18
SHORTLY AFTER NIGHTFALL ON SUNDAY, JUNE 20, 1666 AD
Simon cringed as the man from the underworld bent over him almost solicitously. His humpback looked almost like a little animal bulging out of his black Benedictine robe. In his right hand, he grasped the silver pommel of his walking stick.
This isn’t possible, Simon thought. You’re dead. I saw you-a charred corpse-with my own eyes in the cemetery.
But unlike the shriveled black corpse the medicus had examined just two days ago, this Virgilius was most definitely alive. His face was twisted into an insane grimace, and he cocked his head to one side as if observing his patient’s paralysis with great interest.
“Am I mistaken or did I just see a tiny movement?” the watchmaker said in a hoarse voice. “It would be interesting to see if the effect of the poison lessens over time, but unfortunately we’ll not be able to continue this experiment.”
“Nnnnn…” For the first time Simon was able to summon up all his strength and produce a sound. He had to strain so hard he almost passed out.
“Papa?” Peter asked anxiously. He kneeled with his brother on the stone floor, both of them running their fingers back and forth across their father’s face. “Papa is sick?”
“Your father isn’t sick; he’s just resting before going on a very long trip.”
Virgilius rose and, supported by his walking stick, hobbled over to the puppet still standing in the middle of the room. Its mouth had fallen silent, and the rattling and clicking had ceased, as well. It was nothing more than a lifeless automaton whose mechanism had stopped.
“Here I thought the little bathhouse surgeon would remain stiff forever,” Virgilius said regretfully. He turned to Aurora. “I thought I could make a playmate for you, a puppet for the time when you yourself are no longer a puppet. What do you say?” With a playful, surprised look, he gazed at Aurora, as if awaiting an answer. “Do you think me impolite? I haven’t introduced you yet? Excuse me; you are absolutely right.”
Virgilius bowed slightly in Simon’s direction and pointed at the grinning automaton. “My dear bathhouse surgeon: this is Elisabeth, the most beautiful and charming creature I’ve ever been privileged to meet in my life. I call her Aurora, meaning dawn. A suitable name, don’t you think?” He smiled, but Simon could see tears in his eyes.
“Shall I tell him a bit about us, Elisabeth?” Virgilius continued. “Really? Very well, as you wish…” He paused briefly before continuing.
“I met my beloved Dawn when I was a young student at the Benedictine university in Salzburg, where my older brother, Maurus, also studied. He always chided me for neglecting my studies and spending all my time with Elisabeth. The stupid fellow. Even today, he still doesn’t understand what she means to me. She was-no, she is my life.”
Virgilius paused for a long time, staring vacantly at the dead skulls, the jewels, the astrolabe, and the music boxes on the shelves.
“What are you saying?” he asked, astonished. “Do you really want me to tell this nice, open-minded bathhouse surgeon our little secret? But… you know how it hurts me to do that.” He nodded with determination. “Very well then, if you say so. I have, in fact, remained silent much too long. It deadens the soul to keep secrets too long, doesn’t it?”
Virgilius’s face suddenly turned grim, as if dark clouds were gathering behind his eyes.
“Elisabeth died,” he said softly. “Just like a rose in winter. It was the Plague that took her from me thirty years ago. I… I tried everything at the time, but all my knowledge, all the cleverness I was so proud of, wasn’t enough to cure her.”
With a sudden sweep of his cane, Virgilius brushed the astrolabe and a few other technical devices off the shelves and onto the floor, where they broke apart with a loud crash that echoed through the subterranean passageways.
“What use is all this damned science if we can’t save the one life that means something to us,” he shouted so loudly that the children started to cry and clung tightly to their father. Tears rolled like little pearls down the watchmaker’s face. “What an evil trick God has played on us by giving us reason but no control. After Elisabeth’s death I traveled the entire world-Africa, Arabia, the distant West Indies-looking for something that would give me back my life. But all I brought back was this… this rubbish.”
Disgusted, the watchmaker took the long pointed horn from the shelf. Simon thought he intended to stab him with it at first, but instead Virgilius just cast it aside carelessly, then proceeded to furiously pound the other shelves with his cane.
“Nothing but rubbish to fill up my little cabinet of curiosities,” he ranted. “Nothing but trash! Things that amuse us. But we’re unable to create natural, living things themselves. Everything is a cheap imitation of God’s works. Everything…”
He paused and suddenly dropped his walking stick. In the silence that followed, all that could be heard was the wailing of the children, who still clung to their father and stared up anxiously at the angry little hunchback.
“I… I’m sorry, Elisabeth,” he said, again very softly. “I… I didn’t want to frighten the little ones. Can you comfort them again? I know you can.”
He walked over to the puppet and turned a few little wheels in its back. At once Aurora started to play her sad familiar melody again as she rolled around, clattering in a little circle. It looked as if she was going to dance. The children did settle down for a while; Paul even giggled when the puppet winked its metal eyelids.
“I swear by God, I tried to forget Elisabeth,” Virgilius muttered, leaning against the wall next to Simon and staring into space. “All those many summers and winters. But I couldn’t do it. Outwardly, I was calm and reasonable, but inwardly I was still seething. After many years of travel, my brother obtained this position in the monastery for me. As a foolish watchmaker. Maurus no doubt thought I’d finally been cured of my spiritual distress.” He laughed softly. “I started building automata for these dumb monks, toys they could put in their gardens and enjoy. I made a hellish, burning powder, as well as muskets that shot bullets silently, propelled by nothing but air pressure, and chirping birds made of metal. And I did it all to not have to think of her. Finally when madness had practically consumed me, I had a stroke of insight that saved me. I built myself a new Aurora. From the deepest recesses of my memory, I built myself an automaton that looked and acted just like her.”
Slowly, Virgilius began to rock his head back and forth in time with the melody; then his legs started moving as well. As the hunchbacked little man hobbled around the room, he took the puppet by the arms and spun around with it in a courtly dance.
“One, two… one, two…” he sang in time with the music.
Simon felt the paralysis beginning to wear off; with a struggle he could even wiggle a few fingers. Discreetly he moved his arms and legs and hoped the crazed watchmaker wouldn’t notice.
When the machine’s movements and melody finally slowed down and stopped, Virgilius bowed politely to Aurora and uttered a deep sigh.
“Yes, I know, Elisabeth,” he said with a disparaging wave of his hand. “This is just make-believe. You say you’re not alive, that this clever bathhouse surgeon knows that, as well, but can I tell you what he doesn’t know?” He winked at Simon, who could now move his right arm again.
“What he doesn’t know is that we’ve found a way to bring you back to life,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper. “That ugly apothecary showed me how. Lightning. Yes, lightning. Even in ancient writings we learn that lightning is the finger of God. For years I’ve been looking for a force that can breathe life back into you, and finally, finally, I found it.” Virgilius closed his eyes and folded his hands as if he were praying.