The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,91

As usual, the magister had stayed up drinking until late and reeked like an old barrel of wine. Johann thought even the fleas in the beds must find him disgusting. He sneaked downstairs on tiptoes and walked into the yard behind the inn to the wooden outhouse. When he was finished, he lingered in the yard for a while, gazing at the waning moon. It had been only a week since he’d fled from Tonio beneath the same moon. It seemed to him like a different, long-gone life.

Then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Johann spun around and saw the fine features of Salome’s face. She looked even more exotic in the dark, with her oval face the color of burned clay, high cheekbones, and bushy eyebrows. Her hair was tousled, and she wrapped herself up in a blanket that didn’t hide her curves. Her full lips twisted into a mocking smile.

“Are you howling at the moon, my little wolf?”

Johann shook his head. “I’m thinking of something I’d rather forget.”

“Aren’t we all?” She gave a hoarse laugh, sounding almost like a man. “Archibaldus would like to forget that he’s just an old drunk and not an itinerant scholar from a wealthy house. Emilio wants to forget what the mercenaries did to his parents in Lombardy. Peter wants to forget that his time as a great showman is over.”

“He really plays like the—”

“Like the devil, I know.” Salome grinned. “How appropriate! The church considers jugglers as lures of the devil and dancing as their mass.” She swayed her hips suggestively. “And especially dishonorable jugglers’ wenches like me. Well, can you feel the lure of the wench? Can you feel it?”

“Peter could play his music at the courts of noblemen,” Johann said without responding to Salome. “But instead he travels from town to town with your troupe—why?”

Salome gave him a wink. “Once again it was an accursed wench dragging the man to his demise. As far as I know, Peter is the youngest son of a Franconian knight. He loved a girl—a simple barber’s daughter, apparently—and left his family for her. But the lass died young, and not even his music could save her. He’s been roaming the empire with a broken heart ever since.” She shrugged. “At least that’s what he says when he’s drunk. And then he’s pretty hard to understand. Sometimes, when he’s in a really bad state, he talks about some pact that stole the girl from him.”

“I understand Peter too well,” said Johann glumly.

“Because you, too, loved a girl?” She came closer. “Did you?”

“And what about you?” asked Johann quickly. “Are you also trying to forget something?”

“Every day I forget what happened the night before.”

She opened the tattered blanket, revealing her immaculate naked body, with her fuzzy black triangle and full breasts bathed in pale moonlight. He couldn’t move. She brusquely pulled him against her and kissed him hard and passionately, her tongue burrowing into his mouth like an angry viper. Johann felt her hand on his crotch, and there was nothing he could do to stop his penis from growing.

“I like your eyes, my little wolf,” she breathed. “They’re as dark and deep as ponds in the forest. There’s something gleaming under the surface I don’t understand. Can you explain?”

“What . . . what about Emilio?” he asked, breathing heavily.

“Who is Emilio?” She gave a giggle. “I’m free, little wolf. I belong to no one—not even to a god.”

She had pushed him against the rim of a barrel. Johann feverishly grabbed her buttocks and lifted her onto him. Her hips moved slowly and rhythmically, her eyes closed and her delirious face turned toward the crescent moon. They made love in silence except for their gasping breath, wrapped tightly around each other as if they were wrestling. Then Salome gave a soft cry, and her whole body tensed before growing limp. Johann inhaled the scent of her salty sweat. Even though it was cold, he felt as hot as he had that day in the field with Margarethe.

After a few moments she let go of him and wrapped the blanket back around her. She was smiling.

“We should go back before the others wake up. Peter wants to leave early.” She ran her thumb over the black fluff growing on Johann’s chin. “My cute little wolf,” she whispered. “We’ll taste each other again.” Then she turned around and quickly walked back inside the inn.

Johann stayed in the yard for a long time, spellbound, as in a dream.

Johann could