Here and Now
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“I would kindly ask you, sir robber, to restrain from statements of such sort. At least in the presence of the young maiden here. Do you hear me?”
The eagle-like profile of Giacomo Seingalt was radiating cold that usually preceded a challenge to a duel. Lukerda, scared, moved away from her teacher – it was for the first time that she saw him like this. It seemed that the flame of the candle, reflected in the black, deeply sunken eyes of the old man, became in a sudden sharp, frightening.
Not a flame – but a blade, crawling out of its sheath like a snake.
“Of course, highway robbers have no notion of good manners, but I have hoped... In vain, as I see. This concerns you too, Skwozhina! If Jas finds out, he’ll thrash you with a stick. For you not to speak too freely.” The dependant’s face softened, the cold melted. “And on the whole, let’s stop quarreling. If I have insulted someone unwittingly, I make my apologies. It’s because of the nervousness.”
“All right, old man. It’s everyone’s fault. We’ve dished the dirt here – enough.”
The youth who had settled right on the floor nodded, jerking his cheek in a funny manner. As if he was waiting for a slap. But then again, what had he to be afraid of? He hadn’t hurt anyone, sat there quiet as a mouse. Five year old Karolinka, the daughter of glib Skwozhina, didn’t pay attention to the squabble at all: the girl got to the chest where there were kept multicoloured strings of beads, shining buttons and other baubles. Now the child was fingering these treasures, enchanted, forgetting everything. As for Skwozhina herself, she kept gloomily silent. She didn’t know how to apologize, but at least the fact that she had stopped swearing and talking bawdily was a good omen. No one could demand more.
Skwozhina’s father gave up his ghost when his daughter was scarcely sixteen. Just as Lukerda is now. Her own brother Stanek, a niggard and a rascal, soon drove his stupid and unsightly sister out of home, giving her nothing of their father’s inheritance. “You won’t get married all the same – what the hell do you need a dowry for?” As a farewell gift Skwozhina presented her brother with a billet that turned to be close at hand – presented strongly, from all her heart; and he returned the favour, too: Stanek’s fist was a real one, that of a man. After roaming for some time, the orphan girl settled down in Jas’ tavern – washing floors, bringing water. Bring-take, you fool! Her temper, quarrelsome and difficult to get on with since childhood, became a dozen times worse over the years. A girl of many values she was: a pockmarked face, the build of a horse, the temper of a bitch. Only health God had given her: in sharp frost she would run to the well dressed only in a shabby jacket, would carry bags weighing a hundred pounds, would chop firewood – God yield to anyone! People remembered how a cooper Zych when in his cups had pinched her at the haunch – after that he would hold at his back till winter and would walk lopsided.
The entire tavern was laughing at him.
Nevertheless, there was found a daring man who wasn’t afraid of sharing the cooper’s fate. There, Karolinka’s playing with toys, Mom’s happiness. People had babbled things about a child without a father, but never found out the truth. Skwozhina, when asked about her daughter, would keep mum. Usually she would wag her tongue, say something – run away and fight off! And here – silent as a grave. The same way Skwozhina kept silent when the frontier guard men were whipping her trying to find out the hideout of Jendrich Dry Storm: you’re in the tavern, knowing everything, seeing everything – tell us! The taverner may have his own interest, and what’s in it for you?
They whipped and whipped and gave up. Decided she was a mute.
“Mister Jendrich, let me look at your leg. I think there’s a dislocation.”
“A doctor?” Dry Storm squinted at the youth unkindly.
“Well... Sort of.”
“Go on.”
Lukerda turned away shyly when Jendrich began pulling off his leather lined trousers with the youth’s help; while Skwozhina, not abashed a bit, was staring impudently at the chieftain’s legs, hairy and slightly crooked.
“Indeed, that’s a dislocation!” announced the youth sonorously, glad he had been right. “And the bones are intact. You were lucky...”
“Don’t babble. If you can set it – do it. Soon the Maintz men will visit the tavern.”
“I would ask you, mister...”
“Giacomo Seingalt at your service, young man.”
“Could you hold him, please? Yes, thank you. And I’ll attend to his leg. Now it will hurt...”
“I’ll take it. If you set it, kid – I’ll pay in gold!”
The thin fingers of the youth, proving to be suddenly strong, seized Jendrich’s dislocated leg. “Well, with the God’s help!” Then the youth acted surprisingly quickly and confidently. There was a short strong jerk. Jendrich cursed through his clenched teeth, and this time old Giacomo didn’t reproach him. “That’s all. Now we must bandage it.”
The chieftain moved his leg, made a grimace. “Look at you! It seems you really have been a doctor’s apprentice. Search in the farther packs – there’re fabrics. Take any of them, cut for a bandage. Here’s a knife, take it.”
From the first pack cut open there appeared expensive brocade. The youth and Giacomo who joined him (the latter was sneezing desperately because of the aroused dust) had to open three more packs before they got to the store of strong linen.
“How many things daddy’s got here! I didn’t even know...” Lukerda was looking at the chieftain, bewildered. He didn’t answer, groaning from the painful bandaging. Suddenly he grew silent, pushed his finger to his lips abruptly. Everyone in the cellar held their breath. Giacomo, intending to sneeze once more, hastily closed his mouth and nose with his hand, made a strangled grunt and shuddered.
Muted steps above, over their heads. Voices mumble vaguely. Boards creak, sagging.
Thin dust pours on the turned up faces.
“There, at the ceiling,” Jendrich’s hissing whisper. “Do you see the bung? Pull it out. Just be silent!”
Giacomo pulled out the lump of rags bunging a rat-hole or a vent with a visible effort.
“...rode away?”
“To the forest, to the forest, where else?”
“Don’t you lie?!”
“Why would I lie, sir knight? Robbers are robbers. Pure squandering. To the forest, odd-even, they flew, their den’s there, damn them...”
“And where are the people? Why’s the tavern empty?”
“Afraid, they are. You’ll become angry, that is, order to whip. Hiding they are...”
“A sly devil you are, taverner. Well, bring here meat, wine, but see to it, you rascal, that it’s the very best! You bring us rotten stuff – I’ll order to burn your tavern down, and hang you up high on...”
“The very best, sir knight! Just a moment!.. Wife, quick: wine, wine for the good gentlemen, and I’ll, odd-even, put sausages on the pan...”