The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,159
She sobbed.
Johann winced. When Margarethe cried, his own fear and insecurity returned. What was real and what was imagination? What was true and what was false? He needed Margarethe’s laughter like medicine.
The black potion . . .
Back in the forest near Nördlingen it had been the memory of her laughter alone that saved him.
Johann needed her the way she used to be, when her laughter was still like a bulwark against all evil and against his gloomy thoughts and musings.
What he required for Margarethe was no less than a guardian angel.
A guardian angel . . .
Johann said nothing as thoughts raced through his mind. His vague idea was taking shape and turning into a plan, still a little rough around the edges and possibly crazy, but tangible now.
“I’m going to help you,” he said eventually. “And soon.”
Spring arrived so slowly that people almost missed its arrival. Water from icicles began dripping into the lanes, forming puddles at first and then deep mud patches. The magisters lifted their long gowns with disgust and stalked across the worst of the filth. The snow melted, but the cold inside the churches and lecture halls didn’t go away.
Johann focused on his studies again. In April, the month of his nineteenth birthday, he passed his baccalaureus, an exam that other students tackled only after two or more years at the university. He graduated as valedictorian, and even old Partschneider nodded approvingly.
“But don’t let it go to your head,” he said warningly. “Pride comes before a fall.”
Johann remembered that Hans Altmayer had once said something similar to him. These days there was a kind of truce between them, but Johann still couldn’t shake the feeling that Altmayer was planning something.
He saw much less of Valentin during those weeks. Johann had been very busy with his preparations for the baccalaureus, and he also avoided his friend intentionally. He didn’t want Valentin to pester him with questions about Margarethe. Deep down he was hoping that Valentin assumed the liaison was finished for good. Besides, Johann was far too preoccupied with his own plans to have time for friends—plans he didn’t want Valentin to know about.
While his friend was attending lectures, Johann often sneaked into the shed and worked on some secret additions to the laterna magica. The changes he made were so minute that he hoped Valentin wouldn’t notice. And the additional parts he needed could be inserted and removed as required.
During their few remaining hours together, the two friends locked themselves inside the shed, sat down on stools like two little boys at a puppet show, and admired the fantastic apparitions on the wall: the leaping stag, the cat with the arched back, the wolf with its bared teeth, and all the other animals Valentin had painted onto glass plates. Dust particles danced in the beam of the oil lamp, which was strong and focused now, thanks to the concave mirror and the lenses. The air smelled of whale oil, burned paint, and hot tin. In those moments, Johann and Valentin were as close as brothers. They had created this miracle together, and they couldn’t get enough of it.
“It is such a shame we can’t show anyone,” Valentin said with a sigh and inserted a new plate into the slot. “I mean, it’s really just the common people who would consider the laterna to be witchcraft. Why can’t we at least show Rector Gallus and perhaps Conrad Celtis? They’d be amazed.”
“Let’s wait a little longer,” replied Johann. “Once I’m a magister I’ll be able to present the apparatus as my own invention. That would spare us a lot of awkward questions.”
“Your invention?” Valentin gave him a confused look. “But we built the laterna together.”
“You’re right, of course,” said Johann. “But I think the degree of magister would elevate the laterna.”
Valentin said nothing and stared straight ahead, where the wolf continued to bare his teeth.
Sometimes now, when Johann considered himself to be alone, he hummed high-pitched melodies—not just in his own chamber, but also in the long corridors of the library of arts. When Valentin caught him humming along thus, he laughed out loud.
“Are you wailing about Gretchen the bride again?” he said mockingly. “Just make sure Altmayer doesn’t hear you. That would give him something new to bitch about.”
Johann cleared his throat. “Spangel asked if I’d join the choir for Easter. Apparently they still need a tenor.” He winked at Valentin. “Although I fear I’ve greased my voice too much with beer and wine.”