Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart - By Jesse Bullington Page 0,138

risen Hegel, Rodrigo had suffered the worst injuries the day before. The patch of exposed skull on his scalp, his punctured hand, and his masticated ear still bothered him less than the decline of his captain, the only family he had left. Sitting on the crossbeam beside Sir Jean’s wilting head he looked to the sea, wondering how he could go on if Barousse died.

The day meandered by, the men’s despair countered by the Grossbarts’ optimism. Surely the sandy lands of gold lay behind the next cloudbank, and even late into the afternoon they watched the horizon expectantly, positive that any moment a shore would appear. It did not, and while the winds were stronger at night the men were exhausted and again went to bed hungry in their bunks. That Al-Gassur seemed fit as ever did not sway any but the Grossbarts to sample her flesh.

The Grossbarts ate copiously, arguing whether their meal tasted good or not. Manfried found it gamier than most aquatic meat, while Hegel thought it especially fishy. His dislike of four-legged beasts in no way impinged on his enjoyment of their seared flesh and organs.

“Odd,” Hegel said after they had eaten, “we’s seen us what now, three witches and three monsters?”

“You’s calculatin improper,” Manfried belched.

“How’s that?”

“One monster, that mantiloup or what have you, the witch what served’em—”

“He served her,” Hegel interjected.

“Moot. Then we got that witch come with the pig. And he got a demon in’em, so that’s one more a each.”

“That’s where you’s off, cause the man’s a witch, the demon in’em’s a demon, and that pig makes three.”

“Three what? No, shut it. That pig was a pig was a pig. A pig what got a demon in it after we kilt the witch.” Manfried shook his head at his brother’s obtuseness.

“How you know it weren’t his servant, or the Devil?”

“I don’t, same as you, so in the absence a evidence we’s gonna assume it was simple swine got possessed by a demon.”

“If it was Old Scratch he wouldn’t well let some mecky demon in’em.” Hegel reasoned. “Would a come at us himself.”

“See, that’s bein sensible.” Manfried was impressed. “So that’s two witches and two monsters, and she what we just et makes three.”

“Three what?”

“Hmmm,” grumbled Manfried. “Witches? Witches.”

“Witches, in my voluminous experience as a tutor in Praha, do not have goddamn fish parts stead a legs.” Hegel made a big to-do of straightening his beard and sniffing his knobby nose.

“Hmm.”

“Monsters, on the other hand, have all kinds a weird animal parts. What makes’em monsters, after all.”

“Witches might have tails,” Manfried said after another bite. “Just not ones that big.”

“Granted, maybe a little cow tail or cat thing or what, might even have seven tits like a bitch, but this mess—” Hegel squeezed the greasy meat between his fingers. “No sir. But then a monster don’t cast charms and such in my knowledge, so I figure she counts for both.”

“Eatin a monster’s no sin,” Manfried philosophized, “but eatin a witch is, cause they’s more or less mannish, so long’s we stay south a the navel we’s safe.”

“The truth, unadulterated by rhetoric. Don’t taste too bad, neither, if I’s to be honest.”

“But that broaches another curiosity,” said Manfried. “We can agree a demon’s different from other monsters, requirin, as the cardinal told us on the mountains, a body, preferably a witch, to ride round in like we’s on this boat.”

“Cause like us, it might float for a little while fore sinkin below without somethin solid to rest on,” Hegel agreed.

“The good Virgin must a given you some extra brains while you was dead. Any rate, demons different from monsters. Look nuthin like anythin I ever seen.”

“Yeah?”

“Whereas the monsters we seen, namely our dinner and that mantiloup, they look like people what got beast parts,” said Manfried.

“Fish ain’t a beast, we’s been over that,” Hegel pointed out.

“By my fuckin faith, Hegel, you know what I mean! Part eel or snake or fish and part woman and part beast and part man is still closer to the same thing then that demon was to anythin, man or beast. Or fish.”

“Yeah?”

“So why’s monsters always a mix a man and critter?”

“In our experience, that’s indeed been the case,” Hegel mused. “Operatin, as we now do, on the assumption that what we’s et is monster stead a witch.”

“Right enough! I ain’t et no damn witch! Only the top part is witch, what we’s munchin is pure monster.”

“Suppose so. But I harbor doubts as to whether that thing in the mountains