Rolof nodded, gave him a friendly grin, and continued to work at the smoked meat with his huge jaws. That was all.
Jacob started to grow uneasy. “Rolof?”
“Mmm.”
“You want to go to heaven, don’t you?”
“Mmm.”
“You understood what I said?”
“Yes. You said, when I die, I’ll stink of smoked ham. Great, yes? Everyone’ll know Rolof was rich man, lots of ham to eat, yes?”
“Unbelievable!” muttered Jacob and retreated into his corner.
After a while Rolof leaned toward him and bared his teeth. “You hungry?”
“What a question to ask! Of course I’m hungry.”
“There.” He was actually holding half the joint out to Jacob. His heart missed a beat, then he grabbed it and took such an enthusiastic bite the fat came spurting out. How long was it since he had eaten something like this? Not since Bram had died, if at all.
It tasted salty. Rancid. Delicious!
Rolof leaned back, a smug expression on his face, and began to lick his fingers. “Jaspar says Rolof has one big advantage,” he grunted. “Rolof looks thick as two short planks, yes?”
Jacob stopped chewing and gave him a cautious glance. He didn’t quite know what to say. Any comment could be the wrong thing.
“But,” Rolof went on with a sly look, “Rolof ’s not. You want ham, yes? Make up tall story. Not a fox, an ass, yes? In a fox’s skin. Could’ve asked.”
“I did ask,” Jacob protested.
Rolof laughed. “Did lie. Your story’s rubbish. Impossible.” He raised his index finger and beamed. “No uncle. Jaspar says you’ve not got anyone, never had. But no uncle, no ham story, yes?” He rubbed his belly, satisfied with his demonstration of intellectual superiority. Soon after, his snores were making the beams shake.
“I suspect you’re supposed to be keeping an eye on me.” Jacob giggled and returned to his piece of paradise.
At last Jaspar came, putting an end to the tranquility of the tiny, crooked room. He seemed irritated and gave the bench a sharp kick. Rolof awoke with a start. Then Jaspar’s eye fell on Jacob. He raised his brows, as if seeing him for the first time, scratched his bald head, and pulled at the end of his nose. “Oh, yes,” he said, cleared his throat, and disappeared.
“Oho,” said Rolof. “Better I go, yes? Every time Jaspar talks of Hebrews—oh! oh!”
“What’s all this about the Hebrews?” Jacob asked, getting up to see where Jaspar had gone. He heard the sound of the trapdoor in the backyard. Obviously Jaspar felt in need of a visit to his wine cellar.
Rolof looked all around, lumbered over to Jacob, and whispered confidentially, “Jaspar Rodenkirchen, people can’t understand him.” He made a dismissive gesture. “Too clever. Can talk till his teeth fall out, yes? Because—the Hebrews—I know nothing about it, only it says something about peace and brotherly love, entertaining strangers and good things like that. At least I think so, but he always gets furious, in a rage, like an animal, bleeeh, bleeeh.”
“Yes, because those are the only words you can understand,” growled Jaspar, coming in with a well-filled jug in his arm. “Bleeeh, bleeeh. For Rolof that’s a whole sentence with subject, object, and predicate. That’s why he can understand pigs. What do the pigs say, Rolof? What do they say? ‘Eat me, eat me,’ isn’t that what they say? Incredible the way he can understand pigs. Not even St. Francis could speak their language so perfectly.”
“Comes from all that ham,” Jacob whispered to Rolof.
The servant roared with laughter until he was left gasping for breath. Then he stood there, apparently unsure what to do next. He decided to try yawning. It worked. “Late,” he observed.
“Oh, excellent,” Jaspar mocked. “We’ve learned to distinguish between morning and evening! What an intellectual achievement. The world will tremble at the power of your mind.”
“Yes.” Rolof nodded, completely unabashed. “Going to bed.”
He yawned again, then climbed the stairs. They heard him singing, some unmelodious plaint that suddenly broke off, to be followed by the familiar snore, proving that for every unpleasant noise there is an even more unpleasant one.
Jaspar placed two mugs on the table, filled them, and invited Jacob to drink. They emptied them in one draught, Jacob greedily, Jaspar with the unhurried calm of the experienced drinker.
“So,” he said, and put his mug on the table, refilled it, drank, put it down again, refilled it, emptied it, put it down again, and looked at Jacob as if he saw things rather more clearly than a few minutes ago. “How did you sleep, my little fox-cub?”
Jacob felt odd. The stuff was going to his head. “Like a fox-cub,” he said.
“Marvelous. My house a fox’s earth. How’s the arm?”
“Better.”
“Better? That’s good.”
They were silent for a while. Jacob wondered whether he ought to bring up his problem, although he would have preferred to be able to forget everything.
The silence began to weigh on him. “You gave a sermon on the Hebrews?” he asked, more out of politeness than anything.
Jaspar gave him a surprised look. “How on earth—oh, of course, Rolof. Yes, I told him what I was going to preach on. Sometimes I really don’t know whether he has the brain of a piglet or the sly duplicity of my cat. But he’s a good servant—when he’s not sleeping or eating. Yes, I preached on Hebrews and some of my fine parishioners did not like it.”
He snapped his jaws shut. His fury was almost tangible. Jacob stared at his mug. They could go on like this, drinking and saying nothing, but the idea didn’t appeal to him much. He suddenly felt the need to know more about Jaspar.
“Why not?” he asked.
“Why not?” Jaspar grunted, pouring himself some more wine. “Because they’re unrepentant hypocrites through and through, our good Christian ladies and gentlemen, and because that unspeakable whoreson Alexander is preaching a crusade and they’re delighted, instead of being outraged. As if the so-called holy city of Cologne didn’t have good reason to mistrust the promptings of the Roman snake that calls himself pope. The people of Cologne of all places.”
“Why Cologne of all places?”
Jaspar rolled his eyes. “O Lord! See Thy son Jacob, he lives within the walls of Colonia Claudia Ara Agrippinensium, but what does he know of it? Nothing. Or have you heard of the lost children? Anno Domini 1212?”
Jacob shook his head.
“Just as I thought. But you do know what a crusade is?”
“Yes. A just war to win back the Holy Land from the heathen.”
“Amazing! The words just roll off his tongue! Learned off by heart so he doesn’t need to think about it. Sancta simplicitas! Now, if you were to ask me, I would say a crusade is a mockery of the teaching of Augustine, put about by another blockhead known as Urban II. God, what am I doing talking to you about crusades and Augustine? I must be out of my mind.”
“Perhaps.” Jacob was starting to get angry. “No, definitely. You’re out of your mind and I’m an imbecile. How is it possible I’m talking to the venerable Jaspar Rodenkirchen, dean, physician, and goodness knows what else? To know nothing is unforgivable, of course.”
“What’s unforgivable is to have an empty head.”
“Oh, right. It’s all my fault. I’ve been surrounded by sages all my life. I only had to ask. Everyone was just waiting for the opportunity to fill my head with knowledge. Wasn’t I stupid? Unforgivable, as you say.”
Angrily he grabbed the jug, poured himself some wine, and gulped it down. Jaspar watched him in amazement.