The Left-Handed God

by I. J. Parker

  But there were kind people everywhere, and someone else found him, took him a little ways, and passed him on to another person. In this manner, he finally reached the lake at sundown.

  He was riding backward on the servant’s seat of a fast carriage and only realized where he was when the road made a bend, and the trees parted.

  And there, under a blue and rosy sky, lay the Bodensee. The English and French tourists called it Lake Constance after the town Konstanz at its western end. To the Romans it had been lacus brigantium after their city brigantium, now Bregenz. The lake was old and had seen much of life and death, of war and peace.

  As if in welcome, the westering sun turned its surface to molten gold. Small, white-sailed fishing boats were headed home. Here and there along the shore, cheerful towns with onion domes and quaint, steeply-pointed tile roofs lay like jewels in a necklace of green and flowering trees.

  Franz saw his lake through a haze of tears and felt such a dizzying surge of love, of passionate devotion to the lake, that he had to clutch the seat or he would have tumbled off.

  5

  The Homecoming

  Deformed persons tend to avenge themselves on nature

  Francis Bacon, Exempla

  Frau von Langsdorff suffered from the warm spring wind that people called Föhn. She spent a great deal of time moaning and resting in her bedroom at the back of the house.

  Unimpressed by her mother’s suffering, Augusta took advantage of the good weather to clean the front windows downstairs. Frau von Langsdorff did not permit her to do such a thing in full view of neighbors and passersby, but the windows were grimy and, to Augusta’s mind, this was much more embarrassing than being seen washing them. She put on an apron, tied a scarf around her hair, and carried a bucket of water and some old dish clouts outside, then got the short ladder from the shed in the back garden and went to work.

  The day was blue and pretty, with puffy clouds sailing along, and Augusta did not mind the wind. It helped dry the windows more quickly. She made good progress and thought that she would be done well before the church bells struck eight and her mother emerged from her room to nibble something for her supper. They always ate late because “only servants and laborers” had their evening meal before the sun set.

  The sun was setting, and she had reached the last window when her neighbor put her head out to call, “Gusterl, look who’s coming. That’s Franz, isn’t it? Oh, the poor boy!”

  Augusta swung around, upsetting the water bucket and causing the ladder to wobble. Halfway down Fischergasse, a soldier in a blue and white uniform pushed himself forward awkwardly on a crutch. When he saw her, he stopped. For a moment it almost looked as if he meant to turn and stumble away.

  Augusta slid down the ladder, picked up her skirts, and ran. “Franz,” she shouted, her voice as joyous as a lark’s, “Oh, Franz!” When she reached him, she threw her arms around his neck, half laughing and half crying. “O, Franz, my dear, it’s you, it’s finally you. I’ve been watching for so long but you never came.”

  He did not hug her back and said nothing, and after a moment she let him go to look at him. His crippled leg shocked her. He was also unshaven, thin, and very pale, but there was something worse in his face, in the blue eyes that would not meet hers, in the tight clamping of his lips. It frightened her.

  “You look tired,” she said in a falsely cheerful voice, more to convince herself that was all it was. “Come, lean on me. Mama will be beside herself with happiness.”

  He still said nothing and glowered at the neighbors who came from their houses, smiling and curious. They greeted him, asked how he was, patted his shoulders, gave him joy. Many young men had left for the war and not returned.

  Franz neither smiled nor spoke. He nodded, shook his head, gestured that he was exhausted, in pain, eager to get home. And so they let him go.

  Augusta closed the door of their house, and they were alone. “Welcome home, dearest Franz,” she said in the dim hallway. “Oh, how I’ve prayed to see you here again. How I’ve promised God anything if He would only return you to us. Why did you stay away so long?”

  He said nothing.

  She brushed away the tears and hid her anxiety in reproof. “Why didn’t you write? There’s nothing wrong with your right arm or hand, is there?” She touched the hand and searched his face anxiously.

  He croaked, “I-I c-could n-not.”

  Her happiness to have him back overcame everything else. “Never mind. You’re here now. No need to stammer apologies. Mama and I will soon get you well again. You’re so thin. Are you really in great pain?”

  He was in pain but shook his head and looked down. “I-I’m s-s-sorry b-but I s-seem t-to have l-lost m-my s-speech.”

  She hugged him. “I know. It’s all a little too much. You’ve been hurt and heaven knows how many horrors you’ve seen. Come into the kitchen and sit down. I’ll put on some soup and then get Mama. She has one of her headaches.”

  He shook his head but followed her to the kitchen where she made him sit in their mother’s high-backed settle and then stirred the coals on the hearth. She put the spider over the fire with a pot of potato-and-carrot soup. Volteur jumped down from the top of the cupboard and came to inspect Franz. Franz leaned down to stroke the cat, and Augusta was filled with a dizzying happiness as she gathered earthenware bowls and set out a loaf of bread, butter, and cheese. All would finally be well.

  “There. We still have some of the cake Herr Seutter brought, but I think I’d better get Mama first.” She took a few steps toward the door, then turned. “Oh, Franz, I have so much to tell you. I’ve missed you so.”

  The cat jumped on her brother’s lap and settled down, purring loudly. “W-wait, Aug-gusta,” he said, making an effort to speak slowly. “Y-you d-don’t unders-s-tand.” He gestured to his mouth. “Th-this isn’t g-g-going aw-way, I’m af-fraid. I-I’m a usel-less c-cripple and a f-freak.” He raised his hands from the cat’s back and covered his face. A hoarse sob racked him, and he doubled over. Volteur hissed and jumped from his lap a moment before Augusta flung her arms about her brother.

  “Oh, Franz, don’t. It will be all right. We’ll make it all right. You’ll see. You just need a little time to rest and get your strength back. You’re home now. Mama and I will look after you.”

  “Augusta?”

  Their mother’s voice came from the hallway. An expression of fear passed over her brother’s pale face. He pushed her away.

  “Where are you, girl? People are looking this way. I can see them from the window. Has something happened?” Frau von Langsdorff reached the door of the kitchen and gasped.

  Augusta stood up with a vague notion of shielding her brother. But of course that was impossible. Frau von Langsdorff shrieked.

  “Franz? Is that Franz? Let me see him. Let me see my son, my beloved child, my life!”

  She rushed forward, pushing Augusta aside, and flung herself on Franz.

  The scene which followed was certainly affecting to their mother, but Franz looked positively terrified. When the torrent of endearments, questions, protestations, hugs, kisses, wails, and laughter began to abate, Augusta interrupted, “Mama, you must give Franz time. He’s very tired, and hungry, too, I shouldn’t wonder. And stop pulling him about so. You’re hurting his leg.”

  Frau von Langsdorff desisted long enough to say, “His leg? Oh, dear. Yes. Why didn’t you tell us you were coming home? There’s nothing in the house. Augusta, run over to Herr Seutter and tell him the good news and beg a few things from his kitchen.”

  “Mama, we have taken enough from Herr Seutter. We have soup, and I’ll slice some fresh bread. We have butter and cheese. And cake for dessert. It will do for now. As soon as Franz is resting, I’ll go to the market and buy a chicken for a real feast tomorrow. And you can bake one of your raisin cakes Franz is so fond of.” She busied herself, stoking the fire again and stirring the soup. A savory smell filled the kitchen, and hope filled Augusta’s heart.

>   Her mother bridled. “What a cold girl you are to offer such a poor sort of welcome to your brother. And Herr Seutter will be hurt if he’s not told right away and made part of our family celebration. Have you forgotten how much he has done to find your brother and get us news of him?”

  Augusta said nothing and went into the pantry for the cake. She could hear a one-sided conversation in the kitchen. Their mother chattered on about Herr Seutter, his kindness, his wealth, his standing in the city. In between, she asked if Franz was in pain, how he got hurt, how long he could stay before returning to his military duties, and if the ladies in Sachsen wore their hair powdered. Since she did not leave Franz time to answer, she remained blissfully unaware of his stutter. Augusta returned to the kitchen to serve bowls of soup and to slice some bread and cheese. The bread she buttered generously, and she added a mug of beer for Franz. She and her mother drank water.

  Franz fell to hungrily. Frau von Langsdorff finally paused her chattering, but she swallowed her soup quickly. Franz could not be expected to tell his story until he had eaten, and he was taking his time. She finally got impatient and said, “Well, since you refuse to go tell Herr Seutter, Augusta, I suppose I must do it. I’ll just change my cap, and we’ll be back in a trice. Be sure to have some wine ready. Herr Seutter will wish to meet your brother.” And she flounced out of the kitchen.

  Franz glowered. “Wh-who is H-Herr S-S‌—‌?”

  “Seutter,” his sister helped out. “ He’s the man Mama has set her cap for.” She giggled.

  Franz dropped his knife. “Wh-wha‌—‌t?”

  “I know it sounds ridiculous, but really they are nearly of an age, and he’s very well-to-do and has been extremely attentive. Mama is delighted with the attention. And it would be an answer to our prayers.”

  He frowned at her. “Wh-why?”

  “Well, he’s rich. And he’s quite nice really, even if he’s nothing like Papa. He’s not an educated man, you know, but one who had a rich father and is a good businessman himself. He’s been very kind to us.”

  Her brother stared at that. “How, k-kind?”

  Augusta felt a little uncomfortable. How could she explain his gifts? Or her visits to the Seutter house to play the harpsichord and, lately, to teach its owner to pick out a few simple tunes. His pleasure and gratitude for this small service knew no bounds. He always treated her to cakes and chocolate and also pressed other gifts on her‌—‌a pair of embroidered gloves, a silk scarf with exquisite lace trim, a ring set with pearls and diamonds. She had refused the ring and passed the gloves and scarves on to her mother‌—‌who received them without surprise and considerable satisfaction. Augusta had begun to covet such things and could easily convince herself that he almost stood in place of her father. Still, his relationship to her mother remained unsettled.

  “Oh,” she said lightly, busying herself with the dishes, “he sends Mama a few delicacies now and then and offers his advice on matters. He helped us find out where you were when we were frantic for news of you.”

  The last was inspired and effectively stopped Franz’s disapproval of the relationship. When Frau von Langsdorff returned with a beaming Seutter, the meeting between the two men was fairly polite.

  On the part of Seutter it was much more than that. He made a great effort to be pleasant to Franz, expressing his joy at meeting him and having him back with his family. As Augusta’s mother bustled about, fussing over her son, slicing cake and pouring wine, Augusta managed to whisper to their guest that her brother found it difficult to talk. Seutter took the hint and carried on a conversation that let Franz answer with nods or monosyllables. Still, Augusta heaved a sigh of relief when he took his leave.

  She returned to the kitchen to find that her mother had discovered Franz’s speech defect.

  “Dear God,” she greeted her daughter, “isn’t it enough that those monsters crippled him? Did they have to take away his speech? What will he do now? What can he do? He cannot be a soldier, and certainly not a preacher. Why, he cannot even be a teacher or a lawyer. Oh, this is misfortune indeed! What will people say? What will they think when they hear him?”

  Franz sat frozen, his face very pale, his eyes like blue quartz.

  “Mama,” Augusta pleaded, “please stop it. Franz has been wounded but he’ll get better. It will take a little time, but he will be well again.”

  “N-no!” Franz levered himself out of the settle and onto his crutch. He snarled, “I-I’m a c-c-cripple and a-an i-imb-becile. G-get used t-t-to it, M-mama.” Pushing Augusta roughly out of his way, he hobbled out of the kitchen.

  *

  The best inn in the free city of Lindau was called Zur Sonne. The assassin took a room, giving his name as Georg Koehl from Salzburg. He stayed several days, pretending to enjoy his visit so much that he kept delaying his departure. The innkeeper was delighted. Not only was this guest paying for the best room, but he took all his meals there and ordered a bottle of the best wine with his dinner. Moreover, he frequently invited guests to a beer or schnapps in the evening.

  Herr Koehl did enjoy his visit, though he never lost sight of his objective. He learned all he could about Lieutenant von Langsdorff, and this familiarity bred contempt. The man was not only a pitiful cripple with a badly deformed leg, but he stuttered so badly that people avoided talking to him. Furthermore, he seemed slightly mad or so melancholy that he might easily do away with himself and thus relieve the assassin of the chore.

  Still, there was the letter, and Koehl took pains to observe the cripple’s family and their position in the city.

  Position, as he knew only too well, was everything. A man in good position might dare anything and get away with it. A poor man, on the other hand, were he ever so obedient and hard-working, would be consigned to an ignoble hanging without much more than a shake of the head.

  The cripple and his family were poor. The assassin had not been so different, but he had taken risky steps to rise in the world. Now he must move carefully or lose what he had gained. He decided to make use again of one of the men who had bungled the theft in Ulm. This time, however, he would pick the youngest because he could be molded to his purpose.

  *

  After his mother’s outburst, Franz kept to his room and refused to speak to anyone but his sister. His hair was dirty and hung to his shoulders. He let his beard grow and rarely changed his linen. Frau von Langsdorff complained bitterly, first to Augusta, then to Herr Seutter, and after a month had passed, even to her neighbors. By then she had decided her son’s “illness” did not reflect on her after all; rather it bestowed on her a mantle of martyrdom. She made the most of it, even to the point of exaggerating his condition so that, instead of being thought an imbecile, Franz was now believed to be mad. The day Franz found out, he kicked the cat and pushed his sister out of his way so roughly that she wore a bruise on her arm for a week.

  His mother did not hear her son’s nighttime terrors. She slept with wax plugs in her ears, claiming that the ringing of nearby church bells kept her awake all night. But Augusta did hear and on his first night home came rushing to his room to see what was wrong. He explained that a nightmare had woken him‌—‌he did not describe it, though the torn bodies, rearing horses, and flashing swords remained as vivid as they had been when he slept‌—‌and thus reassured, she had left. But the nightmares returned, and finally he locked his door against her pity.

  Whenever he encountered his mother’s or sister’s concern, he responded with snarls, sometimes roaring at them to leave him alone. Once he raised his fist to his mother and frightened her into fearing for her life. After that she left him to Augusta’s care and fled whenever she saw him coming. Augusta did not fear her brother, but she worried that he might do himself some mischief and watched him closely.

  Twice, after dark, she followed him out of the house to the lake shore. But he only stood, staring out across the dark waters, and eventually turned away to hobble home.

  *

  Stra
ngely enough, Herr Seutter was not taken in by Frau von Langsdorff’s description of her son’s madness.

  One day, when a mild, warm summer had settled over the lake and the island of Lindau, Augusta came out of the house into the garden to hang some laundry on the clothesline that stretched between the pear tree and the corner of the house. Franz sat reading on the bench under the old tree. When Augusta put down the basket of wet laundry, he looked up. She gave him a smile, then bent and stretched to hang sheets and petticoats, shifts and shirts, stockings and breeches up to dry in the warm summer air. She liked their clean smell and the way they fluttered in the breeze. When the basket was empty and she picked it up, she saw her brother staring at her with a curious expression.

  “What is it?” she asked, but before he could answer, the back door opened and Herr Seutter joined them.

  “Ah, so here you are,” he called out. “What a pretty day to be outside. I trust you feel much stronger these days, young man?” He made a little bow to Augusta, then sat down beside Franz.

  Franz gave his sister a furious look and reached for his crutches‌—‌he had two again‌—‌to make his escape, but Herr Seutter put a hand on his arm. “A moment, if you please,” he said, becoming serious. “I came to see you, Franz. I hope you’ll think of me as a friend and I trust that someday soon you may think even better of me.” He blushed a little and glanced quickly at Augusta, who waited, surprised and curious. “But we won’t talk of that yet. I’ve been coming here from time to time this summer, very pleased to visit and to see you mending day by day. It occurred to me once or twice that time must hang heavy on your hands. Your Mama‌—‌mind you, I think her a most estimable lady‌—‌is not perhaps always the best companion for a young gentleman like yourself.” He cleared his throat and gave a nervous little laugh. “In short, I thought you might like an excuse to get away for a bit every day. Am I right?”

  Augusta forgot the rest of the laundry which had yet to be scrubbed, rinsed, and wrung out. She had fretted over her brother’s refusal to leave the house and go among people. Though she knew he was not insane, she was afraid his odd behavior was due to some inner despair that was getting worse rather than better.