The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,47

when the crowd dispersed or someone arrived from the local authority—the bailiff or some of his henchmen—they’d move on, find a new place to camp for the night, and practice. And so they moved along the imperial road.

It was a hard life, but not the worst, and Johann might have grown to like it. He might even have learned to put up with Tonio’s beatings and constant criticism without complaint—if it hadn’t been for that accursed bagpipe.

Johann loathed the instrument, which reminded him of a stubborn animal. It consisted of a leather pouch crafted from a stinking goatskin and several protruding tubes. Two so-called drone pipes produced different but equally howling notes, while the melody pipe or chanter was like a flute and was played with the fingers. Another small pipe served to blow air into the sack.

No matter how hard Johann tried, whenever he blew into the pipe, all that came out was a pitiful squealing or an awful squawking, causing the master to throw up his hands in despair every time.

“Mon Dieu, are you trying to frighten off every soul between here and Cologne?” he’d exclaim. “The only creatures you’ll attract with this music are the wolves. Try harder, God damn it! The bagpipe isn’t hard to play—anyone can do it.”

But try as he might, Johann wasn’t getting any better at it. The master made him practice every afternoon, sending him deep into the forest in rain, hail, or sun. Johann knew the master could still hear him from over half a mile away. If he paused for too long, he didn’t get any supper. If Tonio decided he’d produced only caterwauling again, he didn’t get any supper, either. Whenever the master told him off, the birds in the cage joined in, bickering and cawing as if they were jeering at Johann. Johann wished he could wring the raven’s neck, but he was afraid Tonio would then do the same to him.

One evening, when the master told him once more what a pathetic juggler and embarrassment he was, Johann finally lost his temper.

“If my playing is that horrible, why don’t you play the bagpipe yourself!” he shouted. “Or better still, get yourself on stage and perform your tricks like you used to. You’re bound to impress the audience more than I do!”

“How . . . how dare you, boy.” Tonio’s face turned red and he looked like he was about to explode, his hand raised to strike. But then he paused and gave a grin. “All in good time,” he said. “There are masters and apprentices. If the master performs the tasks of the apprentice, he makes a fool of himself. And if the apprentice tries to imitate the master, bad things happen.”

“But I want to learn how to cast horoscopes and read palms!” exclaimed Johann with indignation. “I’m never allowed to watch when you read people’s futures.”

“Like I said, all in good time.” Tonio tossed the bagpipe at him. “What does it say in the book of Ecclesiastes? There’s a time to be silent and a time to speak. Now go back into the forest and practice, boy. If I hear the wolves howl, no supper for you.”

December brought snow to the land. They’d left the Kraichgau region behind long ago, and Württemberg, too. From time to time, stone markers indicated when they crossed into another county, bishopric, duchy, or knight’s estate. On many bridges they had to pay a toll; sometimes a quick horoscope or a cup of wine would suffice. Tonio explained to Johann that the German empire consisted of hundreds of small states.

“Everyone here cares only about themselves,” he muttered. “Praise be to my France, where Paris is the hub of everything. But that’s what the Germans are like—they don’t look farther than the next tavern.”

The area they passed through next was called Albigoi or Allgäu, and it was mountainous and inhospitable. The people here spoke with an accent Johann could hardly understand, though it must have been German. They drank a sour brown ale, completely different from the beer at home—although home was nothing more than a fading memory now. Only at night, when the blackness of a starless sky covered him like a musty shroud, would he suddenly feel homesick, and then he’d think of his mother, of Martin, and of Margarethe.

As a distraction, Johann often took the small knife into the forest along with the bagpipe. He still hadn’t figured out what the engraving on the handle might stand for.

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