Escape from the Past (7 page)

“What?”

I sighed with frustration. We were wasting precious time. “I’ll explain in a minute.”

But Bero wasn’t finished. He’d stepped to the pot sniffing. “With that?” Bero threw a doubtful glance at the pot. “
Mutter
won’t like it.”

I swallowed my remark that Bero’s mother was ignorant and that the people in this place had no clue how things worked. “You have to trust me. I know this.” I put all my conviction into it, but Bero still looked unconvinced. “People get sick from tiny
creatures that infect the wound. You can’t see them, but they’re all over. And you have to kill them before they take over the body. Your sister may die.” I inhaled.

“
Mutter
will say it is Juliana’s punishment for resisting the master. That it’s
Gottes
will.”

I sighed again. The severity of the situation hit me. What if I couldn’t do the job and she died anyway? They’d blame me for interfering with God’s will. Bero’s mother would complain to Lord Werner. I’d be thrown in the dungeon…or burned at the stake.

But I had to try. And pine was the best I could come up with.

Bero had shut up, but he kept eyeing the pot and sniffed. “It stinks.”

“I know, but the pine oil kills the little bugs,” I said. Why was everything so complicated? I couldn’t talk about bacteria and infection. Bero knew none of it. “Get me a bowl. Clean, if possible.” Bero went inside and emerged with a clay pot. I rinsed and poured some of the pine mixture into it.

“Looks like boiled piss,” Bero announced.

I ignored him and instead inspected my hands. They were less than perfect. I sacrificed one of the new rags to wipe them down with pine water. I had to trust that the concoction would do the trick. Carrying the bowl inside, I grabbed some of the cloth.

“You’ll have to hold her down if she wakes. It’s important that we clean this well.”

Eying the shredded wound, I swallowed bile. This was sickening, but I had no choice. Bero sat down near his sister’s head. I dipped the piece of cloth into the water and dribbled it across Juliana’s leg. At first, nothing happened, but then the girl woke…and began to scream.

“Keep her still,” I barked. The scream turned into a howl as Juliana tried to shove away my hands. She moaned and struggled to move her leg from what had to be fiery pain.

Bero grabbed his sister’s shoulders and arms. “Shshsh, we’re cleaning your leg. Lie still, lass,” he mumbled in a soothing voice, but his eyes were shooting darts as he watched me work.

Ignoring both of them, I kept dripping liquid until the gashes looked saturated. Then I carefully touched the shredded skin with a clean rag and began to pull it open. The girl wailed. I ignored her. I had to finish now. I kept dripping and patting until I was reasonably sure that the pine water had reached every inch. The girl whimpered. It had to burn like hell.

“What are you doing? Juliana!” Bero’s mother stood in the door. Throwing her basket on the floor, she rushed over and pushed me aside. I nearly fell before catching hold of the table. Adela had also appeared. She looked pale and scared but most of all, she looked tired to the bone.

“
Mutter,
” Juliana groaned and began to cry.

“Child, what happened?” Before Juliana could answer, her mother discovered the awful wound. “Your leg. What is this?” She said, crossing herself twice. Then she bent low and stuck a grubby finger in the watery layer of Juliana’s leg.

I wanted to scream, stupid woman, keep your filthy hands off or you’ll kill your own daughter. Instead I nodded at Bero who’d gotten up and stood helplessly between me and his mother.

“Max knows what to do. The healer is away and Max got this cloth. He made the pine water…”

Bero’s mother hurried to the table, inspecting the cloth. “How’s he paid for that?” she said as if I didn’t exist.

“I traded it,” I said.

“You come here and play the master.” The mother placed her arms at her hips and towered over me. “You hurt my little girl. Then you use witchcraft…devil’s brew.” I thought she’d spit on me any second.

“
Mutter,
please.” Juliana’s voice sounded feeble but determined. “Lord Ott attacked me. I didn’t know what to do.” She began to cry again.

I cleared my throat. I had to complete the treatment or it might not work. “I want to finish cleaning her leg,” I said, trying to put strength into my voice. All I thought of was the woman’s dirty finger in the wound and that I had to wash it off.

Bero rushed to get the bowl. “I’ll help.”

I tried ignoring the mother’s stare. To my relief, she remained silent. She’d have to throw me out before I’d stop. I rinsed with more pine water and prepared one of the rectangular pieces, folding it into a padding of sorts. The skin looked ragged and bloody. It was hard to tell in the gloom if the wound was clean. I’d have to wait till morning. After pouring more of the pine mixture across, I placed the padding on top and bandaged it in place with the linen strips.

“You must tell me if it hurts worse,” I said to Juliana, “if it throbs or burns. Wake me—anytime.” Somehow it seemed natural that I’d sleep here tonight. “Bero will help you drink this pine needle tea. It has lots of vitamin C.”

“You speak like a conjurer,” the mother said, “yet you’re a mere boy.”

Bero ignored his mother and fed Juliana the tea.

“I learned things from
my
mother,” I tried.

Bero’s mother mumbled something like witch’s brood and devil’s work. Then she kneeled and rested her folded hands on the bench. “
Christus,
please protect us from evil…” Her prayer turned to incomprehensible whispers.

“Here’s more tea,” I said when she straightened. I held out the mug as a peace offering, but the mother waved her hand in dismissal.

“I need the kettle to cook.”

I poured the remaining pine water into the bowl and handed the mother her pot. I’d rather eat bread anyway. Taking a sip from my tea, I slumped on the bench.

Shadows danced inside the hut as the flames rekindled. I barely noticed the smoke as I drank. Juliana had gone to sleep.
Remembering the apples from Werner’s castle, I handed one to Bero. For the first time since we’d met, Bero smiled. I smiled back. While the mother and Adela cooked, we sat in silence, watching and chewing.

I woke every hour. My bones felt heavy, my head feverish, but I kept listening for sounds from below. Juliana hadn’t stirred and I wondered if she’d died. I told myself nobody died of infection that quickly. Her leg would develop gangrene first, something I’d seen in old war movies. Then came the cutting of limbs, sawing through bone. My stomach revolted. Don’t throw up, I thought, poking a finger through the thatch above my nose. I needed fresh air. I fell into a deep sleep in the early morning.

A scream woke me. I sat up in fright and bumped my head on the roof, only to fall back to my straw sack and rub my forehead.

I remembered last night and froze. Juliana had died. They’d come for me, drag me to the dungeon for murdering the girl. I began to tremble, imagining the mother’s fury. She looked like she was capable of killing me on the spot. I had to escape while they were distracted. Without making a sound I glanced into the room below.

Near the fireplace, Bero, Adela and their mother hovered over Juliana. They were all chatting at once. I didn’t understand a word, until I saw movement in the straw. Juliana had shifted her foot. The white bandage was still in place, but I definitely saw movement.

In a flash I climbed off the platform. They all turned to look at me, their faces expressing something like wonder. On the floor, Juliana struggled to sit. She looked wide-awake.

Her family parted as I approached and kneeled next to the girl. Gingerly, I unfastened the bandage to look underneath. I worried about smelling something putrid, but when I lifted the padding, I sighed. The skin around the gash had lost its puffiness. The wound looked crusted over and more pink than red. Carefully I prodded the undamaged edges.

“What do you feel?” I said.

“Like you’re poking me.”

Was Juliana trying to be funny? I looked at her deer eyes. They were serious.

“Does it pulsate, sting or burn?”

Juliana shook her head. “It hurts, but not like yesterday.”

Behind me, her mother sighed. Bero punched me in the shoulder. “Max, the healer,” he smirked.

Hiding my sudden giddiness, I replaced the pad with a fresh one soaked in pine water, aware of Juliana’s eyes on my hands. Somehow it felt unnerving.

“Do you have more tea?” said Juliana.

“I’ll get the pine. Max can heat water.” Bero darted for the door. I followed him slowly. I was relieved the girl was better. That didn’t change the fact I was trapped in a stinky shack in a stinky village with no idea how to get home. My forehead pounded and my bowels demanded attention as I headed for the outhouse. I’d determined that the plants in the outhouse were for wiping. With longing I thought of the toilet paper I’d taken for granted.

After breakfast and several cups of pine needle tea, Bero’s family headed to the Catholic Church in Rimbach while Juliana remained on the straw sack. The mother had changed her tone, filling my cup and handing me an extra piece of bread.

“Come with us,” Bero said. “You’ll burn forever in hell if you don’t confess your sins and pray.” He looked toward the ceiling as if he were asking God to confirm. “You can come like that. Even if you look outlandish.” He nodded at my pants and sneakers.

I imagined the whole village stuffed together in the medieval church. It had to reek like crazy. Not to mention they’d stare me down. Wanting to keep a low profile I shook my head.

“Sorry, got other plans.”

After Juliana fell asleep, I headed to the river. My body itched,
my hair stuck to my skull and I smelled myself. It was time for another bath, no matter how cold. It was strange how my life had felt completely out of control. Ever since my father moved us to Germany I’d felt out of control like I lost my life. Because no matter how I argued or what I did or said, nothing made a difference. So I’d drifted, gaming every free minute and whenever I didn’t want to think about stuff which was most of the time. Today, for the first time I’d done something good. Even if it was in a game. The sun tried breaking through the layer of gray, but it had to be less than fifty degrees because I saw my breath. Ignoring the chill in the air and thinking of the cold water ahead, I fell into a run.

The
Werra
looked peaceful, the path deserted. I stripped and took my T-shirt and underwear into the shallows to wash. Hanging the wet clothes across a clump of cattails I went to bathe. A duck took off, quacking loudly as I swam along the reeds. I was reluctant to go out farther. The river moved quickly in the middle. I’d never enjoyed swimming much except hanging out with Jimmy at the public pool where we’d played on the waterslides and watched the girls from our high school.

A swan crossed the water thirty feet downstream, its head high and its beady eyes watchful. I turned. Swans could be dangerous. I thought of the swan roast on Knight Werner’s table. These people ate everything that moved. I shivered and mopped myself down as I climbed out of the water.

I carefully stepped through the muck along the river’s edge. It was easy to cut your feet with this stuff. My underwear still hung on the cattails but I didn’t see my shirt.

Then I froze. A woman stood near my clothes. She inspected my T-shirt, sniffing it and mumbling to herself. I crouched and peeked through the vegetation. The woman was dressed in layered blackish-brown rags over a dark-brown skirt. She was turned away from me and I couldn’t see her face, but her hands were wrinkled and covered with age spots.

For a second I felt helpless. I was stark naked and if the woman stole my clothes, I’d be in huge trouble. It didn’t look like Bero and his family had extra outfits and I’d traded the only valuable item for the white fabric. I’d get a shirt, but that wouldn’t be ready for two more days.

The woman bent down to touch my jeans and shoes. Again she mumbled. I had to do something before she ran off. I looked around for something to cover my middle but there was nothing suitable, just thin grasses and reed. The woman straightened. She’d picked up one shoe and held it close to her eyes. Maybe the old bat was half-blind.

I catapulted from the weeds, yelling, “Leave my things alone.”

The woman turned. I’d expected her to jump at my sudden outburst, but she looked at me calmly while lowering the hands that still held my shoe and shirt.

“Good morn,” she said.

I’d yanked my dripping underwear from the reed and twisted my way into the wet fabric. Ignoring the cold, I held out one arm. “Please give me my stuff.”

The woman nodded and handed it over. She kept watching me. “You must be the new lad.”

“Yeah, I’m Max. Who are you?” I knew I was rude, but I was too riled up to exchange pleasantries.

“I’m Luanda, the healer.”

I stared at the shriveled woman whose back was permanently bent and who reminded me of a witch. I wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised to see her pull out a broom and fly off. No wonder the villagers were afraid of her. Luanda stared at me. Her eyes, the color of rain clouds, were hidden behind layers of wrinkles. Her nose looked like a misshapen potato with hair sprouting from it. I lunged forward and whisked my pants from under her feet. Then I stepped back to put some distance between us. Still, the woman watched.

“You aren’t from around,” she said. I wanted to roll my eyes.
I’d heard it a thousand times. Wasn’t it obvious? But the old bat wasn’t finished. She glanced at my shirt again. “Nerds, hmmm?”

I opened my mouth in surprise. The witch could read…and she still wasn’t finished.

“Your journey has been long—and short.”

I nodded while watching the beady eyes. If this was hypnosis, I was going for it. “Your world is very different from this one. You know much and yet…little.”

She began to sound like an oracle, I thought. Maybe she was making up stuff—faking it—and that’s why Bero and his folks called her a healer. These people were too gullible. You could tell them anything and they’d get scared and cross themselves. The old witch was nothing more than a con artist.