Burning Girls and Other Stories

by Veronica Schanoes

  Herr Geiger took my hand in his and wept with me over the loss of my child. He asked me its name.

  “Jakob,” I said.

  * * *

  I did not worry that he would connect this lost baby’s name with the Jewish peddler he had murdered a decade ago. I do not believe Herr Geiger ever knew my father’s name. I am not entirely certain that he ever realized that my father had a name.

  * * *

  When I first saw Eva, she had hair like the sun, yellower than my mother’s. My mother was fair, her hair pale blond, but Eva’s was true gold. Her eyes, though, were dark and brooding, the kind of stormy blue that, in a baby, will soon change to brown. She lay in her cradle, too weak to do more than mew sadly as she turned her head this way and that, searching for her mother’s breast.

  When I lifted her to mine, she gripped my braids with more strength than I thought she had left in her entire body and seized my nipple in her mouth. I closed my eyes and for a terrible moment thought nothing would come, but surely I knew that if the Matronit was any kind of goddess at all, she would be well-versed in the powers of the female body, and soon Eva shut her eyes in long-awaited bliss, and her suck changed from frantic to strong and steady, an infant settling in for a long time.

  I shut my eyes as well, exhausted by my journey and my anxieties. When I opened them, Eva was asleep in my arms, and we were alone in the room.

  * * *

  Herr Geiger thanked me the next morning. He had tears in his eyes and his breath smelled of schnapps.

  * * *

  I nursed Eva carefully. As carefully, I lit incense and poured out libations to the Matronit. And as Eva got stronger, so did my maggid.

  * * *

  Eva stared up at me with her storm-night eyes as she nursed. When she was sated, she would push her head away and sigh contentedly. Sometimes, I thought I saw my reflection in her eyes, the reflection of my true face, but I knew I must have been fooling myself.

  Her hair began to curl, like my mother’s.

  I spent my days caring for her. I sang to her when she wept. Her first laugh came when I set her down on the floor and stepped out of the room to retrieve a blanket. As soon as I got out of her sight, I popped my head back in the room and said, “Boo, baby girl!” She laughed and laughed. We did it ten times in a row before her giggles calmed.

  She was a jolly baby with an open heart.

  Her first word was “Jutta,” the name I had chosen for myself when I translated my own name to its Christian equivalent. When I kissed her, she beamed up at me and tried to kiss me back, but was not quite clear on how. She opened her mouth and bit my nose instead. I laughed so hard she did it over and over again, and we rolled around together laughing and kissing each other.

  I had not been so happy since I had flown through the air, swung around and around by my papa.

  * * *

  One night, after Eva was asleep, Herr Geiger called for me, and I found him in his study, stroking a violin.

  “Are you fond of music, liebchen?” He was well in his cups.

  “As fond as anybody, I believe.”

  He lifted his bow.

  “But not, I think, now, Herr Geiger.”

  He lowered the bow. “I take it you have heard of my conquest of the Jewish rascal whose ill-gotten gains gave me my start in life?”

  I lowered my eyes modestly.

  “Indeed, how could you not? Dornburg has made its fortune on that tale. I have always been a generous man—am I not so to you?”

  “But of course, Herr Geiger. I am very grateful to you after so many difficulties.”

  Herr Geiger waved off my thanks and offered me a glass of schnapps. I accepted warily.

  “After my first job, for a man so miserly he might as well have been a Jew, I set out to seek my fortune. I had not walked ten miles before I saw a poor old woman begging by the side of the road, and I gave her three talers, all the money I had in the world. What do you know but she was a fairy in disguise, and in recompense for my kind heart, she gave me one wish for each taler. I asked her for a blowpipe that would hit anything I aimed at and a fiddle that would compel all who heard its music to dance, and one more wish that is my secret, my dear!” He paused and waited for me to attempt to wheedle the secret of the third wish out of him.

  I remained silent.

  “Well,” he said awkwardly. “I kept on with my journey, and not two days later, what did I find but a nasty Jewish swindler by the side of the road, muttering some sort of hex. I didn’t quite understand all he was saying, but to be sure, he was up to no good, with his eyes fixed on a brightly colored bird in a tree. Quick as anything, I used my blowpipe to bring down the bird. Then, all politeness, I asked the wicked old fiend to fetch me my kill. I waited until he was just crawling through a thornbush and then—out with my fiddle and on with the dance!”

  Herr Geiger laughed at the memory and poured us both more schnapps.

  “Such fine dancing you’ve never seen, my dear! With the blood running and his clothing in tatters, still he had to keep on dancing! He begged me to stop, and I did, on one condition—that he hand over all his sacks of money! And he did—there was less there than I had hoped, but plenty still, so on I went with my journey, having made a good beginning.

  “But oh, that vengeful, petty Jew—of course he couldn’t let me have my triumph, of course not—they are a vindictive race, my dear, grasping and vindictive. He followed me straight to Dornburg and had me arrested with some trumped-up story about how I attacked him on the road! I would’ve hanged, my dear, if you can believe it, had I not pulled out my fiddle again, and this time I didn’t leave off playing until the Jew had confessed to all his crimes. He hanged before the day was out, and I was rewarded with all he had—for of course, you know Jews, he’d kept back some money from me at our first bargain. And that’s how I got the capital I needed to set myself up well, here, and they honor me as one of their first citizens! You can see how well I’ve done for myself.”

  “I can, indeed, Herr Geiger.” I kept my face turned to the ground, not out of modesty, but so as not to show my feelings. I say again, my father never stole, and was never petty. He ever had open hands and an open heart, and never turned away a request for help. I remember him, I do.

  “All I lacked was a companion to share my happiness with. I thought I’d found my heart’s desire in dear Konstanze; we were so happy together. I never thought in my youth that I’d wish to give up bachelorhood, but as a man ages, my dear, his thoughts turn to the comforts of hearth and home. Poor Konstanze. She was always delicate, and childbirth was too much for her.”

  Herr Geiger lapsed into silence while I considered the lot of the late Konstanze.

  “But Jutta, a man cannot live forever alone. It’s not right. It’s not healthy. It’s not Christian. And Jutta, I know what a good mother you will be. Are you not already a mother to my child?”

  Now I did look up, startled. “Herr Geiger—you know not what you are saying—you know so little about me—you are still headspun with grief—”

  He leaned forward and took my hands in his. I tried not to lean back. “Jutta, my darling, let me hope. Give me a kiss.”

  I felt the force of his request coursing through my body, the pressure to bend toward him and part my lips. This was different than just a request for information, to which, after all, I at least had pretended to accede. I felt the Matronit’s strength behind my own, and I redoubled my resolve. Never. Never. Not even to lull him into complacency.

  I think that if I had not been able to resist, I would have strangled him right then and there.

  But I did resist. The Matronit lent me strength and I directed it, meeting Herr Geiger’s magic with my own, stopping his will in its tracks.

  I stood up. “Alas, Herr Geiger. I regret that I cannot give you cause to hope. But my loyalty to one who is now gone prevents it. I will care for Eva faithfully, but to you I must never be any more than your daughter’s nurse.”

 
He gazed at me in wonder. I spared a thought for the late Konstanze and wondered if she had been tricked into marriage by such a request, if she had mistaken his desires and magical compulsions for her own inclinations.

  “Good night, Herr Geiger.” I walked out of the room and left him staring after me, eyes wide.

  * * *

  The following morning I took time during Eva’s morning nap to bake cakes for the Matronit. I stayed in the kitchen as much as possible, trying to avoid Herr Geiger’s eyes. I suppose it had been many years since anybody had been able to refuse him a direct request. I did not care to encounter his scrutiny.

  But I could not avoid it forever. I became aware of … how shall I put this … his eyes upon me. And he took to accosting me without warning and asking me to do things. I acceded, but when he would ask for a kiss, I would not, and then his curiosity would redouble.

  “When?” I pled with the Matronit. “When? I cannot stay near this man much longer, Mother. When will you be strong enough?”

  Soon, she replied. But every time you must refuse a request of his, my power is depleted. Are you so sure you will not—

  “I am sure,” I told her. “I will not endure the touch of his lips. Not now. Not ever.”

  * * *

  One morning, a month later, she said, Tonight.

  * * *

  I devoted myself to Eva that day as if I would never see her again, for I did not believe I would. I could not take a Christian baby, not after all the lies told about us. This is not a thing we do, stealing children.

  But did Eva not belong to me? By love if not by right? Her face lit up when I picked her up from her cradle in the morning, and when she was fretful, only I could calm her. She laughed at my games and clung to me with both her fists whenever someone else tried to hold her. Even her father.

  I did not like to think of what would become of her with the rest of Dornburg dead. For I could not kill an infant, not an infant. I am not a monster.

  But how could I take her?

  * * *

  Eva became drowsy at dusk, and I cuddled her and sang her to sleep as gently as I could. After she fell asleep in my arms, I curled myself around her and napped, drifting in and out of sleep. I felt at peace; I felt that all the world had fallen away, and only Eva and I remained, coiled together in love.

  The clock at the center of town tolled midnight. I shifted, but did not rouse myself. I did not want to leave Eva. I wanted only to have her in my arms forever.

  Rise! The Matronit’s voice was mighty, implacable, and I was instantly fully awake. The time is now.

  I sat up and reluctantly pulled away from Eva’s small body. She stretched out an arm, looking for me in her sleep, but was otherwise undisturbed.

  I had been ready, I think, for a decade.

  * * *

  First I went to Herr Geiger’s study and collected his fiddle and his blowpipe. Then I silently left the house. The judge who had ordered my father’s death had been an old man then, I had learned over the months. He had died not long after. But the mayor and the hangman, they were still in the prime of life. The hangman had several children and a lovely house, some distance from the other homes, it’s true, for nobody loves a scharfrichter, but nonetheless, he had a good life, and was respected if not celebrated. I walked to his home by moonlight, my cloak wrapped tightly around me. Standing outside his house, the Matronit told me to shut my eyes, and when I did, she granted me a vision.

  The scharfrichter, Franz Schmidt, and his wife, Adelheide, were sleeping in their shared bed. All was peaceful.

  What is your desire? asked the Matronit.

  “Give him a dream,” I told her. “Can you do that?”

  But of course.

  “Give him a dream. He is in chains, being led to the scaffold. He is innocent of any crime, but nonetheless, the faces of the crowd are filled with hatred. He thinks of his wife, his children, and how they will long for him, grow old without him. The noose is fitted around his neck and he finds his tongue, pleads for mercy, but the judge and the crowd only laugh. The platform drops out from under him, but the rope is not weighted correctly, and instead of his neck breaking instantly, he is slowly strangling, dancing in air. Oh, how he dances!”

  The vision the Matronit granted me changed—Schmidt is twisting and turning in bed, unable to wake, unable to breathe. His face is pained and panicked.

  I waited, wondering if I would feel pity, or remorse, or forgiveness. I felt none.

  “Stop his heart,” I said.

  Schmidt convulses once, and then is still. His wife has never moved.

  I then went to the house of the bürgermeister.

  * * *

  Strangely calm, I returned home; I returned to the house of Herr Geiger.

  Herr Geiger awoke to find me seated on a chair at the foot of his bed. “Jutta?” He yawned, all confusion. “What are you doing here?”

  I did not answer. Instead, I brought the blowpipe out of my pocket and snapped it in two.

  “Jutta! What are you doing?”

  I then smashed the fiddle against his bedpost. It was nothing, then, but shattered splinters and catgut. I threw it to the ground.

  “Jutta!” Herr Geiger was on his feet, looming in front of me, grabbing my shoulders. “Do you know what you have done?”

  Still I did not answer. My braids undid themselves and my hair, my true black hair, stretched out toward the fiddler, becoming thorn-covered vines. He shrieked and tried to back away, but my vines caught his arms and legs, lifted him into the air, and there was nobody to hear his shrieks except Eva, who awoke and began crying in the other room. The maid and the cook came in daily but lived with their own families.

  I stood.

  My vines twined ever tighter around his arms and legs, and blood ran down his body freely as the thorns dug through his skin. He twisted in pain, trying to wrench himself free, but succeeded only in digging the thorns in more deeply. My vines suspended him in the air in front of me, and I watched his struggles dispassionately. They did not bring me pleasure, but neither did they move me to pity or compassion.

  “Why, Jutta?” he gasped.

  “My name is Itte,” I told him. Then I spoke to the Matronit. “Let him see my true face.” I watched his eyes as my disguise melted away and my own features showed forth.

  “You killed my father,” I told him. “Ten years ago, you killed him. For ten years I have missed his embrace and smile. And never will I see them again.”

  “Jewess!” he spat.

  “Yes,” I agreed.

  The vines grew further, wrapping themselves along his trunk, and they began burrowing into his flesh. He screamed.

  “Did my father scream like that?” I asked him. “Did he scream when you made him dance in thorns?”

  Eva continued to cry.

  “Please, Jutta, spare me!”

  Again, I could feel the force of his request marching through my body. The Matronit was channeling all her strength into the vines of my hair. I had only my own resolve with which to meet his power, but that power had been weakened by my breaking the blowpipe and the fiddle, for all things are more powerful in threes. I met his will with my own.

  “For Eva’s sake, spare me!”

  I stared into his eyes. “You know nothing of Eva! Do you know which solid foods she can stomach, and which she cannot? Do you know on which day she began to crawl? Does she even babble your name?”

  I thought of my father, swinging me through the air, patching my dolly, cuddling me to sleep, and I thought of him exhausted, breathless, limbs burning like fire, skin torn, confessing to crimes he had never committed, knowing he would never see me nor my brothers nor my mother again, and my resolve strengthened.

  “I will not spare you, Herr Geiger,” I said. A new vine formed from another lock of my hair, and even as he gibbered in terror, it wrapped itself around his throat.

  “Eva—” he began.

  “Eva is mine,” I told him. “You destroyed m
y family. I will take her and make a new one.”

  At my nod, the vine gave one jerk and snapped his neck.

  The vines let him fall, and they began shrinking and turning back into my plain black hair, which replaited itself. I took one final look down at what had been Herr Geiger. Then I nodded again and turned and ran to Eva.

  As soon as she caught sight of my face, she stopped crying, and she beamed at me through her tears and held out her arms. I picked her up and began to soothe her. I changed her cloth, for she had wet herself, and nursed her back to sleep.

  “I am taking her with me,” I told the Matronit as I threw my belongings into my sack. “I do not care what is said about us. I will not leave her here to be raised by strangers, to be taught to hate Jews.”

  It would be a terrible thing to do to a Jewish infant, said the Matronit.

  I paused. “She is not Jewish.”

  She is the child of a Jewish mother.

  “Konstanze was Jewish?” I asked.

  No. Konstanze is not her only mother.

  “She is not my daughter.”

  She is. Your milk gave her life. She knows she is your daughter.

  “Why did she not cry when I picked her up?” I asked. “She has not seen my true face before, only my disguise.”

  She has never seen any face but your true one, the Matronit said. She knows you. She knows your face. She knows you are her mother.

  I had finished packing. I picked up Eva and she opened her eyes to peer drowsily at me. She smiled, nestled her head against my chest, and fell back asleep. I tied her to me, picked up my sack, and left Herr Geiger’s home with my daughter.

  * * *

  Outside the town walls, I stood and watched as bushes and vines of thorns grew. They blocked the gate and rose to enclose Dornburg.