The Left-Handed God

by I. J. Parker

  There was, for example, the matter of the missing money. Franz received a small amount each quarter for his military service. He turned this over to his mother after he arrived, and they used it to buy food. It would be almost another month before more would arrive, and Augusta had hoarded the few talers carefully in an empty stoneware pot that normally held pickles. Several days ago she had gone to get some market money and found the pot empty. She thought Franz had taken the money, or their mother, but she could hardly remonstrate with either. Franz was entitled to it, and Frau von Langsdorff would merely fall into another bout of self-commiseration and blame Franz for their poverty. So she kept the matter to herself and used some of the money she had put aside for a new shift.

  Now she saw her brother’s anger flare up that Herr Seutter should intrude into his private life and take it upon himself to guess what his thoughts were. She was afraid that he would lash out, perhaps even strike their guest. His fits of anger were unpredictable.

  But he did not strike their visitor. He growled, “M-my m-mother s-says I’m m-mad.” Then, with a bitter laugh, he taunted, “G-go on! R-run or I m-may k-kill you.”

  Herr Seutter did not run. He chuckled as if Franz had made a joke. “I know, I know. She’s a dear lady but sometimes she says some very silly things. I daresay your Papa used to have his hands full with her.”

  This comment clearly startled Franz. He shot Augusta a look of astonishment. She said quickly, “It’s true. Papa spent most of his day locked into his study, and Mama would tiptoe past his door with a finger to her lips, telling us not to disturb him at his work.” She smiled at the memory.

  “Ha, ha, ha,” laughed Herr Seutter, “I thought so. A most charming lady, of course, but a man needs some time to himself. So I’ve been thinking. You see, my dear Franz, I know a lawyer who needs a bright young assistant. It’s only a matter of writing letters and taking notes about his cases. And perhaps some reading-up in his law books. Someone who knows a little Latin. We don’t seem to have many educated young men in Lindau these days, and so right away I thought of you. What do you think? Doesn’t it sound like a capital idea?”

  Augusta clasped her hands and held her breath. Oh, if only Franz would say yes. It would answer all of her prayers. Franz would have respectable employment and begin to take an interest in the world again. It would give him back his confidence, and, oh, how badly they needed the extra income!

  Her brother stared at Herr Seutter. “Y-you c-cannot be s-serious,” he sputtered. “Wh-what m-makes y-you th-think anyone w-would want t-t…‌s-someone like m-me?”

  Herr Seutter raised a brow. “You mean your leg? Or because you speak a little more slowly than other people? What can that signify in a lawyer’s chambers? No, no, what’s needed there is a learned head and a good hand.”

  Franz looked away. “N-no. You d-don’t unders-s-stand. P-people s-say I’m m-mad. N-now go away!”

  Herr Seutter looked at Augusta. His face was stern when he got up. “Your sister needs you,” he said to Franz. “Look at her. She’s a beautiful young woman and should be thinking of dances and pretty gowns. Instead she’s working in rags like the poorest maid.”

  Augusta shrank into herself. Her old summer dress was much too tight and too short, but it had seemed good enough for laundry day. She had left off the kerchief of bleached cotton that she normally tucked into its bodice because it was hot and kept coming undone as she worked. Franz looked at her and flushed crimson, and she felt the color of shame hot on her own face. She snatched up the empty basket.

  Herr Seutter turned back to Franz. “If you won’t face people for your own sake, do it for her,” he said quite angrily.

  Augusta fled into the house. To her dismay, he followed and caught up with her in the hallway, catching her by an elbow. “Forgive me, child,” he said. “I wouldn’t have hurt you for the world, but I had to shame your brother into action. He wasn’t getting any better.”

  She stood, her head bowed, and knew he was right. He had spoken out of kindness. Overcome with gratitude and trust, she laid her head against his embroidered vest and wept.

  He hesitated,then held her lightly. “Ssh! Don’t cry,” he murmured. “I know it’s been very hard for you, but it will all come right. I promise I’ll see to it that you’ll be happy again.”

  It was very comforting to be held. She let herself go for a few moments, then realized that his hands on her back were trembling, and that his breathing was becoming heavy, and pulled away. “Thank you, sir,” she whispered. “Thank you for all you have done for us. You’re as kind as only a father could be.”

  He left quickly then and without bidding farewell to her mother.

  Augusta went back out into the garden where Franz still sat, his book closed beside him. He glowered at her.

  “Oh, Franz,” she said, brushing away tears, “don’t be angry at him. It was kindly meant and it would make us all happy.”

  He exploded. “H-how d-dare he! S-such a man‌—‌a mere s-s-stranger‌—‌m-meddling in affairs th-that are n-none of his bu-business.”

  “He’s not a stranger. He’s courting Mama.”

  “I f-forbid it. P-papa w-was a gentleman and s-scholar, a m-man of taste and learning. He’s n-nothing but a t-tradesman.” He reached for his crutches.

  His stutter had improved with his temper, a hopeful sign. Augusta smiled through her tears. “Oh, come, Franz. He’s on the city council and has been very kind.”

  But Franz did not return the smile. Taking up his crutches, he stood and said coldly, “You l-look like a t-trollop‌—‌showing off your b-breasts and l-legs to a man.”

  “Franz!” Her hands went to her bodice.

  “I’ve s-seen less b-bare flesh on whores.”

  “I have no other clothes. Only my good gown for church. This is for work around the house. And I cover it with Mama’s old shawl when I go to the market.”

  “K-kruzif-fix! Zum Teufel!”

  The blasphemous cursing shocked Augusta. Franz had never cursed before.

  “I’ll m-make Mama b-buy you s-some c-c-clothes,” he sputtered and started for the house.

  Augusta thought of the empty pickle jar. “No, Franz,” she cried. “You mustn’t do that. We don’t have the money. I can fix this dress so it won’t offend you. I’ll add a hem and make a new bodice from an old dress of Mama’s.” She looked down at herself. “I must have grown. And I’m getting fat.”

  He turned to look back at her with blazing eyes. “Dear G-god! Wh-what has this f-family c-come to?” he muttered.

  Augusta glared back. She was both ashamed and angry at Franz. She knew that she was little more than a scullery maid, someone who did all the rough work because they could not afford help. Perhaps that was what made him think she was a loose woman.

  He said roughly, “You m-must know how you l-look to s-strangers. You shouldn’t have l-let S-seutter see you like this.”

  “He thinks of me as a child. A daughter. He comes here for Mama’s sake only.”

  Franz snorted.

  Augusta remembered the embrace in the hallway and how Herr Seutter’s hands had trembled on her back. Suddenly there was a small doubt in her mind about Herr Seutter’s intentions and a very large one about the future.

  But her unhappiness was short-lived. The next morning, Franz appeared in the kitchen freshly shaved and with his hair tied neatly in back, wearing a clean shirt, and his old blue coat and buff breeches. His mother gaped at him. He looked grim but nodded to her, then told them haltingly that he was going to see Herr Seutter about the job and left.

  *

  Not far from the city wall’s westernmost corner stood a solid tower topped by five pointed turrets. The turrets were covered with colored tiles and the walls with ivy. This cheerful building was the Thieves’ Tower, the local dungeon.

  The assassin had selected this place for the meeting because it amused him to meet a thief there.

  Max had miraculously regained sight in his left eye
since Ulm. With his blond curls and without the eye patch, wearing leather knee breeches and a neat green jacket instead of a soldier’s rags, he looked like a harmless country lad. The man who called himself Koehl knew better than most that Max was gallows’ bait.

  He did not bother with a greeting. “Well? Did you get it?”

  Max Bauer grinned and shook his golden locks. “Your honor’s in a hurry? What’s it worth to speed up the enterprise?”

  Koehl scowled. He held a fist under Max’s nose. “Dog! Remember what you are and what I know about you.” He pointed upward. “They call this the Thieves’ Tower. I hear they have plenty of leg irons.”

  Max Bauer paled a little. “You’ve no cause to make threats, your honor,” he said, sounding aggrieved. “I been doin’ as you told me. I had bad luck, that’s all. I watched the place every day, but they didn’t all leave till Sunday. For church, I figured. I went in then, thinkin’ to search the house from top to bottom.”

  Koehl frowned. “Get on with it. What happened?”

  “T’was easy. They don’t lock their doors. Nothin’ worth stealing there. Proper poor, even if they make out like they’re gentry. I went in the backdoor, bold as brass, and searched the parlor, hall, and kitchen.” Max fingered the coins in his pocket. “Then, just as I was startin’ on the bedchambers, I see the cripple coming home early. I had to scamper to get away.”

  “Damnation!” Koehl kicked a small rock into a patch of weeds.

  Max Bauer regained some of his sangfroid. “I’ll go back tomorrow, your honor. It’ll be a pleasure.” He chuckled. “I got my eye on the girl. Her ma keeps her close and works her like a slave, but she’s ripe for the pluckin’, if you get my drift.”

  Koehl slapped him. “Lumpenhund! I’m not paying you to fornicate. I want the letter.” He stalked off muttering to himself.

  6

  Nepomuk Stiebel

  I defy the wisest man in the world to turn a truly good action into ridicule.

  Henry Fielding, Joseph Andrews

  Franz found Herr Seutter in his office‌—‌a room that had nothing in common with the late Pastor von Langsdorff’s book-filled retreat. Seutter’s workplace contained little more than a large table, shelves with ledgers, and a tall desk at which a clerk stood, making entries in another ledger.

  Seutter received Franz warmly. “Now here’s a day to celebrate. I’m happy to see you up and about, Franz, and doing me the honor of a visit. Come and have a seat.” He moved an oaken settle beside his desk. “How’s the leg this morning?”

  “F-fine.” Franz looked at the clerk‌—‌a pimply-faced young man who stared back at him‌—‌and thought that his right leg was still too weak for him to work on his feet all day long. His courage faltered. He bit his lip. “You s-said yes-s-sterday th-that you kn-know s-someone wh-who n-needs h-h-elp.”

  Seutter clapped his hands. “I do! Indeed, I do. However, allow me to introduce Kaspar Geiss, my clerk. Kaspar, meet my friend, Lieutenant von Langsdorff.”

  Kaspar Geiss, perhaps impressed by the military rank, bowed. Franz nodded back and felt a little better.

  Seutter said, “It’s very good of you to offer your help. You would do my friend a great favor, a very great favor.”

  Franz blushed a little, aware that he was the one who needed the favor. “I h-hope so, b-but it m-may not s-serve.” Catching the clerk’s eyes on him, Franz flushed again.

  “Pah.” Seutter rose. “It will serve capitally. Most capitally. Shall we go right away? Do you feel up to it?”

  Franz nodded. “You’re v-very g-good,” he murmured. The clerk now stared at Franz’s crippled leg as Franz took up his crutches and hobbled awkwardly to the door.

  This was going to be hard, and not just because he was a cripple.

  Privy Councilor and attorney Nepomuk Stiebel had his chambers in another. patrician house at the opposite end of the market. A finely lettered brass plate announced, “Doctor Juris Nepomucus Stibelius, Advocatus Ordinarius,” and in smaller letters in German, “offers his services in all legal matters.”

  Doktor Stiebel turned out to be elderly and of such short stature that Franz at first took him for a dwarf, a very odd-looking dwarf performing in some Italian pantomime. He perched on an enormous carved chair behind an enormous carved table. An old-fashioned full wig shed powder over the shoulders of his brown velvet coat like snow dusting barren winter fields. On his nose rested thick spectacles, and his hand held a very long quill. Beside his desk, a small, brown bird chirped in a gilded cage.

  The little lawyer peered at them over his glasses and became animated. Hopping down from his chair, he cried‌—‌in a voice that was surprisingly strong and clear for such a small person, “Seutter, you old devil. What have you done now? Don’t tell me. Dipped into clients’ funds? Robbed a poor widow of her mite? Or murdered an inconvenient blackmailer?” He cackled and came to shake Seutter’s hand.

  Standing, he had gained some stature but he was still short in spite of a pair of very high-heeled shoes with large gilt buckles. Franz wondered if the velvet suit, time-yellowed lace jabot and rich lace cuffs, silk stockings, and shoes had once belonged to a long deceased courtier.

  Seutter, who had received the aspersions on his probity with rumbling laughter, introduced Franz.

  Stiebel made Franz an elegant bow. “A great pleasure, young man,” he said. “My friend here has spoken so highly of your talents that I fear my needs are well beneath your abilities, but he seems to think that you would not be completely averse to them at the present time?”

  Franz muttered an affirmative.

  Stiebel’s narrow face stretched into a smile and his eyes twinkled over the spectacles. “‘O diem laetum,’ as Pliny said. You make my day joyous. Pray be seated, gentlemen.”

  The interview was strange in that Stiebel both asked and answered his own questions, leaving Franz no more to do than to nod or shake his head. Seutter listened with a smile, or made noises of approval and comments like, “There! Didn’t I tell you so?” “I knew it would serve perfectly,” and “What happiness!”

  So Franz became a lawyer’s clerk.

  *

  Max Bauer made his second attempt on the Langsdorff house toward noon. He had been watching since dawn and had almost decided to try a daring night-time entry while the family was asleep when he saw the cripple hobbling away and shortly afterward his mother setting off with a basket over her arm. That left the girl, and the smoke from the chimney told him that she must be cooking. He knew well enough that the kitchen was in the back of the house while the stairs to the bedrooms were in the front.

  He walked boldly up to the front door and knocked very softly. After a short wait, he tried the handle and slipped in. The hall was dim, but he could hear the clatter of pots from the kitchen. He sniffed the air. Cabbage and onions. It smelled good and he was hungry. His employer had not paid him because Max had not produced the letter.

  He listened, heard only the normal kitchen noises, and tiptoed to the stairs. His foot hovered over the lowest step when the girl came out of the kitchen, saw him, and froze.

  For a moment, they stood staring at each other‌—‌perhaps equally frightened. Max pictured himself with a noose around his neck, and she was a mere girl and must be terrified to find a strange man in her house when she was alone. It was a wonder she had not started screaming yet. Max recovered and put his foot back on the tiled floor.

  “Beggin’ your pardon, miss,” he said in his humblest voice and in a wheedling tone. “I knocked and was sure I heard you call out to come in. I hope I didn’t give you a fright.”

  “You did,” snapped Augusta. “And I did not hear you knock. What do you want?”

  Max bowed his head and twisted his hands. “Just a piece of bread, miss. I’m that hungry. I’d be glad to work for it.”

  He peered cautiously at her and saw that she was undecided. Good. The noose could be avoided once again. “For the sake of our Lord,” he pleaded, then shuffled back a
step or two. “Beggin’ your pardon. I can see it’s not a good time. I’ll try elsewhere.” He bobbed his head and reached for the door handle.

  “Wait,” she said. “When did you eat last?”

  “Yesterday, miss. Or maybe the day before. I can’t hardly recall. I don’t like to ask for food but I haven’t had work since the war.”

  This was inspired, for she came closer and took his arm. “Oh, you’re one of the poor soldiers. Perhaps you’ve been wounded like my poor brother?”

  When he saw her face close up and filled with pity for him, he was almost too overcome to speak. She was as beautiful as an angel, an innocent angel, and he was ashamed of what he had thought to do with her not so long ago. “Yes, miss,” he lied humbly. “Took a bullet in my leg. ’T wasn’t nothin’, but I fell and must’ve been kicked by a horse. Now my head gets dizzy with the pain sometimes.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry for you. I know it’s hard for a man to come back from the war and have no work and feel the constant pain. Well, come into the kitchen. The soup’s not ready, but I have bread and butter, and some sausages. We won’t need them all for our dinner. I can cut up a bit of bacon instead.” She drew him after her into the well-lit kitchen and made him sit at the table. Here they looked at each other properly. Max saw a young woman, or rather a girl just at the point of turning into a young woman, with a dainty figure in a faded dress and large white kitchen apron. Shining brown hair was pinned under a white ruffled cap, but a few curls escaped and trembled against the rosy cheeks. Amazingly‌—‌to Max, who thought brown-haired girls had brown eyes‌—‌her eyes were a clear, deep blue. And now she smiled at him with those pretty lips and white teeth, and Max fell in love.

  *

  Franz’s life fell into a routine that would have given him pleasure if he had not still woken up on a strangled scream most nights. The days at least took on some semblance of normalcy, though that was not the word to use for Doctor Stiebel.