Finally, after the hangman promised to visit his friend again soon, he had set out at a leisurely pace toward Schongau in the shadow of the Hoher Pei?enberg. Magdalena, Simon, and the children had gone directly home from Andechs, and Kuisl assumed they would arrive home before him.
When he saw the silhouette of the town gleaming before him in the morning sun, a strange familiarity came over him. People here in the town on the other side of the river had never cared for him, they avoided looking at him, and those who sought out his healing services mostly did so in secret. After buying a talisman, a love potion, or a piece of a noose, they would cross themselves and proceeded to confession. But despite all that, this small, dirty, ugly town was his home.
He had none other.
Lost in his thoughts, he crossed the bridge and took a narrow, shaded path below the city wall. His prayer earlier in the forest had left him with a pleasant, unfamiliar feeling of security. But then his thoughts turned to his two younger children, the twins Georg and Barbara, and whether they had been able to control those rowdy Berchtholdt boys after his departure. Had they performed his duties as executioner-removed the garbage in the streets and carted it out of town?
But above all, he thought of his sick wife, Anna-Maria. Was she still trembling with fever? He remembered her cough had gotten a little better before he left. He’d thought of Anna often in recent days, especially when he became angry or impatient, and wondered what she would do in his place. Anna-Maria could be just as temperamental as her husband, but she always kept a cool head at the critical moment. Especially before executions, which often robbed him of sleep at night, she had always been a pillar of strength and had kept him from getting drunk.
The hangman started walking faster. He passed the outlying sheds and homes of the Tanners’ Quarter, which was crowded between the Lech and the city wall. Now in the early afternoon, many men were out in the streets, hanging foul-smelling leather hides out to dry on poles and frames. Women were standing by the river, washing and chatting. When they saw Kuisl, they turned and whispered among themselves. The hangman was accustomed to such behavior, but something seemed especially strange about it today. Almost as if they pitied him.
What in God’s name…
Finally he reached his house, which stood somewhat off the road near a large pond. Alongside it was a shed for the knacker’s carts, and by the entrance, a lovely garden with flowers, fruit trees, and vegetables.
It was when he saw the garden that he knew that something was definitely wrong.
His wife tended it daily, but now it looked as if it hadn’t been weeded for a while. Goutweed and bindweed were growing in the flowerbeds, and slugs were crawling over the wilted, partially brown lettuce. A climbing trellis that had blown over in a recent storm hadn’t been set up again.
“Anna?” he called hesitantly. “I’m back. Can you hear me?” But there was no answer from inside the house.
After a while, the door creaked open. As soon as he saw the midwife Martha Stechlin standing in the hallway with a pale and deeply furrowed face, he knew what had happened.
“No!” he shouted, running toward the door. “No! Tell me it’s not true.”
“There was… nothing I could do,” the midwife said softly. “The fever was too strong. We took her-”
“No!”
Kuisl pushed Martha aside and staggered into the room. At the large, battered table beneath the crucifix in the corner sat his family, their vacant eyes still puffy from crying. At the center of the table stood a large bowl of steaming porridge, untouched. The hangman saw Barbara and Georg-the latter having grown a light fuzz on his upper lip-and he saw Magdalena and Simon holding Peter and Paul on their laps. The boys were sucking their thumbs in unusual silence.
They were all there except his wife, Anna-Maria. The worn stool she’d always sat on-where she’d groused, hugged, darned socks, and sung songs-was empty.
Kuisl felt a pang in his heart as painful as if he’d been run through with a sword in battle.
It can’t be. Oh, great God, if you really exist, tell me this isn’t true. It’s an evil prank. I pray to you, and you slap me in the face…
“It happened just yesterday,” Magdalena whispered in a low voice. “This plague cost many in Schongau their lives, and she was one of the last.”
“I… I should have stayed here. I could have helped her.” His broad shoulders slumped. Suddenly he looked very old.
“Nonsense, Father,” said Magdalena, shaking her head vigorously. “Don’t you think Martha tried everything? God gives us life, and he takes it away. Death was just too strong. All we can do is pray…” She stopped short, tears running down her face as Simon squeezed her hand.
“Would you like to see her?” the medicus asked his father-in-law gently. “She’s in the other room.”
Kuisl nodded, then turned away silently and moved into the next room. No one followed him.
As if she were just sleeping, Anna-Maria lay with closed eyes in the large bed they’d shared for so long. Her hair was still long and black, with only a few strains of gray. Someone had combed her hair and dressed her in a white lace nightshirt. A few flies buzzed through the room, alighting on her waxen face, and Kuisl brushed them away. Then he knelt beside the bed and took his wife’s hand.
“My Anna,” he murmured, gently stroking her cheeks. “What am I to do now that you’re no longer here? Who’s going to scold me when I’ve had too much to drink? Who will pray for me in the church? Who…” He stopped short and bit his lip. They’d been married more than thirty years. As a mercenary, he’d brought Anna back from one of the wars, and together they’d grown old. Tears ran down his scarred face-the first tears in many, many years.
He couldn’t help thinking again about what the mad woman in the Kien Valley had told him a week ago.
Repent, hangman! Soon misfortune will strike you like a bolt from the blue.
Was this the misfortune that would strike him? Was this the punishment for all the dead who had paved his way through life? Could God be so gruesome?
He heard a faint sound from the neighboring room. Magdalena had come in behind him and placed her hand on his shoulder.
“I… must tell you something,” she began hesitantly. “I don’t know if this is the right moment, but I’m sure Mother would have wanted it this way.”
Kuisl remained silent, only his raised head revealing that he was listening.
“It’s just…” Magdalena started to say. “Well… Peter and Paul will soon be sharing the little room upstairs with someone. I’m… I’m going to have another child.”
The hangman didn’t respond, but Magdalena could sense his mighty frame begin to tremble.
“Martha examined me, and she’s quite sure,” she said with a smile. “I was feeling ill a few days ago, do you remember? And now we know why I was constantly nauseated.”
Now that she’d broken the news, words poured out like a warm summer rain.
“And this time, Martha thinks it will be a girl,” she continued. “What do you think? Would you like to have a little granddaughter?”
Kuisl snorted. It seemed to Magdalena he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry.
“As if one of you wasn’t enough,” he grumbled finally.
The hangman squeezed the hand of his wife one final time, then turned and embraced Magdalena so firmly she could hardly breathe.