The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,220

the cell, the two of them merged into one single body, and for a while all that Johann heard was the moaning of the other prisoners.

Meanwhile, he studied Greta’s face. It was quite dark in the cell, but still—there could be no doubt. The freckles, the soft mouth that always seemed to smile a little, the pronounced cheekbones, the flaxen hair . . . only the eyes were different. Black and mysterious like ponds in the forest.

His eyes.

Johann felt as though he were paralyzed. Impossible, he thought. This must be a dream . . .

Finally, Greta freed herself from Valentin’s embrace and looked at Johann.

“Who is that?” she asked with curiosity.

“An old friend,” replied Valentin with a smile. He eyed Johann closely, expectantly. “We were very close once. We were scholars in Heidelberg together.”

“What are scholars?” asked Greta.

“Oh, young lads who drink too much wine and beer and think that they’re immortal,” replied Valentin with a wink. Then he turned to Johann. “That’s right, isn’t it? Immortal.”

Johann didn’t reply. He was still staring at Greta. She was just on the brink between girlhood and womanhood. Her stature was tall and athletic, and tiny breasts were showing beneath the dress, but her face was still childlike. Johann remembered the summer days in Knittlingen, playing in the hay, hide-and-seek in the woods. It could only be coincidence—there was no other possibility. Still, the resemblance was astonishing. Now he understood what Valentin had meant.

There’s something about her . . . something familiar . . .

Greta appeared to have lost interest in Johann again.

“Did you bring me something?” she asked Valentin excitedly.

“What do you think?” Valentin held out the pouch with his crippled, pincer-like hand. “See for yourself.”

Greta immediately started to rummage through the pouch. With a cry of delight she pulled out a chunk of cheese, half a loaf of bread, and a few shriveled apples. She stuffed her mouth with bread and pushed in the cheese after.

“Don’t eat so fast, child,” said Valentin. “You’ll only make yourself sick.”

The two men watched in silence as the girl ate. She was frightfully skinny, and her face and arms were dirty and covered in fleabites and scabs, but Johann couldn’t see any serious injuries. Evidently the hangman hadn’t started the torture yet. Johann was amazed at how well the girl looked, given the circumstances. It must be awful for her, alone in the cell at night, listening to the screams of other inmates and having not one person to talk to, apart from the hunchbacked keeper and a few surly guards. It would seem Greta possessed an inner strength that many adults lacked.

When Greta was finished eating, Valentin cleared his throat. “I brought you something else, too. I thought you could use it when you feel lonely. I know you’re probably too old now, but still . . .”

From under his coat he pulled a tattered doll with matted, woolen hair and button eyes, one of which was dangling by a thin thread. Greta cried out with joy and squeezed the doll to her chest.

“My little Barbara,” she whispered. “Did you miss me? I know, I didn’t take good care of you in the last few years. I’m sorry.” She stroked the doll, and suddenly she seemed much younger than her fourteen years.

“My friend is a physician,” said Valentin. “He would like to examine you so we know how you are doing. His name is Johann.”

“Hello, Greta.” Johann thought his voice sounded as if it weren’t his own. He tried to smile encouragingly. “May I . . . may I take a closer look at you?”

Greta pressed her lips together and gave him a frightened look. “That’s what the keeper said, too,” she whispered. “I don’t like it.”

Johann raised his hands. “I won’t hurt you. I promise. I’m a physician. And I can do magic,” he added mysteriously.

Greta looked at him with surprise. “Magic?”

Johann nodded. “Give me the doll. I’ll show you.”

Greta hesitated and looked at Valentin, who gave her a nod. Then she handed the doll to Johann. “But don’t hurt her.”

The idea had come spontaneously to Johann. He remembered well how much he’d loved magicians and jugglers as a little boy. Now he sat Barbara on his lap and held her little hands.

“Good day, little Barbara,” he said.

“Good day, Johann,” said the doll.

“I hear Greta hasn’t been playing with you lately. What have you been up to, all alone?”

“Oh, I sneaked into the kitchen at the command and stole a pot of honey,”