthias. “You had money once, you must have indulged yourself, tell us.”

  Tyll is about to reply, but all at once it is no longer Matthias next to him but the Jesuit on his stool, whom he sees as clearly as back then: You must tell the truth, you must tell us how the miller summoned the devil, you must say that you were afraid. Why must you say it? Because it’s true. Because we know it. And when you lie, look, there’s Master Tilman, look what he has in his hand, he will use it, so speak. Your mother spoke too. She didn’t want to at first, she had to feel it, but then she felt it and spoke, that’s how it always is, everyone speaks when they feel it. We already know what you will say, because we know what’s true, but we must hear it from you. And then he says, whispering, leaning forward, almost kindly: Your father is lost. You will not save him. But you can save yourself. He would want that.

  Yet the Jesuit is not here, Tyll knows that, only the two miners are here, and Pirmin over on the forest path, they have just left him behind. Stay here, Pirmin cries, I’ll find you, I’ll hurt you! And that is a mistake, for now they know that they must not help him, and the boy runs back again and fetches the pouch with the balls. Pirmin screams his head off and swears like a coachman, not only because the balls are the most valuable thing he has, but also because he realizes what it means that the boy is taking them with him: I curse you, I’ll find you, I won’t cross over, I’ll stay to search for you! It’s frightening to see him lying like that, so contorted. Thus the boy runs and still hears him from a distance and runs and runs, Nele alongside him, and they still hear him. It’s his own fault, she gasps, but the boy senses Pirmin’s curses working and something bad coming toward them, in the middle of the bright morning, help, King, get me out of her
e, undo it, back then in the forest.

  “Well, go on, tell us,” someone says. Tyll recognizes the voice, he remembers, it is Matthias. “Say something about arses, say something about tits. If we’re going to die, at least give us some tits.”

  “We’re not going to die,” says Korff.

  “But tell us,” says Matthias.

  Tell us, the Winter King says too. What was there in the forest, remember, what was it?

  But the boy doesn’t tell. Not him and not anyone else and especially not himself, for if you don’t think about it, it’s as if you have forgotten it, and if you have forgotten it, it did not happen.

  Tell us, says the Winter King.

  “You dwarf,” says Tyll, because he is beginning to get angry. “You king without a country, you nothing, and besides, you’re dead. Leave me alone, crawl away.”

  “You crawl,” says Matthias. “I’m not dead, Kurt is dead. Tell us!”

  But the boy cannot tell, for he has forgotten. He has forgotten the path in the forest, and he has forgotten Nele and himself there on the path, he has forgotten the voices in the leaves, go no farther, but it was not actually true, they didn’t whisper that, the voices, if they had, Nele and he certainly would have listened, and all at once standing in front of them are the three men, whom he no longer remembers, he no longer sees them, he has forgotten them, standing there in front of them.

  Marauders. Disheveled, angry, without knowing at what. Well, well, says one of them, children!

  And Nele thinks of it, fortunately. Of what the boy told her: We are safe as long as we are faster. When you run faster than the others, nothing can happen to you. And so she darts sideways and runs. Later the boy doesn’t remember—and how should he remember, for he has forgotten everything—why he didn’t run too. But that’s just the way it is, one mistake is enough: don’t understand something one time, goggle for too long one time, and already he is putting his hand on your shoulder. He bends over him. He smells of brandy and mushrooms. The boy wants to run, but it’s too late, the hand remains where it is and the other man is standing next to him, and the third has run after Nele, but now he is coming back, panting—of course he didn’t catch her.