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Homo Sapiens: In the Maelstrom by Stanislaw Przybyszewski and translated by Joe E Bandel

VIII

In the hallway he suddenly remembered that he had met a spy earlier. He lit a match, looked around everywhere, but he could discover no one.

Perhaps he had been mistaken, or, yes—perhaps a persecution mania was beginning to develop… He felt cold shivers run down his back. That was probably the fever again.

He walked and walked without knowing where he actually wanted to go. He thought.

Home? What for? To see people who tormented him through their love? No! He wanted no more love. That was repugnant to him. He could not see that. Everything came only from being loved. He had the cursed little pity for the few people who loved him. His heart was narrow, his interests were petty and yet he was born for something great. That is why his other, his great soul now took revenge, which kissed Czerski’s hand in ecstasy, naturally only to shame the small Falk.

But he did not let himself be shamed. What should he actually be ashamed of? Ha, ha, ha…

Then a dull, sick melancholy befell him, he stopped and looked thoughtfully at the ground.

A new life? No, he no longer had the strength for that; it would probably not be better than it is now. No, no; better that it ended.

Isa? Isa? Between him and her stood her past life: the other who separated them was always there…

He groaned.

And how much happiness she could have given him!

No, nonsense! Ridiculous that he sought a reason in that. He was simply falling apart. His psychic constitution was not calculated for all these experiences, it was too fine and crumbled under all this brutality.

What did he actually want in life anymore?

His art? He, he… I was an artist… I had to create because I had to. And I created. But suddenly in the middle of writing the idea overcomes me, what for? I see the people before me, I see the whole world that I let arise and I suddenly find all that so terribly ridiculous. And I ask you, dear Czerski, how can one create then?! For that one needs faith too, and perhaps another faith, the faith in posterity…

He laughed loudly.

Oh, he would gladly give the whole posterity together with the whole present to the first best servant for his bit of animal happiness, yes the whole world, the coming and the past and a piece more…

Humanity? To make it happy? But then one must also make it knowing at the same time… Why not rather let humans return to the animal: the knowing human cannot become happy.

A splendid reply! I should have answered that to Czerski. He stopped again.

What did he say? He had written to Stefan?

A paralyzing fright shot through his limbs. Written to Stefan… He had not understood it at first, he only heard the words… He now felt an unheard-of desire to go to Czerski and smash him with his fists, to twist his neck.

But in the next moment he had forgotten his rage. Only a feeling of trembling fear whipped the blood back into his heart. He breathed heavily and became very weak.

He walked on, but something heavy weighed on his chest as if a world had fallen down on him.

So it could by God not go on. That would destroy him completely. And he had to live, he had to become happy for Isa’s sake.

A strange energy poured into his brain. He began to walk with large steps and thought of her glory—yes, sun-like glory… Oh, if he had lived millions of years, they would still have shrunk into the second in which he looked into her eyes for the first time, so he would have spread over the whole world, so he would still have crept into this one glance, the one long glance of her love…

He, he—that was thought very beautifully, very beautifully… He started.

The disgusting picture rose in him again: she in a foreign embrace…

He crouched anxiously. Only that not, no, no!

He caught himself beginning to whistle a street melody. He had to become calm.

Yes, quite calm.

Right! A cigarette. Naturally, naturally. He stopped.

What time could it be now? Well, not yet half past ten. Yes, then… he lit the cigarette deliberately—then I could perhaps go to Olga… Chat a bit about humanity, about ideals… She is so good, and I need so much goodness…

Suddenly a strange idea fixed itself in his brain. He felt surrounded by detectives, perhaps in the next moment he would be arrested…

His fear grew foaming, he was so dazed by it that he could not think. He suddenly became so certain. The certainty that he would be arrested in the next moment brought him to despair.

He looked cautiously in all directions. It was dark on the street, he could not see well. There suddenly: not far from him stood a man. Falk trembled, but collected himself immediately and began to consider. Naturally it was a detective, only how should he get rid of him? He turned around, walked past him and looked at him sharply. The other seemed not to notice Falk and walked on.

Falk laughs scornfully.

This ridiculous trick! naturally only to lull me into security and suddenly appear in the decisive moment.

What should he do now?

Get into a cab? But what would that help?

He entered a restaurant, ordered beer and took a newspaper in front of him.

Immediately after him a man entered, sat down opposite him and observed him, as it seemed to Falk, with a strange impudence.

Falk looked away from his newspaper a few times, but each time their eyes met.

It was unbearable. A wild despair seized him, he threw the newspaper away, sat down broadly and began to examine the stranger scornfully.

Suddenly his heart stopped.

The stranger rose and walked toward him. Falk jumped up.

But the person doesn’t look like a spy at all. He is quite anxious and humble, it shot through his head.

“I have the honor to speak with Herr Falk?”

“Do you want to arrest me? Then not here, come to the street.”

Falk trembled and supported himself on the table.

The stranger looked at him astonished. Their eyes met in a long, questioning glance.

“I did not understand you,” the stranger finally said. Falk came to his senses and rubbed his forehead.

“Are you following me?”

“No! I met you by chance, quite by chance, I live nearby. I did seek you though, I wanted to speak with you.”

Was the man lying, did he want to lure him into a trap?

“So you have no direct arrest warrant? Well, if you want to speak with me, come to me.” Falk laughed scornfully. “I am not in the mood for such conversations now. Isn’t that so? You want something about my participation in the strike? He, he, come to me, then we will talk about it…”

Falk had to sit down, his heart beat so violently, his head was bursting full of blood.

The stranger looked at him with growing astonishment, but Falk stood up, paid and went.

On the street he breathed a sigh of relief. The whole scene suddenly seemed to him a few years distant in his thoughts. It seemed to him as if he had survived a danger…

He, he—that was strange, but everything in life is strange. What is not strange? he asked with a sick smile. He felt his facial muscles distort. What is not strange? Ha, ha, ha… The fear the man had of me. Naturally it was no spy. Absolutely no spy. Perhaps a person I saw somewhere once in society, with whom I even drank brotherhood; perhaps I told him that he was the most splendid person on earth, perhaps I told him that he was my only friend, the first person I met in my life.

Falk laughed long, almost convulsively.

To whom have I not said that? Is there a single person to whom I have not said that?

Ha, ha, ha; now the fellow will run around the whole city and tell that he met Falk in a quite neglected state, Falk was quite confused and spoke crazy talk… Ha, ha, ha…

He suddenly remembered that he wanted to go to Olga. He was quite nearby.

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Alraune by Hanns Heinz Ewers and translated by Joe E Bandel

It wasn’t long before she received her deserved punishment for
denying her good mother. By the next day Alraune had already told
all the students about her mother’s cheese shop and it cost a lot of
effort to again win back the respect which she lost throughout the
Institute.
But things were much worse for Alraune’s schoolmates then they
were for the instructors. There was not one student in the entire school
that had not suffered because of her. Strangely enough it appeared
that every new bit of mischief seemed to make her even more popular.
She made a point to sacrifice everyone that appeared to stand against
her until they were all on her side. She was more popular than any of
the other girls.
Fräulein Becker reported some of the worst cases to the Privy
Councilor and they were mentioned in the leather volume.
Blanche de Banville had just returned from vacation with her
parents in Picardy. The hot-blooded fourteen-year-old had fallen head
over heels in love with her cousin who was the same age as she was.
She wrote to him from Spa as well and he answered, addressing her
letters B.d.B., hold at post office until claimed by addressee. Then he
must have found something better to do with his time, in any case no
more letters came.
Both Alraune and little Louison knew about her secret. Naturally
Blanche was very unhappy and cried through entire nights. Louison
sat with her and tried to comfort her. But Alraune declared that it was
wrong to console her, her cousin had been unfaithful and betrayed
her. Now Blanche needed to die of unrequited love. That was the only
way to repay her false lover and make things right. Then for the rest
of his life he would be tormented by the furies. She knew several
famous stories where it had been like that.
Blanche was agreeable to the dying part but it did not go well.
Food always tasted good to her despite her great pain. That’s when
Alraune declared that if Blanche couldn’t die of a broken heart she
must find some other way to bring it about. She recommended a
dagger or a pistol–but they didn’t have either one.
Blanche could not be persuaded to jump out the window, push a
hatpin into her heart or hang herself. She just wanted to swallow
something, nothing else. Soon Alraune had some new advice. There
was a bottle of Lysol in Mlle. de Vynteelen’s medicine chest–Louison
must steal it. Unfortunately there was only a little bit left in the bottle
so Louison had to scratch the phosphorus heads off a couple boxes of
matches as well.
Blanche wrote several farewell letters, one to her parents, the
principal and her traitorous lover. Then she drank the Lysol and
swallowed the matchheads–They both tasted horrible enough. Just to
be certain Alraune had her swallow three packets of needles–She
herself, by the way, was not present at this suicide attempt. She had
gone to her room under the pretence of being a lookout after Blanche
had sworn on the crucifix to follow her instructions exactly.
That evening little Louison sat on the bed with her friend. Crying
miserably she handed over first the Lysol, then the match heads and
finally the packets of needles. Blanche became very ill from these
threefold poisons and was soon writhing and screaming in pain.
Louison screamed with her and their screams roared through the
entire house. Then she ran out of the room and fetched the Head
Mistress and the teachers yelling that Blanche was dying.
Blanche de Banville did not die. A capable doctor quickly gave
her an effective emetic that brought the Lysol, phosphorus and needle
packets back up again. Still, one of the needle packets had opened up
in her stomach and a half dozen needles had gotten loose. They
wandered through her body and in the course of her life came out
again in all kinds of places painfully reminding the little suicide of her
first love.
Blanche lay in bed sick for a long time and had a lot of pain. It
appeared that she had been punished enough. Everyone sympathized
with her, was good to her and granted her slightest wish. She wished
for nothing else but that her two friends that had helped her, Alraune
and little Louison, not be punished. She pleaded and begged for so
long that the principal finally promised. That was why Alraune was
not thrown out of the school.
Then it was Hilde Aldekerk’s turn. She loved the Berlin style
cakes that were sold in the German confectionery at Place Royal. She
claimed she could eat twenty. Alraune bet that she couldn’t polish off
thirty. Whoever lost the bet had to pay for the cakes. Hilde Aldekerk
won–but she got so sick that she had to stay in bed fourteen days.
“Glutton,” said Alraune ten Brinken. “It serves you right!”
From that point on the only thing all the little girls called fat,
round Hilda was “Glutton”. She howled about it for awhile but then
got used to her new nickname and finally became one of Alraune’s
most faithful companions, just like Blanche de Banville.
Fräulein Becker reported that Alraune had only one time been
seriously punished at the school and strangely enough, unjustly. On a
full moon night the French teacher stumbled out of her room terrified.
She woke the entire household with her screams and yelled that a
white ghost was sitting on the balustrade of her balcony. No one
would go into her room until they finally woke up the porter who
armed himself with a club and went inside.
The ghost turned out to be Alraune who was sitting there in her
white night gown and staring with wide-open eyes into the moon. She
could not say how she got there. The principal took the playing ghost
as a very bad prank. Only much later did it come out that the girl had
been seen on several different occasions sleep walking under the
influence of the full moon.
Interestingly enough Alraune accepted this unjust punishment–to
copy a chapter out of “Tèlèmaque”–without protest and
conscientiously carried it out on a free afternoon. She would have
most certainly rebelled and resisted any just punishment.
Fräulein Becker concluded, “I fear that your Excellency will not
experience much joy from your daughter in the future.”
The Privy Councilor replied, “That might well be, but up to now
I believe that I am very well satisfied with her.”
He did not let Alraune come home for vacation the last two
years. Instead he permitted her to travel with her school friends, once
to Scotland with Maude McPherson, then with Blanche to her parents
in Paris and finally with the two Rodenburgs to their family estate in
Münster.
He didn’t have any reports from these episodes in Alraune’s life
and could only imagine how she occupied herself during these
vacations. It was a satisfaction to him to think of how this creature he
had created extended her influence outward in ever expanding circles.
In the newspaper he read that during the summer in which
Alraune was at Boltenhagen the green and white colors of the old
Count Rodenberg did exceedingly well at the track and his stud
brought in a considerable winnings.
He also learned that Mlle. de Vynteelen had received an
unexpected inheritance that placed her in the position of needing to
close the school so she didn’t take any new students and only kept her
old students until they graduated.
He attributed both of these things to the presence of Alraune and
was half convinced that she brought gold into the other houses she
had stayed at, the convent in Nancy, at Reverend McPherson in
Edinburgh and the home of the Banvilles on Haussmann Boulevarde.
She had made good threefold on her little deviltries.
He felt that all these people ought to feel gratitude to his child,
this strange girl that went abroad out into the world bringing gifts and
strewing roses upon the life paths of all those that had the fortune to
meet her. He laughed as it occurred to him that those roses also had
sharp thorns capable on inflicting many beautiful wounds as well.
“By the way,” he asked Fräulein Becker. “How are things going
with your dear mother?”
“Why thank you for asking, your Excellency,” she answered.
“Mother can’t complain. Her business has grown considerably better
during the last few years!”
“Really,” said the Privy Councilor and he gave orders that all
cheeses, the Emmenthall, Roquefort, Chester and old Höllander, from
now on were to be purchased from Frau Becker on Münster Street.

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Madame Bluebeard by Karl Hans Strobl and translated by Joe E Bandel

The stranger turned, striding in the opposite
direction. The plain’s rolling waves stretched before
him. Fields lay in patches of black and dirty snow-
gray. Winter crops showed green in sheltered spots.
The air was potent, the earth pulsing with urge. Over
narrow field paths, wet earth clumping on his boots,
the sausage-skinned man marched toward his goal.
At last, Sankt Leonhard am Horner Wald’s tower
rose over a ridge. Three or four houses clustered near
the church; the village’s other farms scattered across
the plain. Dark woods filled the hollows.
As fitting, the houses by the church were two inns
and a large general store stocking every farmstead
need.
Entering Alois Fürst’s tavern-room, the stranger
found carters by the stove, discussing weather. Talk
halted as they scrutinized him.
Finally, Mathes Dreiseidel von Vorderschluder,
pointing with his pipe stem, said to his neighbor,
“That’s the daft professor livin’ with us.”
“A professor?” others whispered hoarsely. “He
can’t wait for summer.”
“He ain’t no summer guest. He’s doin’ studies
round here.”
“Oh… is that so?”
They fell silent, eyeing the professor, who’d shed
his sausage coat and sat at a nearby table. Thick blue
smoke curled from their pipes. Mathes Dreiseidel
drained his glass, rapping the table for another quart.
“Say, then,” the Wegschaid carter, who drove
twice weekly through Sankt Leonhard to Gars,
resumed, “our roads are a mess. I tell ye, some folk
meddle in everything. Big mouths get their way.
Look at our roads—they ain’t built for all’s best, but
for them loudmouths. Roads take big detours. Why?
‘Cause someone’s got a tavern there. I name no
names. Anyone crossing the Wolfshofen land knows
who I mean.”
“Aye… true enough,” others agreed. The
Idolsberg bergmaster added, “Plenty to fix round
here. Couldn’t the gentry build a road from
Rosenburg to Wegschaid? I’ve studied the Kamp
valley close. Two blasts, no more. It’d profit them
too. Now they float logs from Rosenburg. Half’s
lost—twenty percent gone. What arrives is half-
rotted.”
“Pardon, gentlemen,” the stranger cut in. “You
mention the Kamp. Do you know why the river’s
called that?”
Mathes Dreiseidel nudged the Idolsberg
bergmaster. He grunted, catching the hint. Those
studies. But what to say to such a daft question?
The Wegschaid carter spoke, slipping into High
German. “Well, since the Herr asks, I must say we
don’t rightly know. The river’s always been called
that. It’s marked Kamp on maps too.”
“That’s so,” the bergmaster growled.
The professor pressed on. “Haven’t you heard
older folk call the river something else? Idolsberg’s
an intriguing name too. There’s a wealth of ancient
names here.”
“Nah!” the carters said. The Wegschaid carter,
once a waiter at Graz’s Golden Elephant, added,
“No! No memory of it remains.”
“Hm!” the professor grunted, then continued, “By
the way, you’re quite right about what you said
earlier. The Kamp valley needs a road. It’d boost
traffic tremendously.”
“Aye, but that Rosenburger does naught. Always
off in Africa,” grumbled a farmer.
“There are other landowners. Rotbirnbach has a
stake, too. And Herr von Boschan in Vorderschluder,
most of all. He’s said to be a capable man.”
The farmers exchanged glances. “Herr von
Boschan’s only been in Vorderschluder a few
months,” said the Idolsberg bergmaster. “If he lasts
longer, he might do somethin’.”
“What do you mean? Is he strapped for cash?” A
brief silence followed. The Wegschaid carter, eager
to show his worldliness, spoke up. “Well, money’s no
issue, but folks say he won’t last long, ‘cause none of
Frau von Boschan’s husbands ever do.”
The professor smiled. “Yes, I recall now. I was
told. He’s her third husband.”
“Pardon! Beggin’ yer pardon! He’s the fourth.”
“Right, the fourth. Yes, yes! And the last, if I’m
not mistaken, was a certain Herr Sangwart.”
“Dankwardt, his name was. A right kind
gentleman, but knew nothin’ ‘bout farmin’. Always
buried in books.” The Wegschaid carter shared what
he knew of Herr Dankwardt.
The others cloaked themselves in smoke and
silence. The professor dipped his bucket of questions
into the carter’s well of eloquence.
Evening fell. A red sky peered through the
windows. The Idolsberg bergmaster, first to stir,
decided it was time to head home. He tapped out his
pipe, spat on the floor, and stood.
Mathes Dreiseidel offered the professor a seat on
his cart. They rolled into the dusk. Dreiseidel smoked
on the driver’s bench; the professor, jostled on straw
in the back, jotted notes in a red book as best he
could.
At Achenwald, he tapped the farmer’s shoulder.
“Thanks kindly, Herr Dreiseidel,” he said. “I’ll cut
through the woods—much shorter.”
“Know the paths? It’s pitch dark.”
“When you roam as much as I do, you’re
prepared. Got my pocket lantern.” He climbed down.
“So, thanks again. Next time, you ride my cart.”
Dreiseidel clattered off, the night swallowing the
rumble. The professor stood alone in the dark. He
carefully drew his folding lantern from its oilcloth
case, snapped it open, and fitted a candle. A match
flared, and after some effort, the bent wick caught.
He plunged into the woods. On the narrow path,
the light danced in wild leaps ahead. With sure steps,
the stranger followed, his gait confident, springy. He
mulled over today’s haul from the Wegschaider’s
well.
After a while, he looked up, startled. A light
flickered toward him through the trees. He stepped
aside. A man approached in a short hunting jacket
and high boots. A jolt of joy shot through the
professor. By God, it was none other than Herr von
Boschan.
The professor stepped back onto the path,
shoulders slumped, trudging with a despairing air.
Facing Boschan, he raised his lantern. “Excuse me,”
he said.
Boschan lifted his lantern, revealing a distressed,
pitiful face.
“Pardon, good sir,” the professor said again. “Can
you tell me if I’m on the right path?”
“Where are you headed?” Boschan asked, amused.
What was this man in his yellow overcoat doing in
the pitch-black woods?
“I think I’m lost. I’m new here, don’t know my
way yet.”
“Where do you live?”
“With Rotrehl, the violin-maker. They told me this
wood path cuts a good distance.”
“You’re on the right track. Keep going, take the
left at every fork, then left down at the forest’s edge.”
“That’s a relief. I’m not familiar yet, as I said…
always left! Thank you kindly, sir! Allow me—
Schiereisen… from Vienna!”
Ruprecht bowed briefly. “Boschan.”
Schiereisen’s wide mouth gaped. “What, Herr von
Boschan? An honor and pleasure… truly. Since
arriving, I’ve hoped to make your acquaintance…
and now chance brings us together at night in the
woods… ha… ha! Quite something, no? I’m here for
studies. This area’s remarkably interesting; I
suspect—”
He’s liable to lecture me here, Ruprecht thought,
cutting in. “I knew at once you were a professor,” he
said, smiling.
“Not quite! I’m more a private scholar,
researching for pleasure. I haven’t sold out to the
state. Once you’re dubbed professor, free inquiry’s
done. Look at our dear Austria’s state of affairs.
What do you say? I’d rather forgo titles and honors,
stay independent. I can do and write as I please… no
one’s leash on me. I’m working on a study of Central
European culture, and your region—”
“Pardon,” Ruprecht said, a touch impatient, “my
wife’s expecting me. I was delayed at a quarry…”
Schiereisen laid a hand on Ruprecht’s arm. “One
more word, Herr von Boschan… I’ll let you go… I’m
thrilled to meet you… There’s a bit of self-interest,
too. I heard your predecessor, Herr Dankwardt, had a
vast library and loved books. It’s only natural some
might… I mean, he likely took interest in this land’s
prehistory, and I could find valuable resources.
Amateurs often stumble on books scholars seek in
vain. If you’d…”
“It’d be my pleasure to host you. The library’s at
your disposal.”
The lantern-lit talk on the narrow forest path
ended. They shook hands and parted. Schiereisen’s
candle had burned low. He paused after a few steps to
adjust it, whistling softly with a smile. His lantern’s
Marienglas crackled in the heat.
Then he strode briskly to reach home.
That evening, he wrote to Herr Peter Franz von
Zaugg, Section Councilor in the Railway Ministry:
“Dear Sir, It is with sincere satisfaction that I report,
after a relatively short stay, some not insignificant
successes. I have diligently gathered material. You
will understand that this case, which you kindly
entrusted to me, presents considerable challenges. I
reserve a full account for later. Today, I wish only to
note that a fortunate chance introduced me to Herr
von Boschan. I have secured unobtrusive, harmless
access to the castle, and rest assured, I will seize
every opportunity to advance my goal. I hope soon to
provide you and your esteemed wife with clarity on
the dark, mysterious circumstances surrounding your
late brother-in-law’s fate and, should your suspicions
prove founded, to ensure justice for a heinous crime.
With utmost respect, Your devoted, Josef Tängler.”

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Alraune by Hanns Heinz Ewers and translated by Joe E Bandel

Chapter Seven
Shares the things that occurred when Alraune was a young
girl.
FROM the time she was eight years old until she was twelve
Alraune ten Brinken was raised in the Sacré Couer convent
in Nancy. From then until her seventeenth birthday she
lived at Mlle. de Vynteelen’s finishing school for young
ladies on Du Marteau Avenue in Spa. During this time she went to the
ten Brinken home twice a year to spend her vacations.
At first the Privy Councilor tried to have her taught at home. He
hired a girl to teach the child, then a tutor and soon after that another
one. But even with the best intentions in a short time they all
despaired of ever teaching her anything. It was simply not going to
happen. It was not something they could point out. She was not wild
or unruly. She just never answered and there was nothing that could
break through her stubborn silence.
She just sat there quiet and still, staring straight ahead and
blinking with half-open eyes. You could scarcely tell if she was even
listening. She would pick up the slate in her hand but she would not
move it, not up, down, or to make a letter–If she did use it, it was to
draw some strange animal with ten legs or a face with three eyes and
two noses.
What she learned at all she learned before the Privy Councilor
sent her to the convent, before her separation from Wölfchen. This
same boy that failed miserably in every class in school and looked
down with contempt on any schoolwork had an unending patience
with his sister at home.
She had him write long rows of numbers, write out his name and
her name hundreds of times and she enjoyed it when he made a
mistake, when his dirty little fingers cramped up on him. It was for
this purpose that she would take up the slate, the pencil or the writing
quill. She would learn a number, a word or its opposite, grasp it
quickly, write it down, and then let the boy copy it for hours. She
always found something to correct, there, that stroke was not right.
She played the teacher–so she learned.
Then one day the principal came out to complain to the Privy
Councilor about the pathetic performance of his foster son. Wölfchen
was especially weak in the sciences.
Alraune heard this and from then on played school with him,
controlled him, made him study till dark, listened to him recite his
lessons and made him learn. She would put him in his room, close the
door and not let him come out until he had finished off his homework.
She acted as if she knew everything already and would not
tolerate any doubt of her superiority. She learned very easily and
quickly. She did not want to show any weakness in front of the boy so
she took up one book after another grasping its contents and moving
on to the next in a wild and chaotic manner without tying them
together. This went on until the youth would come to her when he
didn’t know something. He would ask her to explain it to him because
she must surely know it. Then she would put him off, scold him and
tell him to think it over.
That gave her some time to search in her books. If she couldn’t
find the answer she would run off to the Privy Councilor and ask him.
Then she would come back to the boy and ask if the answer had
occurred to him yet. If it hadn’t she would finally give him the
answer. The professor noticed the game and it amused him. He would
have never even considered placing the girl out of the home if the
princess hadn’t kept pressuring him again and again.
The princess had always been a good Catholic and it seemed as if
she became more devout with every Kilo of fat that she put on. She
was insistent that her Godchild must be brought up in a convent. The
Privy Councilor had been her financial advisor for several years now
and invested her millions almost as if they were his own. He thought
it prudent to go along with her on this point. So Alraune went to the
Sacré Couer convent in Nancy.
There were several exceptionally short entries in the Privy
Councilor’s hand during this period and several long reports from the
Mother Superior. The professor grinned as he filed them, especially
the first ones that praised the girl and the extraordinary progress she
was making. He knew his convents and knew very well that a person
could not learn anything of this world among these pious sisters.
He enjoyed how the first letters filled with the praise that all the
parents received very soon took a different tone. The Mother Superior
reported more and more urgently on various cruelties and these
complaints always had the same basis. It was not the behavior of the
girl herself, not her performance in giving presentations. It was
always about the influence she exerted on her schoolmates.
“It is entirely true,” writes the Reverend Mother, “that the child
herself never tortures animals. At least she has never been caught at
it–But it is equally true that all the little cruelties committed by the
other girls originate in her head.
First there was little Mary, a well-behaved and obedient child
that was caught in the convent garden blowing up frogs with hollow
grass stems. When she was called to account for her actions she
confessed that Alraune had given her the idea. We didn’t want to
believe it at first and thought it was much more likely that she was
trying to shift the blame away from herself.
But very soon after that two different girls were discovered
sprinkling salt on some large slugs so that they writhed in agony as
they slowly dissolved into slime. Now slugs are also God’s creatures
and again these two children declared that Alraune had pushed them
into it. I then questioned her myself and the child admitted everything
and went on to explain that she had once heard that about slugs and
wanted to see if it was really true. As for the blowing up of frogs, she
said that it sounded so beautiful when you smashed a blown up frog
with a stone. Of course she would never do it herself because some of
the crushed frog might squirt onto her hands.
When I asked whether she understood that she had done wrong
she declared No, she had not done anything wrong and what the other
children did had nothing at all to do with her.”
At this place in the report in parentheses the Privy Councilor
wrote, “She is absolutely correct!”
“Despite being punished,” the letter continues, “a short time later
we had several other deplorable cases that we determined must have
originated from Alraune.
For example, Clara Maasen of Düren, a girl several years older
than Alraune, she has been in our care for four years now and never
given the slightest cause for complaint. She took a mole and poked its
eyes out with a red-hot knitting needle. She was so upset over what
she had done that she spent the next few days extremely agitated and
bursting into tears for no reason at all. She only calmed down again
after she had received absolution during her next confession.
Alraune explained that moles creep around in the dark earth and
it doesn’t matter if they can see or not.
Then we found very ingeniously constructed bird traps in the
garden. Thank God no little birds had been caught in them yet. No
one would tell us where she had gotten the idea. Only under the threat
of severe punishment did some girls finally admit that Alraune had
enticed them into doing it and at the same time threatened to do
something to them if they told on her.
Unfortunately this unholy influence of the child on her
schoolmates has now grown to the point where we can scarcely find
out the truth anymore.
Helene Petiot was caught at recess carefully cutting the wings off
of flies, ripping their legs off and throwing them alive onto an anthill.
The little girl said that she had come up with the idea herself and
stuck with her story in front of His Reverence, swearing that Alraune
had nothing to do with it.
Her cousin Ninon lied just as stubbornly yesterday after she had
tied a tin pot to the tail of our good old cat and almost drove it insane.
Nevertheless we are convinced that Alraune had her hand in that
game as well.”
The Mother Superior then wrote further that she had called a
conference together and everyone had concluded the best thing was to
respectfully beg his Excellency to take his daughter away from the
convent and come as soon as possible to get her.
The Privy Councilor answered that he very much regretted the
incidents but must beg them to keep the child a little while longer at
the convent.
“The more difficult the work, the greater the reward.”
He had no doubt that the patience and piety of the sisters would
be successful in clearing the weeds out of the heart of his child and
turn it into a beautiful garden of the Lord. The reason he did this was
to see if the influence of this sensitive child was stronger than the
discipline of the convent and all the efforts of the pious sisters.
He knew very well that the cheap Sacré Couer convent did not
draw from the best families and that it was very happy to count the
daughter of his Excellency as one of its students. He was not
mistaken. The Reverend Mother replied that with God’s help they
would try once more. All the sisters had declared themselves willing
to include a special plea for Alraune in their evening prayers. In
generosity the Privy Councilor sent them a hundred Marks for their
charities.
During the next vacation the professor carefully observed the
little girl. He knew the Gontram family from the Great-grandfather
down and knew that they all took in a great love for animals with their
mother’s milk. He felt that her influence on this much older boy
would at last meet its match, become powerless against this innermost
feeling of unlimited goodness.
Yet he caught Wölfchen Gontram one afternoon down by the
little pond under the trumpet tree. He was kneeling on the ground. In
front of him sat a large frog on a stone. The youth had lit a cigarette
and shoved it in the wide mouth and deep down its throat. The frog
smoked in deathly fear, swallowing the smoke, pulling it down into its
belly. It inhaled more and more but couldn’t push it back out so it
became larger and larger.

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Alraune by Hanns Heinz Ewers and translated by Joe E Bandel

“There Brambach, for the road! But next time be a little smarter
and do what I said. Now go into the kitchen and have some butter-
bread and a glass of beer!”
The invalid thanked him, happy enough that things had gone so
well and he hobbled back across the court toward the kitchen. His
Excellency snatched up the sweet tear vial, pulled a silk handkerchief
out of his pocket and carefully cleaned it, viewing the fine violet glass
from all sides. Then he opened the door and stepped back into the
library where the curator from Nuremburg stood before a glass case.
He walked up brandishing the vial in his upraised arm.
“Look at this, dear doctor,” he began. “I have here a most
unusual treasure! It belongs to the grave of Tullia, the sister of general
Aulus. It is from the site at Schware-Rheindorf. I’ve already shown
you several artifacts from there!”
He handed him the vial and continued.
“Can you tell me its point of origin?”
The scholar took the glass, stepped to the window and adjusted
his glasses. He asked for a loupe and a silk cloth. He wiped it and held
the glass against the light turning it this way and that. Somewhat
hesitatingly and not entirely certain he finally said, “Hmm, it appears
to be of Syrian make, probably from the glass factory at Palmyra.”
“Bravo!” cried the Privy Councilor. I must certainly watch
myself around you. You are an expert!”
If the curator would have said it was from Agrigent or Munda he
would have responded with equal enthusiasm.
“Now doctor, what time period is it from?”
The curator raised the vial one more time. “Second century,” he
said. “First half.”
This time his voice rang with confidence.
“I give you my compliments,” confirmed the Privy Councilor. “I
didn’t believe anyone could make such a quick and accurate
determination!”
“Except yourself naturally, your Excellency,” replied the scholar
flatteringly.
But the professor replied modestly, “You over estimate my
knowledge considerably Herr Doctor. I have spent no less than eight
days of hard work trying to make a determination with complete
certainty. I have gone through a lot of books.
But I have no regrets. It is a rare and beautiful piece–has cost me
enough too. The fellow that found it made a small fortune with it.”
“I would really like to have it for my museum,” declared the
director. “What do you want for it?”
“For Nuremburg, only five thousand Marks,” answered the
professor. “You know that I offer all German museums specially
reduced prices. Next week two gentlemen are coming here from
London. I will offer them eight thousand and will certainly get it!”
“But your Excellency,” responded the scholar. “Five thousand
Marks! You know very well that I can’t pay such a price! That is
beyond my authorization.”
The Privy Councilor said, “I’m really very sorry, but I can’t give
the vial away for any less.”
The Herr from Nuremburg weighed the little glass in his hand.
“It is a charming tear vial and I am inordinately fond of it. I will give
you three thousand, your Excellency.”
The Privy Councilor said, “No, nothing less than five thousand!
But I tell you what Herr Director. Since that tear vial pleases you so
much, permit me to give it to you as a personal gift. Keep it as a
memento of your accurate determination.”
“I thank you, your Excellency. I thank you!” cried the curator.
He stood up and shook the Councilor’s hand very hard. “But I am not
permitted to accept any gifts in my position. Forgive me then if I must
refuse. Anyway, I have decided to pay your price. We must keep this
piece in the Fatherland and not permit it to go to England.”
He went to the writing desk and wrote out his check. But before
he left the Privy Councilor talked him into buying the other less
interesting pieces–from the grave of Tullia, the sister of general
Aulus.
The professor ordered the horses ready for his guest and escorted
him out to his carriage. As he came back across the court he saw
Wölfchen and Alraune standing by the peddler who was showing
them his colored images of the Saints. After a meal and some drink
old Brambach had recovered some of his courage, had even sold the
cook a rosary that he claimed had been blessed by the Bishop. That
was why it cost thirty pennies more than the others did. That had all
loosened his tongue, which just an hour before had been so timid. He
steeled his heart and limped up to the Privy Councilor.
“Herr Professor,” he pleaded. “Buy the children a pretty picture
of St. Joseph!”
His Excellency was in a good mood so he replied, “St. Joseph?
No, but do you have one of St. John of Nepomuk?”
No, Brambach didn’t have one of him. He had one of St.
Anthony though, St. John, St. Thomas and St. Jakob. But
unfortunately none of Nepomuk and once again he had to be
upbraided for not knowing his business. In Lendenich you could only
sell St. John of Nepomuk, none of the other saints.
The peddler took it hard but made one last attempt. “A raffle
ticket, Herr Professor! Take a raffle ticket for the restoration of St.
Lawrence’s church in Dülmen. It only costs one Mark and every
buyer receives an indulgence of one hundred days. It says so right
here!”
He held the ticket under the Privy Councilor’s nose.
“No,” said the professor. “We don’t need any indulgences. We
are protestant, that’s how we get to heaven and a person can’t win
anything in a raffle anyway.”
“What?” the peddler replied. “You can’t win? There are over
three hundred prizes and the first prize is fifty thousand Marks in
cash! It says so right here!”
He pointed with a dirty finger to the raffle ticket. The professor
took the ticket out of his hand and examined it.
“You old ass!” he laughed. “And here it says there are five
hundred thousand tickets! Calculate for yourself how many chances
you have of winning that!”
He turned to go but the invalid limped after him holding onto his
coat.
“Try it anyway professor,” he begged. “We need to live too!”
“No,” cried the Privy Councilor.
Still the peddler wouldn’t give up. “I have a feeling that you are
going to win!”
“You always have that feeling!” said the Privy Councilor.
“Let the little one choose a ticket, she brings luck!” insisted
Brambach.
That stopped the professor. “I will do it,” he murmured.
“Come over here Alraune!” he cried. “Choose a ticket.”
The child skipped up. The invalid carefully made a fan out of his
tickets and held them in front of her.
“Close your eyes,” he commanded. “Now, pick one.”
Alraune drew a ticket and gave it to the Privy Councilor. He
considered for a moment and then waved the boy over.
“You choose one too, Wölfchen,” he said.
In the leather volume his Excellency ten Brinken reports that he
won fifty thousand Marks in the Dülmen church raffle. Unfortunately
he could not be certain whether Alraune or Wölfchen had selected the
winning ticket. He had put them both together in his desk without
writing the names of the children on them. Still he scarcely had any
doubt that it must have been Alraune’s.
As for the rest, he mentions how grateful he was to old
Brambach who almost forced him to bring this money into the house.
He gave him five Marks and set things up with the local relief fund
for aged and disabled veterans so that he would receive a regular
pension of thirty Marks per year.

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Madame Bluebeard by Karl Hans Strobl and translated by Joe E Bandel

Tenth Chapter
Lorenz returned from his leave two days later.
He’d been in Vienna but, having said he was going to
Linz, he traveled a few stations past Hadersdorf, then
returned on the Linz train to connect with the
Kamptal line.
One couldn’t be too cautious. Ruprecht showed no
trace of suspicion, but that treacherous Indian’s
menacing silence made him unapproachable.
As Lorenz reached the castle, Maurerwenzel was
crossing the courtyard. In his blue apron, he moved
with deliberate care, each step proving he was at
work. Maurerwenzel had two gaits, starkly different.
For work, he used “the slow”; for the tavern after,
“the swift.” A Social Democrat, he knew his labor’s
worth and his duty to the union, refusing to sell
himself cheaply to capital.
“What’s up, Wenzel?” Lorenz asked, in the
affable tone he used to charm the “locals.”
Maurerwenzel spat—a punctuation mark before
speaking. “I’m workin’,” he said, with emphasis
befitting the event’s gravity.
“What’s to do?” Lorenz laced his words with a
hint of dialect when speaking to the “locals,” just
enough to signal condescension.
Maurerwenzel squinted at the valet from under his
cap’s brim. “The castle’s got a hole,” he said.
“Water’s got to the wine…”
“How so?”
“’Cause the castle’s got a hole… Old castles don’t
hold up no more… Foundations wobble… aye, my
friend, that’s how it is… New times do that…” The
lofty symbolism of his words was a balm to
Maurerwenzel.
Lorenz stared, alarmed. Maurerwenzel squinted
back. “So, water’s in the cellar—”
“Aye… come see the mess yerself.”
With a swaying stride, Maurerwenzel led Lorenz
across the courtyard, through the gate, and around the
outer wall to the castle’s rear. Here, the hillside rose
steeply, furrowed by rivulets exposing clay. Between
the slope and the castle’s towering wall, a streambed
had formed over time, channeling the rivulets. Spring
rains, autumn deluges, and summer storms had
battered the ancient walls for centuries. Now, water
gurgled and churned in cracks and the streambed.
Meltwater rushed toward the Kamp.
Maurerwenzel had dammed the stream slightly
above the damaged spot. “See, here’s the hole,” he
said. A gap yawned between the castle wall’s stones,
its edges worn smooth, showing years of water’s
work.
“And nothin’ happened in the cellar…?”
“Don’t fret, plenty o’ wine’s left. Water went out
another hole.”
Lorenz insisted on checking himself, unease
creeping in, though he couldn’t pinpoint why. He
disliked outsiders poking around the castle, sniffing
in every corner.
Inspecting the cellar damage, he found water had
cleared a path to unknown chambers. A jolt hit him.
He set to exploring thoroughly. After half an hour, he
returned, his lantern trembling, struggling to lock the
wooden gate.
He rushed to Frau Helmina, relieved to find her
alone. He couldn’t hide his agitation.
“Lucky I came back so soon,” he said.
“What now? You’re always rattled lately. Enjoy
scaring me?” Helmina was peevish, soured by a letter
from her Vienna lawyer with bad news about her
lawsuit.
“I feel something closing in. It’s in my bones.”
Lorenz wiped cold sweat from his brow and sank
heavily into a delicate Rococo chair. “You, of
course… sitting up here, caring for nothing… if I
don’t keep watch! Since that botched job, I’ve had no
peace. Leave the house once, and trouble strikes.
Water’s flooded the wine cellar…”
“I know, a terrible tragedy,” Helmina said
mockingly.
“Yes… a calamity. If nothing worse happened, it’s
a miracle. The water opened a way to another cellar,
then more beyond… down to the tower… and
through a hole in the wall, you can see inside…”
Helmina paled, setting down her nail file. “You
can see…?”
“Now it hits you. This wretched nest is riddled
like a molehill… I knew nothing of it…”
“So long as no one else does,” Helmina said,
picking up the file. “Only you go to the wine cellar.”
“That’s just it,” Lorenz snapped, furious. “I
shouldn’t have let the key out of my hand. That
Indian, Jana, I don’t trust… he fetched wine the day
before yesterday.”
Fear leapt at Helmina, lodging in her neck. She
stared wide-eyed at Lorenz.
“He found the damage… we don’t know if he saw
more… if he went further…”
“No,” Helmina said, regaining composure. “He
surely saw nothing.”
“You know that, of course!” Lorenz scoffed.
“Hand me a cognac… my stomach’s knotting…
quick…” He leaned back, breathing deeply.
As Helmina poured, he muttered, “You know…
sure, you always know exactly.”
“I don’t know,” Helmina said humbly. “But I’m
certain. If Jana had noticed anything, he’d have told
Ruprecht… and if Ruprecht knew, I’d have sensed it.
He can’t hide that well.”
“I don’t bank on such guesses. You’re already
sunk when you rely on that.”
Helmina gazed thoughtfully. “Even if he
knows…” she said slowly, “I doubt he’d… no, we
can be calm either way.”
“Oh, really?” Lorenz drawled mockingly. He
slapped his knees, dust puffing into the sunlight. “No,
my dear, this must end. It can’t go on. Anton says so
too… and he wants you in Vienna. To discuss
everything. Not at his office, but his apartment…”
A door slammed somewhere. Children’s laughter
rang clear. “Fine,” Helmina said quickly. “Get up…
I’ll go to Vienna. I need to see my lawyer anyway…”
When the children, trailed by Miss Nelson,
entered, Lorenz stood rigid before Mama, receiving
orders to pack the small suitcase for a Vienna trip in
two days.
When Helmina visited her lawyer about the
lawsuit, she preferred not to discuss it much with
Ruprecht. A brief hint sufficed. He disliked the
matter. The inheritance dispute irked him. Seeing
Rotbirnbach’s roofs on his field rides sparked
annoyance. But Helmina was unyielding.
Dr. Weinberger only confirmed his letter’s grim
news. No stubbornness would help. They were
losing, forced to retreat, yielding ground after
ground. Helmina blazed with fury. Her silk skirts
crackled ominously as she stormed to her carriage
outside the lawyer’s office. An electric tension
surrounded her, ready to spark words like lightning.
Driving from central Vienna to Hernals, she tore her
batiste handkerchief to shreds. The city’s
monumental buildings and streets slid past, closing
behind the carriage. Plainer districts’ unadorned
houses loomed ahead.
Her mood didn’t improve when, alighting, her
skirt’s trim caught, tearing a piece off. With a furious
glare at the coachman, she crackled into Sykora’s
doorway.
The Fortuna chief’s apartment, on the first floor,
was adorned with trust-inspiring items: ornate-framed
certificates, diplomas, badges from pious and
charitable societies, group photos from festivals, and
pictures of happy couples thanking their matchmaker.
Rare clients received here must have felt in the home
of a humanitarian benefactor.
Sykora awaited Helmina on the sofa beneath a
large oil print of Mariazell’s Church of Grace.
“It’s outrageous,” Helmina said after a curt
greeting, “unbelievable—I’m going to lose my
lawsuit.”
“I never had much faith in it,” Sykora replied
calmly.
“So I’ve toiled for nothing,” Helmina raged. “It
was no small effort to maneuver Baron Kestelli into
it… I had to painstakingly convince him it was his
revenge… and now I’m to be cheated!”
Anton Sykora drummed thoughtfully, savoring the
moment, on the table. “It’s no disaster! Think it
through. What’s Rotbirnbach to you? What would
you do with that castle? You say yourself it needs
heaps of money to make it profitable. What’s the
gain? Don’t be stubborn, Helmi! Let Rotbirnbach go.
Besides, you won’t have time to turn it around. Drop
false ambitions. Let’s be practical. We must wrap
things up here.”
“Lorenz said the same,” Helmina retorted
mulishly.
“He doesn’t even know how urgent it’s become.
Today, Diamant pestered me again. The creep’s
getting nastier. His hints are clearer. Seems he’s got
dirt on us. We weren’t careful enough. He mentioned
wealthy foreigners who used our services with little
luck. What else could that mean but he suspects…?
Short and sweet, he’s starting to threaten. Maybe he
wants in as a partner… we have to leave. Your
business needs sorting fast.”
Helmina fidgeted nervously with her purse,
snapping it open and shut, each click a sharp pop.
She had to tell Sykora what Lorenz feared.
He listened, mouth agape. When she finished, his
jaws clamped, chewing slowly. His eyebrows
climbed his forehead. Sykora pondered. “Well, then,”
he said, “Vorderschluder’s idyll must end, Helmi.
Everything’s pushing to a close. I’m sorry to insist;
Lorenz thinks it’ll be hard for you…”
Helmina glared venomously. “I won’t take blame.
You know it’s not my fault this idyll isn’t over.”
“Yes, yes… I know,” Sykora soothed genially.
“You mean… there’s no immediate danger… well!
Maybe your husband’s shrewder than you think.”
Helmina laughed scornfully, twisting her purse’s
chain around her finger. “Anyway… that Malay’s a
problem. He’s got to go.”
Shrugging, she looked past Sykora out the
window. Across the street, a young girl leaned out,
laughing at someone below. Helmina seethed, hating
her.
“Do what you must,” she said.
“Well… if you won’t pitch in, send Lorenz to me.
We’ll sort it out. But soon, hear me… as soon as
possible…”
“Yes… yes!”
“Then we’re square…” Sykora said, rising
massively from his seat. “Staying in Vienna tonight?
I’ve a nice box for Ronacher. Come! No one’ll see
you…”
“No, thanks… I’m heading home this afternoon.”
“As you wish. Servus, Helmi. Keep your eyes
open! Send Lorenz right away.” Chuckling, he
escorted her to the door.
Helmina needed no pretext. She truly left for
home that afternoon.
As her carriage rounded the last forest bend on the
high plain, the castle in view, the horses suddenly
shied, snorting and rearing. A man had burst from the
thicket, leaping clumsily over the roadside ditch. He
landed, arms and legs flailing, right before the horses.
The coachman cursed, bracing back on his seat.
The stranger, seeing his blunder, grew flustered.
He doffed his brown travel cap, stammering
something drowned by the coachman’s oaths.
Helmina eyed him with an irked smile. He was
buttoned into a tight yellow overcoat, creases
straining at the buttons, his arms curving outward as
if stuffed in sausage casing. His upturned collar
framed a clean-shaven face, blue eyes wide with
dismay, humbly begging pardon. He stood on sturdy,
boxy American boots. Even without his gray
umbrella, Helmina wouldn’t have doubted he was a
schoolman.
The horses pulled forward. The stranger, cap still
off, pleaded forgiveness from the roadside. As the
carriage moved, Helmina gave him a fleeting nod.
The bold leaper watched her go. So, that was Frau
Helmina von Boschan. He whistled through his teeth.
She lived up to her fame as a beauty. His expression
shifted. Humility gave way to a hard, resolute will;
his flustered blue eyes turned cold, clear, gray. The
carriage dipped into the river valley, winding through
the road’s final turns.

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Anarchist Knight Apprentice by Joe E Bandel

Chapter 18 Visions of the Cave

Tobal thought back to Crow’s initiation, which had just taken place a couple of hours ago. The bonfire’s heat still warmed his memory as the line was forming for entrance. Misty and the High Priest were casting the circle. Ellen was standing as a guard at the circle’s entrance. She motioned for Tobal to come closer.

“Meet me after circle,” she said. “We’ve got some things we need to talk about.”

“Can Rafe come too?” He asked.

She considered and then nodded, “He probably already knows more than I do doesn’t he?”

Tobal nodded and chuckled, “I’ll tell him. We’ll see you later then.”

Together Tobal and Sarah found Fiona, Becca and Nikki and sat with them. They chatted and were telling stories about newbies. They were excited and impressed that Sarah was going to train a newbie in the middle of the winter. They watched as the newbies were initiated.

Later Tobal was introduced to each of the new initiates by Crow, who had just been initiated a couple of hours ago. Ellen had seen both him and Crow with the Lord and Lady above the bonfire during his initiation, and she was certainly going to be asking him about that. Having already astral projected to the cave with Ron, Rachel, and Arthur, Crow was excited to share his version of what they had revealed during the initiation—the cave’s altar pulsed as Rachel spoke—and Crow was eager to talk about it. Tobal urged him to wait till later when they were alone and could talk more quietly and respectfully. Crow agreed, but Tobal could see he was extremely excited.

He tried to speak alone with Fiona and Becca but they were so busy chatting with the others that he gave up in frustration. He wanted to know the two girls better but always seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He really enjoyed the few trips they had made to sanctuary together. It seemed with all the partnering going on he was feeling lonely and left out much of the time. It didn’t help that much of this was his own personal choice.

Zee and Kevin were planning on spending the winter together. Their newbies were soloing and being kicked out of the nest. They would probably end up partnering with one of the other newly soloed Apprentices. No one really liked spending the long winter months alone if they could help it. It was an added bonus if romance was involved. Still, spending the winter with a romantic partner had its own drawbacks and many such partnerships did not last till spring. Still not very many wanted to train during the winter either. Perhaps the most common was partnering with friends or newbies during the winter.

The next place he headed was over to the beer barrel for some brew. Butch and Mike were talking with Rafe.

“Mike and I were thinking about holing up for the rest of the winter but we really don’t know where the best place is,” Butch was saying. “We have a few places we want to check out. Someone already claimed the one we were planning to use. They chased us out of there, let me tell you.” He laughed.

“Hey you guys can live in my old base camp for the winter if you want to,” Rafe said. “I’m not living there anymore and spending most of my time either at circle or the Journeyman camp. I have most of my things out of there that I need.”

“Are you sure?” Mike asked eagerly. Rafe was legendary and his camp must be a pretty sweet setup where ever it was.”

“It’s fine,” he said. “Consider it yours. Does either of you know where it is? I didn’t think so. Bring a map and I’ll mark it for you. If you have any trouble finding it Tobal or one of the girls can help you.”

He looked at Tobal and grinned.

“I’m just giving away my campsite to these guys,” he grinned mischievously. “That is if they can find it. The Journeyman degree is so different I don’t need a base camp for the winter.”

“We’ll check it out first thing Rafe,” Butch grinned back. “We’ll find it if it takes us all week.” Then he and Mike left toward the circle with their fresh brews in their hands.

Tobal nodded at Dirk.

“You guys working here now?”

“Yes,” Dirk grinned evilly. “We’re the beer meisters now.”

“What’s that mean?” Tobal asked cautiously.

“We were taken off wood duty and now we make sure no one runs out of beer. Rafe interrupted, “See this beer,” he held up a foamy mug of beer. “This beer is four months old. Beer tastes best when it is four months old. The beer we make won’t be ready until March or April sometime.” He grinned evilly.

“That means we can experiment with the recipe a bit and have some fun with it.” Dirk added, “We’ve got to brew the beer and keep it from freezing so we will be spending the next two months right here. We go through three or four barrels every month at circle. Last month we went through twelve because there were three days of feasting. That used up our reserves.”

“That means we’ve got to work harder than ever,” Rafe said gloomily. Then he brightened up, “That’s why we are going to have some fun with this. I’ve already got some special ingredients in mind.”

Tobal knew there were times when the beer had been absolutely nasty and undrinkable. “I hope you don’t make some of that real nasty stuff that gives people the runs like it did last July.”

Rafe grinned. “We aren’t planning to be around drinking it. We should both be getting our Masters initiation by then. I hear the medics have some real good stuff and they even make some brandy.”

“You’re not serious?” Tobal gasped in horror at the thought. You wouldn’t do that to us would you?” He pleaded with them. Rafe and Dirk were laughing hard now.

“You wait and see,” was all either of them would say.

They talked more about the art of brewing beer in the wilderness. The real issue was getting enough sugar to ferment into alcohol. The sugar content came from boiling maple syrup down into maple sugar in the spring. There were only about three weeks when the sap really flowed and the entire Journeyman community helped in boiling it down.

It was not uncommon to see air sleds carrying buckets of maple sap. The medics even provided plastic buckets with lids from used hospital supplies to be used for barrels and also provided the yeast. The other ingredients were left up to the imagination of the brew miester although the basic recipe was expected to be followed fairly closely. The maple syrup was kept in the same location as the beer and not allowed to freeze.

Tobal shuddered to think of what those two would come up with. Best to enjoy the beer they were serving today which was rich and tasty. He told Rafe he would talk with him sometime later after circle and they could both meet with Ellen to see what she had found out about the rogue attacks. Then he went off looking for the others.

There was no sign of Tara and Nick. Tobal guessed they were snowed in and making the best of it. The weather was bitter cold and the three-day travel to circle was something only the brave or desperate would willingly tackle. Tobal came because it was his social connection to the others, a time to forget his own troubles, celebrate and have some fun with others.

He found Sarah over by the cooking pits slicing off choice pieces of roast and getting some stew. The stew was the main way the clan had vegetables in the winter and everyone contributed from their own stores.

His own stomach started to rumble. “Is the stew any good?”

She glanced at him, “Oh, hi Tobal. Yes, the stew and roast is excellent. Grab a bowl.”

Tobal grabbed one of the large wooden bowls that were stacked nearby and went over to the roast first. He cut several chunks of meat off the roast and filled the bowl to the top with stew. Then he grabbed a wooden spoon and tasted it. She was right. It was delicious.

“Did you get your winter camp setup all right?” He asked her between spoonfuls.

“Butch and Mike helped me get things together and it’s really great! I’m so glad they were able to help because it was a lot of work. Did you hear they are going to get Rafe’s old base camp?”

“Yes, I heard they were going to check it out anyway,” he chuckled, “That is if they can find it. Rafe’s camp is hard to find.”

“I know, that’s what I told them too,” she said. “I had a hard time finding Rafe’s camp the first time I was there. You remember don’t you? It was when I was training with you and we needed to go there and get your old winter supplies. We went together.”

“Oh, that’s right,” he smiled sheepishly. “I must be getting old. I completely forgot about that. We did have some fun and some good times. I bet you miss your father though.”

“It’s kind of surprising but I really don’t miss him that much. In fact there are times I feel he is right here checking up on me. It’s like I can see him with my mind’s eye. I know he’s not really there but part of him is and it helps me.” She started crying and Tobal put his arms around her and comforted her. Finally she stopped and wiped her eyes and nose.

“Sorry about that,” she sniffled. “I guess I miss him more than I thought I did.”

“That’s alright,” he said. “Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up.” He changed the subject, “Now that your base camp is ready are you going to partner up for the winter?”

“Actually,” she said, “I’m going to try for my first newbie and see how it goes.”

“Really?”

Tobal was both surprised and pleased that she would try her first newbie during the hardest time of the year. She did have a nice base camp though and plenty of game in the area. She also had enough furs to get her newbie protected from the elements until they could manufacture their own.

“That’s great!” He gave her a big hug and a kiss. “Let me know if you need anything.”

She said she would and they finished their meal chatting about other things. She was happy and in much better health than she had been at the store. Tobal could tell she was thriving out here being around people her own age.

Together they washed the bowls and spoons so others could use them and went over to change into robes for circle.

It was during the party and after the initiations that Tobal, Rafe, and Ellen got together and compared notes.

“I want to check it out myself,” Rafe was telling them both.

“It’s not a good time right now,” Ellen said. “The snow will make it easy to track you to the location and it will no longer be secret. The ice in the pool and the coldness of the water also make it very dangerous. Tobal was lucky he was able to find warm clothes and get a torch going for warmth. He might have died from hypothermia.”

“She’s right Rafe,” he said. “I was lucky to get out of there alive. I hate to think what would have happened if I hadn’t gotten that fire going. Still, Crow and I have been astral projecting to the cave, and I’m itching to explore it with my own feet as soon as possible.”

Ellen continued, “I’ve been keeping a patrol over that area looking for rogues every couple of days. What is interesting is there always seems to be fresh tracks in the area around the lake but I never see anyone. I am convinced they are looking for some secret location they know is there but can’t find. They are looking for the location you found Tobal.” She looked at him with a piercing stare. “There is something very important about that location. Are you sure you have told me everything?”

She tried to be polite, but both Tobal and Rafe knew she was serious and she knew they were withholding information from her. They looked at each other and Tobal shrugged uneasily.

“This gets weird.” He said a bit lamely.

Ellen was looking at him with a let’s get this over with expression. He considered and then gave in. Ellen was someone he trusted even if he didn’t know her that well. He had no reason to believe she would turn him in or cause him harm. She had already been very helpful to him.

“It’s all confused.” He began. “It involves my uncle who used to be the Federation Officer here. He was in charge of the classified work my parents were doing. It involves Sarah’s father who has a very strange shop in Old Seattle.

That’s not all,” he said resignedly. “It also involves Crow’s grandfather, a shaman named Howling Wolf from the local village and the mass murder of all the people living at the old gathering spot by the waterfall. These deaths include my own parents, Crow’s parents, Sarah’s mother and two brother’s that she doesn’t even know she has. Although there is increasing evidence that my own parents are still alive and held prisoner by the Federation. Then there is Arthur, an AI who guards the secret location and controls the force field that surrounds it.”

“Damn,” Rafe whispered in stunned shock. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

Ellen gradually regained her own composure and echoed Rafe’s question, “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

“I’ve only just learned about some of it myself,” Tobal said. “I’m still training Crow and didn’t know he was Howling Wolf’s grandson until he told me. We’ve been astral projecting to the cave and met Ron, Rachel, and Arthur, but we’re eager to explore it physically when it’s safer.”

“So that is why you and Crow appeared above the bonfire with the Lord and Lady? Is there anything else you are not telling me,” Ellen persisted. “Do you have any proof what you are saying is true?”

Again Tobal and Rafe looked at each other. Tobal sighed and stood up. “You’d better follow me. We’ll go for a walk and I’ll show you.”

As they walked into the moonlit woods they retraced the steps back to where Tobal had demonstrated the wand to Rafe last month. He showed Ellen the same demonstration he had shown Rafe. There was pure silence as she touched the second hole in the boulder and looked at the steaming circle that seconds ago had been frozen and snow covered. With luck it would be frozen and snow covered again by morning if the wind kept up.

“Let’s go back,” was all she said. The snow crunched eerily under their boots as they made their way back to the fire circle.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the wand before,” Tobal said nervously. “I wanted a chance to examine it first. Everything was so rushed and the rogues were tracing me somehow. Then last circle I tried to meet with you and wasn’t able to.” He stopped as she waved a weary hand to silence him.

“We can be pretty certain the rogues are able to monitor any of us that are wearing med-alert bracelets,” she said finally. “That’s why we never see any of them. They know we are coming and hide. We can also be pretty sure they are from the same mountain complex we use as our own base.”

Tobal and Rafe looked at each other in puzzlement. Ellen noticed and continued.

“Just like the Journeymen and the Apprentices, the Masters or medics have a secret meeting place. Ours is part of a mountain complex we thought belonged to the city. I am now thinking it is part of a classified Federation military operation of some type. We are only allowed access to the emergency room in the hospital and one wing where we have our own personal quarters and do rituals. I suppose it makes things much easier for them to keep an eye on us when we live right there with them.”

She looked at Rafe, “I’ve told Tobal this already. The area around the lake by the waterfall and several other locations including the village are forbidden and we have orders to prevent people from going there.”

“I didn’t realize Crow came from the other village,” she said. “That might complicate things if he ever decides to go back and visit.”

She put her hands on her temples rubbing them as if she had a massive migraine coming on. “Let’s just leave it like this for now,” she said at last. “We can talk about it later next month. I really need to think about what you have told me and shown me. This sounds like something very dangerous to be mixed up in.”

Rafe interrupted, “Can you mark on my map those other forbidden places? I might not be able to check them out but I would like to know where they are.”

Ellen stared intently at Rafe a few minutes and then nodded, “Most of them are not accessible on foot though so it won’t do you any good. Bring me your map and I will mark it later.”

“And you,” she turned to Tobal, “What are you planning to do with that device you found? Have you thought about that? It is not safe to have it around or to carry it with you.”

“I’d like to think about it for another month,” he said thoughtfully. “I know I can’t keep it after I’m a Journeyman because I won’t have a good place to hide it. I’ll let you know soon.”

The three of them had a lot on their minds as they broke up the meeting and went back to join the others at the drumming circle. Tobal felt thirsty and went looking for fresh brew and light conversation. Later he even joined in with the dancing although he kept his robe on. So did many of the others as the wind was chill and it was several degrees below zero.

He and Crow said their good-byes and left the circle early the next morning right after the group meditation with the usual hugs and kisses to the girls. A faint cave echo lingered during the meditation. The days were getting shorter and there was only six hours of light for useful travel. As they snowshoed their way back to Tobal’s winter camp they talked about Crow’s initiation and his conversations with the Lord and Lady.

“They are worried about you,” Crow said to Tobal suddenly.

“Who is worried about me? What are you talking about?”

The Lord and Lady, they are worried about you. They say that you need a soul retrieval. An important part of your soul is missing.

“What is a soul retrieval?”

“That is when a shaman goes on a soul journey and brings back a part of someone’s soul that has been missing or stolen. My grandfather trained me in the spirit journey method and I can do this for you. The Lord and Lady want me to do this for you. Having astral projected to the cave with them, I’ve felt their guidance, but I’d love to stand there in person. You will let me do this won’t you?” He implored looking searchingly at Tobal.

Tobal was a bit uncomfortable talking about things he didn’t understand. “I need to think about it ok? What else did the Lord and Lady have to say?”

Crow was very excited, “They told me to tell you they are still alive! They are very weak and not in good health but they are alive. They are trapped somewhere and can’t free themselves. They use the energy generated by the circle and by the cave to communicate with us. Not many can see or hear them though. Usually it is only the High Priest and High Priestess that can see them or hear them.

“I have never heard them or felt them so strongly,” he told Tobal with tears in his eyes. “We do not have circle like this at our village. Our circle is different and they don’t come to us as strongly. They showed me my parents again, Tobal. They let me speak with my parents again.”

“But I thought your parents were dead,” Tobal asked slowly?

“They are in the Summerland,” Crow replied. It is where the spirit goes after the physical body dies. My parents are happy there but they miss my sister and me. They told me there is danger for all of us coming soon and we must be prepared. The Lord and Lady will help us if they can but we must learn how to talk to them and listen to what they have to say. I need to teach you and your friends the ways of the shaman so you are ready when the time comes.”

Tobal didn’t know what to say. The thought that his parents might still be alive seemed more and more certain since they were talking with him as well. It still stunned him that his parents were the Lord and Lady and that Crow was able to carry on conversations not only with them, but with Crow’s own dead parents as well. He felt them now, the Lord and Lady, at the back of his mind urging him to believe. Oh, how he wanted to believe but did he dare? Having visited them astrally in the cave, he longed to see them physically, but these thoughts troubled him as they made their journey home through the bitter cold and snow. The only time he saw them in happy visions was during circle or his visits to the cave. Shadows of chains flickered in all his other contacts and visions of them, nightmarish and haunting.

He spent the second month with Crow gaining advanced knowledge in the art of survival and craftsmanship. Crow had grown up in a community that lived a primitive life close to nature. His training had went beyond simple survival into quality of life areas such as art and decorative clothing and functional tools such as hand axes made of flint with razor edges and the knowledge of how to sharpen them. There were fun things too such as games, drums, whistles, flutes and other items carved from wood.

In the evenings he worked on the small carvings he intended to give to his friends at Yule. He also very much improved the look of his wardrobe seeking to match the stylish clothing Crow created so easily from the leathers and furs they had caught over the past two months.

Mostly though, in the evening he listened to the stories of the old ones and of the Lord and Lady of the Oak. They both astral projected to the cave and were taught by his parents and by Arthur. They taught them both things and protected them in the wilderness. Crow said they also talked with his grandfather. His grandfather knew Arthur and knew his parents were still alive but it was not time to free them yet. They had to wait for Lucas and Carla. A glimpse of a fiery realm flickered during one projection.

Tobal asked questions and tried to make sense of as much of it as he could. Crow offered to teach him special meditations that would prepare him for the time when the Lord and Lady would talk with him also. Having already astral projected to the cave, Tobal accepted gladly and each night they would practice astral projecting to the other realms and other shaman practices Crow felt were important.

“The soul has many parts.” Crow told him one evening. “The soul was divided into 120 fragments and scattered through all nine realms. These are hidden and must be found. Each of these fragments must be strong and complete and full of energy before the soul can travel to the different realms. A surge of clarity hit me when I found one fragment.”

Howling Wolf, my grandfather, found and developed all the parts of his soul until he was filled solid and complete like a crystal. His soul was so hard and packed with energy it was like his physical body. It too could travel and he could be in two places at the same time. The Lord and Lady called this bi-location and wanted to learn it from grandfather.

Grandfather told them it was an ancient mystery of shaman since the dawn of time. Grandfather knew about the sanctuary training program that your parents created and he approved of it. He said it helped to gather and develop all the missing soul fragments in the lower realms, but not the higher ones. He told your parents the soul could not travel until all of the parts were completed and filled with energy. That was why things were not working right for your parents in their research.

Grandfather offered to teach them the ways of the shaman to retrieve the higher missing soul fragments and they accepted. He came to them in secret and taught several of them and several other in the secret meeting place near the lake. Soon the Lord and Lady were more powerful than Howling Wolf. They were scientists and discovered ways to use machines to force even more energy into the soul and physical body than ever before. Then they were contacted by the Time Knights.”

Crow continued his story as Tobal listened in fascination.” Grandfather had only been able to bi-locate or spirit travel to the point where he could be in two places at once. His spirit body that traveled was made of energy so tightly packed and compressed that it could be seen and felt like a physical body. It was a physical body made completely of energy. When he traveled he used this physical body of energy and left his normal physical body at home sleeping.

“The Lord and Lady used machines to develop this process to the point where the actual physical body would disappear and appear some other place. Later at the secret meeting place they were able to take others with them on journeys to strange and wonderful places and bring things back with them. The Time Knights came and shared their own technology with Ron and Rachel.

“Grandfather says he still goes on journeys to some of those places he visited with the Lord and Lady. He has taken my sister to some of those places too but it is very secret and he says I am too young to go on such journeys yet.

Now my sister goes on journeys by herself without grandfather and he worries about her because the journeys are dangerous. He says my parents and the others at the lake were killed because they knew these things and that if the evil ones knew about us they would try to kill us as well.”

“There is a mighty secret hidden in the cave at the lake,” he said seriously to Tobal. “I can find it but you must explain it to me. That is what grandfather told me. Having visited it astrally with Ron, Rachel, and Arthur, we know it’s real, but I’d love to see it with my own eyes. We can go now if you want.”

“We can’t go now,” Tobal told him gently and pointed to the med-alert bracelets they both were wearing. “These bracelets let the medics and the evil ones know where we are at all times and we can’t take them off. If we take them off the medics will come looking to see what is wrong. If we don’t wear them we can’t become citizens of Heliopolis. You remember that is what your grandfather wanted you to do?” He asked.

” That area by the lake is forbidden and they don’t want us to go there. It is because of the great secret you are telling about.” He told Crow about his experience with the air sleds during his visit of the abandoned gathering spot the first time. When he told Crow about his second visit the boy’s eyes looked like burning coals as Tobal described the cave and the altar.

“That is the cave we visit in our astral journeys,” he said. “My grandfather goes to a cave much like the one you have described. But it is a secret and he has not told me its location. I am not old enough he says, although my sister has gone and she described it to me. It has the same symbol you speak of above the altar itself. Perhaps it is the same cave?”

“I don’t think so,” Tobal replied. “When I was in the cave it looked like no one had been there for many years.”

“I want to see the grave of my parents in person. Will you take me?” Crow asked Tobal suddenly.

“I have wanted to go back many times myself,” he said to Crow, ” but I am afraid it will not work in the winter time. I’ve spoken much about this with my friend Rafe and Ellen. They both believe it is very dangerous and we must wait until we are medics and have our own air sleds. Then we can work together and protect each other if needed. Having astral projected there, I’m eager to stand at their graves in person, but any other way seems too dangerous and likely that we will get caught. It is especially dangerous in the wintertime when the snow will give away our location and leave tracks. I will mark it on your map though so you know where it is.”

“Then let’s become medics,” Crow said determinedly. “Let’s learn the mysteries and ways of the evil ones so that we may defeat them.”

Tobal chuckled, “So we will, so we will. But now it’s time to get some sleep. Tomorrow is a busy day.”

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Madame Bluebeard by Karl Hans Strobl and translated by Joe E Bandel

Ruprecht stood pensively in the dark, then climbed
the stairs, where Jana waited at the top. Sleep was
impossible. First, another glass of wine to calm
himself. The news had shaken him. So much had
surfaced—radiant youth, a blonde girl’s face… it
gleamed like treasure unearthed from a barrow. One
more glass…
“You can go, Jana,” he said.
But Jana stood in the room’s center, staring at his
master.
“What is it?”
“Master… you must come to the cellar. I need to
show you something.”
“Another secret? I’m exhausted. But fine, if you
insist.”
“Not by the stairs,” Jana said. “Better no one
knows you went with me. Over there…”
Beside the heavy cabinet with armored men was a
hidden panel door, so well-concealed Ruprecht had
only found it after careful search. Even Helmina
claimed ignorance. “This old castle may hold more
such secrets,” she’d said. Indeed, Ruprecht had found
similar features in other rooms—secret doors,
pivoting paintings, hollow walls, the full medieval
romantic apparatus spared by the imaginative Count
Erwin Moreno during renovations. It was the era of
Grillparzer’s The Ancestress. Such things were a
point of pride. “I find it almost eerie,” Helmina had
remarked. “Eerie? No!” Ruprecht smiled. “Feudal,
high feudal! Pity we don’t have a white lady
heralding the owners’ deaths.” At the flash in
Helmina’s eyes, he’d added, “It’s odd no one’s
noticed… shows how little we heed our
surroundings.”
The castle was a fox’s den, but these secrets were
harmless. Dark stairways led to passages, doors to
hidden chambers, pivoting paintings to empty niches.
If they once held purpose, they were now mere
mood-setters.
Behind the study’s panel door, a narrow spiral
staircase descended past a lightless chamber to a
ground-floor corridor, ending behind old oak
paneling near a garden glass door.
Jana led with a lamp. The steps creaked under
their tread. From the staircase’s end, it was a short
walk to the cellar entrance. Jana hadn’t locked the
rusty iron door, opening it silently, plunging ahead
into the damp dark.
The cellar held many rooms. The first were
stocked with provisions, then wood and coal stores.
At the back, behind a wooden gate, lay the wine,
entrusted to Lorenz’s care. Each barrel bore a neat
label noting vintage and origin. In the rear, bottled
wines nestled in sand, dusty bottles aligned in orderly
groups, their patina-covered labels facing up.
A faint trickling guided Ruprecht through the
bottle rows to the cellar’s end.
Jana raised the lamp, pointing to a dark patch on
the wall. Water had broken through, spurting between
stones, carving a path in the sand. Bottles here were
jumbled, half-submerged in sodden ground. At the far
end, a dark opening gaped. Clearly, water had cleared
a blocked hole in the wall, now cascading in small
falls, widening it as it carried soft muck away. “Have
you been down there?” Ruprecht asked.
“No, Master, but I think we should see where it
leads.” Without hesitation, Jana knelt and crawled
into the hole, lamp in hand. Ruprecht lit his way, arm
extended. He wanted to smile at his servant’s
suspicion and this adventurous probe into the castle’s
depths, but he was strangely tense. As Jana slid
halfway down, he found footing, taking the lamp.
Ruprecht followed swiftly.
They entered a lower, empty cellar, its walls
arching close overhead. Water stood ankle-deep, with
no drain. Ruprecht felt dampness seep through his
shoes.
Jana shone the light around. Nothing. Opposite
was another low doorway, steps leading up.
“Onward,” Ruprecht said, seized by explorer’s
zeal.
The next room was empty too, its air stifling, the
lamp dim. They searched the vault, squeezing
through a narrow gap into another chamber.
More vaults followed—some up, some down, a
passage, then more rooms.
Finally, they descended slick steps deep below.
Ruprecht tested the walls. “We must be near the
tower. These stones are giant-laid.”
Jana stood by a small wall opening, too narrow to
crawl through. He thrust his arm with the lamp into
the dark, casting wary glances like harpoons.
“Nothing,” Ruprecht said. “Let’s turn back. I’m
soaked.”
Jana turned, horror in his gaze. “Master,” he said,
“look here.”
Ruprecht approached, craning past Jana’s
outstretched arm. The lamp’s light didn’t reach far.
Nothing was visible in its glow. Beyond the lit circle,
something seemed to emerge—a yellowish shape,
like a rotting pumpkin… a human face, grimacing in
distortion.
Ruprecht recoiled. “Jana,” he said, gripping the
Malay’s arm, “there’s a corpse.”
“I see three dead men,” Jana nodded.
“Jana—Jana!” Ruprecht leaned against the wall,
staring into the Malay’s face.
“Yes… Master!”
Only their breathing and the lamp’s faint, anxious
hum broke the deep silence.
“It could be from long ago…” Ruprecht said
finally. “Castles like this didn’t coddle prisoners.
Bodies can preserve for centuries in cellar air. I’ve
seen it often.”
Jana peered through the opening again. “Master,”
he said, “their clothes are like yours. The people in
the yellow hall’s paintings wear different ones.”
“We can’t get in,” Ruprecht said, eyeing the
massive, unyielding stones. “Impossible without
tools.”
“Leave the dead in peace, Master! It’s enough you
know three corpses lie under this thick tower. You
should leave this castle.”
“It’s Helmina’s castle, Jana! Helmina’s castle! I
see you think she knows.”
“Yes! She’ll kill you, Master! Come away. Return
to India.”
“No, Jana, I can’t. I must see if you’re right. This
adventure must be faced.”
“You’ll be careless… you’ll betray yourself…
then you’re lost.”
Ruprecht straightened. “Haven’t I proven I can
keep silent? You’ll see! It’s good I know this… Let’s
go back. Take my wet suit, erase all traces, Jana…
No one must know we were here tonight… Besides, I
can’t believe you’re right. Helmina knows nothing of
this… it’s nonsense. People don’t just vanish
nowadays.”
Jana met his master’s gaze. Horror gave way to
iron resolve. Ruprecht’s face was taut but calm, as
Jana knew from Indian jungle hunts.

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Alraune by Hanns Heinz Ewers and translated by Joe E Bandel

The professor laughed and said, “She brings money into the
house.”
He knew very well that these things happened in a natural way,
that it was only the result of his intense occupation with these things
of the earth. But still there was some connection with the little
creature and he played with the thought.
He took a very risky speculation and bought enormous properties
along the broad path of Villen Street. He had the earth dug up and
every handful of dirt searched. He did business taking great calculated
risks, putting a mortgage bank back on a sound financial basis when
everyone else thought it would go bankrupt in a very short time. The
bank held together. Whatever he touched went the right way.
Then through a coincidence he found a mineral water spring on
one of his properties in the mountains. He had it barreled and hauled
away. That is how he came into the mineral water line buying up
whatever was available in the Rhineland until he almost had a
monopoly in that industry. He formed a little company, hung a
nationalistic cloak around it, declaring that a person had to make a
stand against the foreigners, the English that owned Apollonaris.
The little owners flocked around this new leader, swore by “His
Excellency”, and when he formed a joint company gladly allowed
him to reserve the controlling shares for himself. It was a good thing
they did, the Privy Councilor doubled their dividends and dealt
sharply with the outsiders that had not wanted to go along.
He pursued a multitude of things one right after the other–they
had only one thing in common–they all had something to do with the
earth. It was just a whim of his, this thought that Alraune drew gold
out of the earth and so he stayed with those things that had something
to do with the earth. He didn’t really believe it for a second, but he
still entered into even the wildest speculation with the certain
confidence that it would succeed as long as it dealt with the earth.
He refused to deal with anything else without even looking into
it, even highly profitable stock market opportunities that appeared
with scarcely the slightest risk. Instead he bought huge quantities of
extremely rotten mining concerns, buying into ore as well as coal,
then trading them in a series of shady deals. He always came out–
“Alraune does it,” he said laughing.
Then the day came when this thought became more than a joke
to him. Wölfchen was digging in the garden, behind the stables under
the large mulberry tree. That was where Alraune wanted to have her
subterranean palace. He dug day after day and once in awhile one of
the gardener’s boys would help.
The child sat close by; she didn’t speak, didn’t laugh, just sat
there quietly and watched. Then one evening the boy’s shovel gave a
loud clang. The gardener’s boy helped and they carefully dug the
brown earth out from between the roots with their bare hands. They
brought the professor a sword belt, a buckle and a handful of coins.
Then he had the place thoroughly dug up and found a small treasure –
genuine Gaelic pieces, rare and valuable. It was not really
supernatural. Farmers all around sooner or later found something,
why shouldn’t there be something hidden in his garden as well?
But that was the point. He asked the boy why he had dug in that
particular spot under the mulberry tree and Wölfchen said the little
one wanted him to dig there and nowhere else. Then he asked Alraune
but she remained silent.
The Privy Councilor thought she was a divining rod, that she
could feel where the earth held its treasure. He laughed about it. Yes,
he still laughed. Sometimes he took her along out to the Rhine along
Villen Street and over to the ground where his men were digging.
Then he would ask dryly enough,” Where should they dig?”
He observed her carefully as she went over the field to see if her
sensitive body would give some sign, some indication, anything that
might suggest–
But she remained quiet and her little body said nothing, later
when she understood what he wanted she would remain standing on
one spot and say, “Dig.”
They would dig and find nothing. Then she would laugh lightly.
The professor thought, “She’s making fools of us.” But he always dug
again where she commanded. Once or twice they found something, a
Roman grave, then a large urn filled with ancient silver coins.
Now the Privy Councilor said, “It is coincidence.”
But he thought, “It could also be coincidence.”
One afternoon as the Privy Councilor stepped out of the library
he saw the boy standing under the pump. He was half-naked with his
body bent forward. The old coachman pumped, letting the cold stream
pour over his head and neck, over his back and both arms. His skin
was blazing red and covered with small blisters.
“What did you do Wölfchen?” He asked.
The boy remained quiet, biting his teeth together, but his dark
eyes were full of tears.
The coachman said, “It’s stinging nettles. The little girl beat him
with stinging nettles.”
Then the boy defended himself, “No, no. She didn’t beat me. I
did it myself. I threw myself into them.”
The Privy Councilor questioned him carefully yet only with the
help of the coachman was he able to get the truth out of the boy. It
went like this:
He had undressed himself down to his hips, thrown himself into
the nettles and rolled around in them, but–at the wish of his little
sister. She had noticed how his hand burned when he accidentally
touched the weed, had seen how it became red and blistered. Then she
had persuaded him to touch them with his other hand and finally to
roll around in them with his naked breast.
“Crazy fool!” The Privy Councilor scolded him. Then he asked if
Alraune had also touched the stinging nettles.
“Yes,” answered the boy, but she didn’t get burned.
The professor went out into the garden, searched and finally
found his foster-child. She was in the back by a huge wall tearing up
huge bunches of stinging nettles. She carried them in her naked arms
across the way to the wisteria arbor where she laid them out on the
ground. She was making a bed.
“Who is that for?” he asked.
The little girl looked at him and said earnestly, “For Wölfchen!”
He took her hands, examined her thin arms. There was not the
slightest sign of any rash.
“Come with me,” he said.
He led her into a greenhouse where Japanese primroses grew in
long rows.
“Pick some flowers,” he cried.
Alraune picked one flower after another. She had to stretch high
to reach them and her arms were in constant contact with the
poisonous leaves. But there was no sign of a burning rash.
“She must be immune,” murmured the professor and wrote a
concise thesis in the brown leather volume about the appearance of
skin rashes through contact with stinging nettles and poison primrose.
He proposed that the reaction was purely a chemical one, that the
little hairs on the stems and leaves wounded the skin by secreting an
acid, which set up a local reaction at the place of contact.
He attempted to discover a connection as to whether and to what
extent the scarcely found immunity against these primroses and
stinging nettles had to do with the known insensibility of witches and
those possessed. He also wanted to know whether the cause of both
phenomenon and this immunity could be explained on an auto-
suggestive or hysterical basis.
Now that he had once seen something strange in the little girl he
searched methodically for things that would validate this thought. It
was mentioned at this spot as an addendum that Dr. Petersen thought
it was completely trivial and disregarded the fact in his report that the
actual birth of the child took place at the midnight hour.
“Alraune, was thus brought into this life in the time honored
manner,” concluded the Privy Councilor.
Old Brambach had come down from the hills; it had taken four
hours to come from beyond the hamlet of Filip. He was a semi-invalid
that went through the hamlets in the hill country selling church raffle
tickets, pictures of saints and cheap rosaries. He limped into the
courtyard and informed the Privy Councilor that he had brought some
Roman artifacts with him that a farmer had found in his field.
The professor had the servants tell him that he was busy and to
wait, so old Brambach waited there sitting on a stone bench in the
yard smoking his pipe. After two hours the Privy Councilor had him
called in. He always had people wait even when he had nothing else
to do. Nothing lowered the price like letting people wait, he always
said.
But this time he really had been busy. The director of the
Germanic museum in Nuremburg was there and was purchasing items
for a beautiful exhibit called “Gaelic finds in the Rhineland”.
The Privy Councilor did not let Brambach into the library but
met with him in the little front room instead.
“Now, you old crippled rascal, let’s see what you have!” he
cried.
The invalid untied a large red handkerchief and carefully laid out
the contents on a fragile cane chair. There were many coins, a couple
of helmet shards, a shield pommel and an exquisite tear vial. The
Privy Councilor scarcely turned to give a quick squinting glance at the
tear vial.
“Is this all, Brambach?” he asked reproachfully and when the old
man nodded he began to heartily upbraid him. He was so old now and
still as stupid as a snotty nosed youngster! It had taken him four hours
to get here and would take him four hours to go back. Then he had to
wait a couple hours as well. He had frittered the entire day away on
that trash there! The rubbish wasn’t worth anything. He could pack it
back up and take it with him. He wouldn’t give a penny for the lot!
How often did he have to tell people again and again, “Don’t run
to Lendenich with every bit of trash?”
It was stupid! It was better to wait until they had a nice
collection and then bring everything in at one time! Or maybe he
enjoyed the walk in the hot sun all the way here and back from Filip?
He should be ashamed of himself.
The invalid scratched behind his ear and then turned his brown
cap in his fingers very ill at ease. He wanted to say something to the
professor, most of the time he was very good at haggling a higher
price for his wares. But he couldn’t think of a single thing, only the
four miles that he had just come–exactly what the professor was now
berating him for. He was completely contrite and comprehended
thoroughly just how stupid he had been so he made no response at all.
He requested only that he be allowed to leave the artifacts there so he
wouldn’t have to haul them back. The Privy Councilor nodded and
then gave him half a Mark.

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