I
n the inn’s yard, beneath the apple tree, Max Junior was cutting up old branches. He dropped the saw and stalked over to me when he saw me coming.
“Where the devil have you been?” He leaned towards me and sniffed. “Is that shit? Are you covered in shit?”
“I’ll tell you about it later. I need to rest.” He was so sour, and I was still aching.
But my brother would not let it go. He followed me into the inn, yelling at how irresponsible I was, and did I not know that Shrove Monday was the busiest night at the inn and tonight we had to prepare for the parade?
At my room, I slammed the door in his face and threw myself onto the bed, pillows over my head. Max Junior finally stopped pounding on the door, and I fell into a deep sleep. When I awoke, it was to the noises in the Stube across the hall. It was time to get ready for the parade.
I washed up and went into the dining room. It was filled with the boys from the local rifle guild. Max Junior set down his costume and came over to me.
“Where the hell have you been, Fritzl? Some of the boys said you’re chasing a gal in Nauders. What the devil are you thinking?”
How the hell did anyone know about Cecilia? “It’s none of their business and none of yours.”
Max Junior frowned. “Damn it, Fritzl. She really got to you. What’d she do, spurn you? Why else would she dunk you in cow shit?”
Laughter and jeers from the boys at the bar. My fist swung on its own, and connected with Max Junior’s chin. His head snapped back. He reeled into a table and staggered. Wide-eyed, he grasped his jaw and moved it back and forth. I was just about to ask if I had broken it when he charged me. I tumbled into the boys, who hooted and hollered. I wrenched myself away from my brother, but he swung fast, knocking me in the ribs. Someone had me by the shoulders and I shook myself free, spun around and was prepared to pound their face when I realized it was Jutta, arms now spread out between my brother and me.
“What is wrong with you?” my brother shouted at me.
“Boys!” Jutta shoved Max Junior away.
“No, I want to know what the hell is wrong with Fritzl!”
I was sorry for having taken my frustration out on him, but he deserved it. “I told you. Just leave me alone.”
“You’re a sore loser,” Max Junior complained. “It’s no wonder that Nauders girl doesn’t want you.”
I made to go after him, but Max Junior’s friends held me back.
“Stop provoking him,” Jutta shouted. “Now, I’m pouring you two a schnapps, and then I want you to be best brothers again.”
It took half the bottle before I felt able to get into costume. Everyone else was ready to proceed. We were dressed as demons, all of us. Our wooden masks were grotesquely carved with wide eyes and sharp teeth set in grimaces, and the tops were adorned with cow horns. We wore fur-covered tunics and capes. Klaus Blech, our leader, wore a wolf’s pelt on his head, which trailed all the way to the ground. We had bells and chains tied to our wrists and ankles. It was time to scare winter to hell.
The parade started at the Post Inn and would go all the way into Reschen, ending at the Schlössl, where our parents’ garden was set up for the festivities. It was something our family did each year. An important occasion not just to celebrate the coming of spring but to also catch up with the locals, discuss politics, to gossip and—most importantly—to scout out available girls. Our animalistic ritual of pairing up.
That put a real damper on my mood. I pined for Cecilia, irritated with myself for not fighting back. I was convinced that if her father came across me now, I could kill him with my bare hands. At the thought, my anger boiled just beneath the skin. I was itching for a fight again. A proper one. With blood. One that I could win.
We lit our torches and assembled in the churchyard, a wide circle of demon-masked men. The music started. The beating of drums, the clanging of cymbals, the rattling of our bells and chains. It was a cacophony of noise. There were jeers and laughter as we made our way along the parade route. Children screamed, some hiding behind their mother’s skirts. Others—goaded by their friends—hooted and hollered at us, darting out, daring each other to touch something of our costumes.
We demons, in the meantime, marched, turning our heads this way and that. I’d stuck a flask into my breeches and now pulled it out and tipped the bottle to my lips beneath the mask. I had only two small eyeholes, and even with the torches, I could see little. The shapes of people ran into one another, blurred. I tried to see where I was, but I could not tell how far we had come. Was I near the sundry goods shop? Or near the bank?
I veered towards the crowd and people scattered. I saw another demon and recognized Max Junior’s voice. He was making animal noises and waving his bell-clad arms. Two girls ran screaming from him. A few men jostled next to one another. They reminded me of nervous sheep.
“Kidnap,” my brother called.
Our ritual included grabbing someone, throwing them over our shoulders to carry them away. More often than not, the demons targeted a woman.
Scanning the crowd through my small eyeholes, I landed on Frederick. He was standing with a young woman from Reschen. Frederick’s sweetheart? I felt a lump in my gut rising. Max Junior made to go after a young fellow, but I tapped him on the shoulder. I jerked my masked head towards our brother, and Max turned his demon face on him. I heard Frederick laugh nervously, and he protested, stepping between us and the girl. Fine. Let Frederick be our victim.
I rushed in behind Max Junior and bent down to grab Frederick’s feet. Someone shoved me from behind, and the force made me tumble, and I bowled Frederick over like a skittles pin. There were cries of pain. It was Frederick, but it was also me. I had caught myself with my hands, and my wrists hurt where they’d taken the brunt of the fall. My palms were scraped up. Stinging, I rose on unsteady feet. Frederick was still on the ground, Max Junior trying to help him up. People were laughing and trying to help Frederick. Someone else asked if he was all right.
“You idiots,” Frederick moaned.
“Wasn’t me who knocked you over.” Max Junior’s voice was muffled behind the heavy mask. “Your stupid younger brother, that’s who that was.”
Frederick was upright again, and I made as if to grab him, but he slapped my arms away. “Stop, Fritz. You never know when to stop!”
I cackled and waved wildly. “Such a baby,” I taunted. “The poor Herr Doktor junior.”
“I’m hurt.” Frederick was holding his elbow. The girl—Margit—was trying to help him. Max Junior had already moved away, intent on an older child.
“Come now,” I teased Margit. “I got scraped up too. Come over here and tend to a man. My brother’s a ninny.”
Frederick shoved me away. “That’s enough, Fritz. I mean it.”
“Leave him alone,” someone behind me said. A woman.
I swung my head in her direction. Through the small holes in my mask, I saw full breasts beneath a tunic, and hands on hips. I looked up at the face, but already knew she was Jutta. Meddling Jutta. She would do.
I had my arms around her waist before she could open her mouth again. I heaved her over my shoulder. The cry of surprise sent a satisfactory thrill through me. I growled and shouted, the bells around my legs and arms jangling. She was like a sack of grain. I wrapped my arms around her knees, and she screamed and laughed at the same time.
“Fritz, put me down. Put me down, I say.”
“Who’s Fritz?” I asked.
“You, you idiot. Put me down!”
Idiot? I wrapped my arms tighter on her knees and swung around in circles, the crowd scattering out of the way. I pretended to let go, just relieving enough pressure to give her the feeling that she would go flying over people’s heads. Her hiccupped laughter turned into cries of real fear.
I nearly lost my balance, and Jutta became hysterical. I grabbed hold of her again and swung back into the street. I was far behind the rest of the parading demons. My breathing was heavy. I could still smell manure somewhere on me. I was thirsty. It was hot as Hades beneath the heavy costume.
“Put me down, Fritz,” Jutta cried breathlessly. “That’s enough.”
Sweat ran into my eyes, and I shook my head. Beneath the mask there was no relief. Jutta began slipping off my backside, and I grabbed her upper thighs and hitched her over my shoulder more securely. She was going to get herself hurt like this.
“You’re mine,” I growled. “Stop fighting me.”
“You’re going too far, Fritz!”
“Am I?” How far was too far?
We were just crossing between the town lines of Graun and Reschen. Here, the crowd had thinned down to practically nothing as the parade-goers were headed to the Schlössl. Jutta was uselessly beating her fists on my heavy fur vest. I swung her around again.
“Fritz, you are the biggest, meanest bully. I swear. Put me down. And you stink!” Her tone had changed.
I pictured Cecilia. Her father. How he had me all wrong. The humiliation. And now Jutta had to rub it in. She was crossing the line.
Between the storehouse and the blacksmiths was a narrow alleyway that led down to Reschen Lake. I veered off into it, dizzy. I needed to take the mask off. I needed a drink. I had to put Jutta down.
I sidled in and Jutta cried out.
“You’re scraping me up!”
Just before the alleyway opened onto the path, I slammed her onto her feet, then leaned up against the wall of the storehouse and ripped off the mask, dropping the pelt cape from my shoulders.
“You are such an ass!” Jutta was crying. “You hurt my head.”
“Stop your whining.”
She shoved me, but I was already leaning so heavily that the rough stones jutted into my tunic. Her hair was a mess, all undone. She sniffed, more angry than in pain, I guessed. She liked being in control. Now I had it.
“Did I scare you?” I jeered. I reached into my breeches, and Jutta put her hands on her waist. “What?” I laughed. I removed my flask. “Here, have a drink.”
She punched at my shoulders and swung at me one more time, but I ducked out of her way.
“Stop your hysterics, Jutta. You’re going to spill the schnapps. Come on. Take a swig.”
“No!”
“Have a drink. It’s all just fun and games. You know this is the way things are done.”
“Not if you’re hurting us,” she protested.
She finally took the flask from me, and I heard her gulp.
“Have another,” I said, weary. “I’m already drunk.”
I wiped the sweat off my brow and watched her take another swig. The cool air was helping to set my breathing back to normal. We still had a ten-minute walk to the Schlössl.
“What’s wrong with you today, Fritz?” Jutta demanded. Even in the dark, I could tell she was eyeing me critically.
“I was just beginning to forget, and now you have to bring it back up?”
“Oh, Fritz. This girl has really set you in a mood. Just get over it. I hear she’s the prettiest thing in Nauders, but she’s just a child. What’s she going to do with a big, tall bully like you?”
Good for nothing. Party boy. Idiot. Bully. In a haze, I pushed myself from the wall, reached out, and grabbed her by the shoulders. She whimpered, and I squeezed harder, digging my nails into her skin. I could taste blood coming from my lip.
“Nobody talks about Cecilia that way. Especially you.”
I yanked her closer, and her breath caught. I stared down at her face, just making out the contours, the high cheekbones. Something stirred in me, and I shook her again. When I tried to kiss her, she turned her face away, and my mouth fell on her hair. I grabbed her chin and yanked her face up to mine.
“Just one kiss,” I said. “For old times’ sake.”
“We never—“
I spun her up against the wall of the storeroom. I knew those stones dug into her back. Her whimpering and struggling was just making it all worse.
“Be still, woman! I just want a stupid kiss. Come on. I’m all wound up. Just a kiss and we’ll go to the party.”
I pushed up against her, my whole body on hers, and the stirring in me so strong, I squirmed in it.
“The devil take you,” she hissed.
“Be careful,” I whispered into her ear. “Remember who you’re talking to.”
The bells on my wrists jangled as I fumbled at her breasts. She’d been teasing me for years with those breasts. They were full, and soft, and ripe for the picking. I bent my head and pulled the collar of her tunic down as far as it would go. I licked the exposed skin and tasted sweat.
“Fritz,” she gasped. “Please. No.”
I remembered the feel of Cecilia in the woods, the pulsing of her wrist against my lips, her sweet look, her big eyes, wide and pleading. Her mouth finally on mine. I moaned her name. A fog crept in on me and I fought it. To hold onto the image of Cecilia. The sensations. I could not let it take those from me.
Beneath me, things had finally stilled. Just the occasional hitch of breath. I yanked her to the ground. She tried to twist away and I wrenched her onto her knees. To beat the haze that would soon swallow me up, I freed myself from my breeches with one hand and hitched up the dress with the other. This was how far. This.
The bells jangled, keeping me awake. Just once. This.
The flesh was damp, cool. Warmth. I wanted warmth. I pushed and sought. The bells. This. I sank. This, Cecilia.
The bells fell silent.
Deep through the fog, ragged and wet breathing. Not mine. On the cold, hard ground, my body shook uncontrollably. My throat, dry. I knew then.
“Jutta?”
There was no answer. The only sound was of fabric rustling and stifled sobbing. I could not place where she was, for my entire body was spinning round and round on the ground. I said her name again. No answer.
“This didn’t happen,” I called out. “You hear me? It didn’t happen.”