The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,142

it’s an outsider, he’s bound to ask questions.”

“Um, I could do it,” replied Valentin.

“You?” Johann looked at him with surprise. Painting was now considered a trade in its own right, like carpentry, butchery, or masonry. There were entire workshops that produced paintings for churches or wealthy citizens, just like carpenters made tables. Johann had seen many such paintings in Barbarese’s house, and he knew how difficult it must be to learn this trade.

“You can paint?” he asked Valentin.

“Not particularly well, but it’ll do for our purposes. Look.” Valentin shyly pulled out a few tattered pieces of paper from under his bed. They were pages from old books with drawings in their margins. The images showed animals and men with bushy tails or donkey ears, a fat man with a pig’s nose, and even a rumpled raven wearing a gown. Johann laughed out loud.

“Why, those are our magisters and doctors! I recognize them all. There is our Partschneider, stern old Gengen, fat Spangel, and scrawny Rentz . . . Ha, and the one with the raven wings is Gallus in his stained gown!”

Valentin grinned. “Exactly right. So you did recognize him?”

“As if he were standing right before me.” Johann clapped his hands together. “Valentin, these are great. I had no idea you were so talented.”

Valentin shrugged. “Just a few silly sketches. I always hide them under the bed so Partschneider won’t find them—I doubt he’d be too pleased.”

“Hardly.” Johann grinned. “I’m afraid he wouldn’t appreciate your talents as they deserve. I do, however.” He gave Valentin a pat on the shoulder. “Maybe you should draw a few harmless pictures for our laterna magica to begin with.”

Every evening after lectures they worked on their project, studying plans and building the box in the shed next to their hostel. They told Magister Partschneider they were building an apparatus for their astronomy class that would allow them to watch the heavenly bodies more easily.

After two weeks elapsed, the eagerly anticipated Sunday arrived.

Johann had asked Margarethe in his letter that she show herself in one of the windows at the rear of the nunnery at noon. He hired the boat at the crack of dawn, rowed up the Neckar, and, like last time, moored near the small village by the mill. Then he roamed the nearby vineyards and woods, feeling nervous and impatient. It was the middle of September; on the mowed fields sat rows of dried hay, which the farmers hurled onto their oxcarts with pitchforks. The sky was still blue, but dark thunderclouds had started to pile up in the west. Johann guessed it would rain later that day.

When the sun stood high in the sky, Johann walked down the vineyards toward the monastery wall. The vines reached almost right up to the wall, so Johann was able to remain practically invisible in their shadows. When the bells rang the noon hour, he whistled on two fingers and waited. Nothing stirred.

Johann’s heart pounded like mad. Had he come too early? Perhaps the nun hadn’t even delivered the letter? Or worse: the sisters had found out about the secret code and questioned Margarethe?

Another thought was so horrible that he pushed it aside instantly: What if Margarethe had read the letter but decided not to show?

Johann whistled again, but still there was nothing. He picked up some small pebbles and threw them against the shutters.

The next few moments felt like an eternity. Then something squeaked, and the right-hand shutter of the outermost window of the second floor opened.

Johann froze. The face of a young woman appeared in the window. She held her hand to her forehead to shield her eyes against the sun, but he had no trouble recognizing her pale, freckled face. A few curly strands of flaxen hair peered out from under the black Benedictine bonnet. Her lips were full and sensual, but her cheeks were hollower than he remembered. Her eyes gleamed with a sadness, an emptiness that was new, and yet she was just as beautiful as on the day he’d left her two years ago.

Up there in the window stood Margarethe.

She looked around searchingly. She hadn’t seen him yet, and Johann relished the moment, like a hunter watching a flighty deer in a clearing early in the morning. After a few moments he softly called her name.

“Margarethe, I’m here!”

Only then did she spot him among the vines. Her mouth twisted into a happy smile, but her eyes remained empty.

“Johann!” she whispered. “My God, Johann . . . It . .