Johann, though, was inquisitive, clever, and highly ambitious, which didn’t raise his popularity among his fellow students. Sometimes he wondered why he learned so much faster than everyone else. It was uncanny: he remembered almost instantly anything he read. It was a gift he’d possessed since childhood, but it seemed to him it had grown in the last two years—since his time with Tonio.
But there was another reason why the students tended to avoid Johann. It was as if he was surrounded by something dark and mysterious, like a poisonous cloud that only few people penetrated. Magister Partschneider hadn’t been the only one to notice Johann’s dark aura.
Whenever Johann woke up bathed in sweat in the morning, he knew that he’d dreamed of Archibaldus again, crucified against the wall.
Of Archibaldus and of Margarethe.
He had been scouring the university’s libraries for anything on a certain Gilles de Rais—the mysterious name Archibaldus had left him—but found nothing. Nor did he find anything about the phrase homo Deus est, and he didn’t want to ask any of his teachers about it. He’d learned from Archibaldus and Signore Barbarese that there was some sort of dark secret surrounding the phrase, that it was even associated with heresy. And so he buried his blackest memories in the depths of his mind, where they sometimes surfaced to torture him in his dreams. He also postponed his search for Margarethe time and time again—partly because he was afraid of what would happen if he found her. Would she even receive him, or would she curse him and have him chased out of town? Johann always remembered the last words Margarethe had spoken to him back in Knittlingen.
You are the devil . . .
Johann barely noticed summer coming to an end. One evening, as he and Valentin once again sat together over a game of chess and Johann took particularly long to decide on his next move, Valentin addressed him with concern.
“What’s the matter with you? I mean, you’ve never been the most talkative guy, but you’ve barely uttered a word in days. Something’s brewing inside you, I can tell. Is it because the students from the Swabian hostel stole your lecture notes the other day?”
“Why would I care about those dimwits?” Johann shook his head and knocked over one of Valentin’s knights with his rook. “The Swabians are as thick as newts. There’s no point in arguing with them—even though I’d advise them against bumping into me in a dark alley at the moment,” he added grimly.
“Better watch out there. Hans Altmayer, their leader, already has it in for you. If a dozen Swabians attack you at once, not even the oh-so-proud Johann Faustus stands a chance.”
Valentin wagged his finger with mock severity. Johann hadn’t even told his only friend among the students his real name. There had already been a few scuffles between him and other students, and Johann always left his knife at home now to avoid getting into serious trouble. Larger weapons like épées and swords were forbidden on campus. But fists were enough for Johann, and he’d even used them to help Valentin out of tricky situations. Johann was considered an unpleasant opponent who was better avoided. His fellow students respected him, and some envied his intelligence and knowledge, but no one loved him. No one wanted to go out for a beer with him, and he avoided seeking the company of anyone except Valentin.
Unlike his tall, athletic new friend, Valentin was short and scrawny. His hair was thinning even though he was only seventeen years old. Like Johann, he was smart and hungry for knowledge, but he was also highly sensitive and had been the victim of many beatings. The two of them usually sat together during lectures.
“If it isn’t Altmayer bothering you, then what is it?” asked Valentin persistently.
Johann sighed and pushed the chessboard aside. Why shouldn’t he tell Valentin about his fears? Maybe his friend knew how one went about finding a married girl one hadn’t seen in two years and whose last name one didn’t even know.
“It’s about a girl,” he started awkwardly. “Not just any girl, but I fear she’s the love of my life. She’s been part of my life for as long as I can remember.”
Johann told Valentin about Margarethe, about their times together and how he’d left his hometown. He even told Valentin the real name of his birthplace. His friend frowned.
“I thought you were from Simmern.”
“There were certain . . . incidents at Knittlingen