Chapter VIII - The Bloch Family
Since I was wearing my livery, Hans decided to wear his too, rather than change clothes. We brushed up and set out through the town. Hans actually lived outside Lifbau. His father, I gathered, was something of a farmer, though not a very successful one. The farm was not far from the royal park, but we took the long way around because I wanted to stop at a tailor to see about taking in my trousers, and I also wanted to pick up something to bring to dinner.
We were walking back, I with a three-pfennig ham under my arm and Hans chatting on about the amusing difficulties some nobleman had made for him during the afternoon. He had a flair for telling a tale. His straight face and air of morose resignation made it very funny. So it was a pleasant walk, through a pleasant neighborhood.
It seemed a rather wealthy neighborhood. Large trees and nice well kept houses lined the street. Each had a neat little fence, which I ran my hand along.
“That’s my uncle’s house,” said Hans suddenly. I looked up at it. It was much like the other houses, except it had a very large frame of windows in front. Each window was mostly made up of many small panes of glass, just like everyone else had, but in the very middle was a large single pane of glass. That must have been expensive, but I’m sure it made the neighbors jealous.
“Nice,” I said.
“You should see the inside,” Hans said, and we moved on.
Soon we were out of the city and into a row of small farms. These were also neat and tidy. The fences were white, as if freshly painted, the fields were green with a fall crop, and the yards scythed. All this was in spite of the fact that it was definitely a poorer part of town.
Then, abruptly, the fresh paint, neat yards and planted fields stopped. We had come to the end of the road and there the weeds had grown up, and the paint, what there was of it, was pealing off the fence. A small apple orchard, over grown, obscured my view of the house. One tree was partially pruned, and the shears lay on the ground beneath it.
Hans pushed open the sagging gate. “We’ve had a bad year,” he said and went in. I followed.
The house was much nicer than the rest of the farm led me to expect. It too was rather worn and makeshift, but more care and effort seemed to have been put into it and the area closest to it. A small garden, with crooked rows, looked productive to say the least, and there were no weeds in it, though the field behind it had been completely overcome with them.
Off in that field a small boy fought off imaginary legions with a stick for a sword, and in the garden a girl of about eleven was pulling carrots. She jumped up in surprise when she saw us.
“Oh, Hans!” she cried, suddenly smiling and stepping forward. “I didn’t recognize you right off.”
The little boy defeated his legions and came running at us, yelling and brandishing his stick.
“You’ve got your uniform on,” he cried.
“Not a uniform,” said Hans. “Just livery.” The little boy stopped and frowned, but the girl grinned and ran for the house.
“Mama, you should see Hans,” she said.
“I guess I’ve never worn it home before,” said Hans with an embarrassed grin. “This is my brother, Edric. Eddie. And that was Sandra.” Sandra returned with a gaunt woman who was not so tall as her thinness made her look.
“My, my, don’t you look handsome,” said their mother, admiring Hans. She fit the farm very well. Her hair was half loose, and her apron askew. She held a paring knife in one hand and in the other a potato with a long piece of peal flapping from it.
“He looks stupid,” said the little boy with the stick.
“Oh, hush, Eddie, he looks fine, really fine,” said the mother.
“I think so too,” said Sandra.
“Someday I’ll have a real uniform,” said Edric.
Sandra said, “Ha!” but Hans bent down and asked, “What sort of uniform?”
“A soldier’s uniform with brass buttons,” he answered, beaming.
“And you’ll look fine in it,” said Hans.
“Are you going to be in the cavalry, or infantry?” I asked.
Now all three looked up and noticed me for the first time. Suddenly they became subdued, and the mother began to straighten her hair.
“Oh,” said Hans. “This is Albert.”
“How do you do?” said mother and daughter together, and both gave me an awkward little bow. “Won’t you come in?” added the mother with a little too much politeness. I looked at Hans, but he was urging me into the house.
The inside of the house was much like the outside, that is, worn, makeshift and disorganized. It was a three room house and the room I was in seemed to take up most of it. It was kitchen, parlor, washroom, hall and even bedroom to somebody. The place smelled of cabbage and beer, but it had a warm lively feel to it. Two very small children played on the floor between the hearth and the plain wood table. A mongrel dog appeared out of nowhere and put his paws up on my leg, wagging his tail vigorously.
“Dog!” said the mother. “Get down!” The dog ignored her.
A man was sitting at the table. He rose unsteadily when we entered. I noticed that the smell of beer came mainly from him.
“Papa,” said Hans. “This is Albert.”
“How do you do, sir,” I said.
“How do you do,” he answered, bowing. Everyone was staring at me with wide eyes. I turned to Hans.
“Did you tell them I was somebody important?” I whispered.
“I was trying to impress them,” Hans answered with a shrug.
“Won’t you sit down?” asked the mother.
I looked for the nearest chair. There was one against the wall, and as I went to sit in it the father leapt forward and pulled it up for me. The mother started to say something, and I caught a glimpse of horror in her face as I sat. The chair collapsed just as my seat touched it and I flipped over backward with a crash.
Everyone froze. “Christopher Bloch!” said the mother. “You know that chair has broken back legs.”
“Oh!” said the father, putting his hand over his mouth.
I rolled out of the chair and sat up on the floor to stare at it. More than the back legs were broken now.
“Oh...I’m so sorry...,” said the father, and I started to apologize for breaking the chair. Edric, however, leapt for another chair and bowled it over backward, letting out a shriek of delight. I started to laugh and in a moment everybody was laughing.
“Here, Albert,” said the father, “let me give you a hand up.”
“Thank you, Herr Bloch,” I said.
“Agh! Herr Bloch is it? That’s what they call my brother and I won’t be called anything they call him,” he said. “Call me Tiger. That’s what they used to call me when I was young. Honestly, that’s what they called me.”
“All right, sir,” I said.
“Sir? Ha ha!” he said, taking me by the shoulders and looking at his wife. “You hear that?”
“You might as well call me Lise, then,” said the mother.
“Oh! The ham!” I said. It had been under my arm when I sat, but now it had rolled into the corner, where the dog gnawed at it.
“Dog!” cried Lise as she went to shoo him away. The dog wanted to contest her claim, but she picked him up bodily and put him aside. She picked up the ham and wiped it off with her apron.
“Look what Albert’s brought us,” she said, displaying it.
“The dog’s eaten it.”
“Oh, don’t be so fussy, Sandra,” said Lise. “We can clean it up.”
“Ick!”
“We can cut off the part the dog ate,” I said.
“Yes,” said Lise quickly. “That’s a good idea. We’ll do that. And you, dog, you won’t get anything.”
The dog did not listen and he stood on his hind legs to beg. Lise hurried the ham over to her wash basin and began to cut at it and wash it.
I took to Hans’ family immediately, and
they seemed to like me, once they had forgotten whatever grand story Hans had told them. I sat on a rough but sturdy bench this time. Hans sat beside me, and everyone talked.
“I’ve been meaning to fix that chair,” said Tiger, picking up a piece of the wreckage. He pulled out a knife and trimmed off the rough edges. From there he regaled me with a tale of when he was known as Tiger, while Sandra sat beside him and told me about the new dress a Mrs. Somebody-or-other had got and how it got torn. Lise, without looking up from her cooking, frequently amended both tales. It was fascinating, but I got the stories hopelessly jumbled. I could see that Hans’ talent for talking ran in the family. Hans himself was rather quiet, though it was no wonder with all the competition he had.
“Have some home-brewed ale,” said Tiger, ladling some dark brown liquid from a bucket into a mug. He handed it to me. It was a large mug. It smelled all right, as far as I knew, so I took a drink. It tasted horrendous.
“Ung,” I could not help but say. Tiger laughed.
“You don’t have to drink it lad,” he said, reaching to take it from me.
“No,” I said, pulling it back. “I’ll drink it.”
“Mind you, you don’t have to.”
“Here we are,” said Lise. She brought a large platter of cabbage and set it down on the table. “This much is done, anyway. You’ll have to wait on the rest.”
That was how dinner came, as it was done, the cabbage, the carrots, the smaller potatoes, then the larger ones and the ham. It was all served in wooden bowls, but they were nice wooden bowls. They were beautifully carved, and as I watched Tiger whittle away at that chair fragment, I saw who had carved them.
“That’s beautiful,” I said, nodding at his present project. He beamed.
“That’s the only reason he ever prunes the apple trees,” said Lise, smiling. “For fruit wood.”
It was getting late and everyone was quieter and warmer in the flickering firelight. Sandra looked suddenly at Hans.
“Tell us what it’ll be like when we have our pony farm,” she said.
“Yes, tell us,” said Eddie.
Hans sat back and frowned most miserably, and glanced at his father, then at the children, all waiting expectantly.
“It’ll be grand,” he said, suddenly smiling. “We’ll have to have a bigger house, of course....”
“And a stable!”
“And a stable. Both made of red brick. As nice at Uncle Wil’s. It’ll have to be that nice for the people who come to see us.”
“And I’ll have my own horse,” said Eddie.
“We’ll all have our own,” said Lise.
“The very best too,” said Hans, “because we’ll make them the best.”
“Will mine be white?” asked Sandra.
“Oh, yes, like cream. They’ll all be white.”
“I want a black one,” said Edric.
“Well then,” said Tiger. “They’ll be half black and half cream.”
They went on arguing over which color the ponies should be. Even Hans was arguing. It was like a game which they had gone over before, each knew his proper response, and if he did not, some other would correct him. It reminded me of when Celeste and I would speculate on what I would do when I ran away.
“Some more ale, Albert?” said Tiger, breaking out of the argument. I had, at last, come to the end of the ale I had been sipping all evening, and he must have seen me tip my mug up to get the last.
“Oh, Christopher,” said Lise, “don’t force that awful tasting stuff on the boy.”
“Yes, please,” I said. It actually did not taste so bad any more. My tongue must have died during the evening. I found I could drink it right up.
Soon it was late and the pony farm had grown into a veritable kingdom. When the suggestion was made that perhaps even the queen herself would have to work for them, credulity collapsed and the game was at an end. I will not say who made the fateful suggestion, but I will say that she should never have asked for a second mug of ale.
After dinner Hans drew me outside, saying that I did not know my way home and that he would have to go with me. I was badly in need of fresh air. I felt rather good, but I was drowsy and my head was reeling.
“Now you see why I have to work for Uncle Wil,” he said, as he pulled me through the gate.
“I do?”
“That pony farm idea is the one thing that keeps them going. We’ve had a very bad year,” he said, stopping to look at me, “but then we always have a bad year. It doesn’t matter what he tries to grow, he’s just not a farmer. Oh, we get by,” he added emphatically, looking hard into my eyes as if to be sure I did not mistake his meaning. “But you heard them talk. That pony farm is why we get by. Can I come home and tell them that there isn’t going to be a pony farm, because I hate horses, and I don’t really know anything about them, and it’s really a stupid idea, and even if it wasn’t we could never get it to work? Can I do that?”
I shook my head, as much to clear it as to answer him. It was cold out, and the fresh air was helping, but not much.
“Besides,” Hans went on, “I’ve got to have some kind of job. So why not horses? Who knows, maybe we can do it. And I might even get to like horses, if it wasn’t for Uncle Wil.”
“Uncle Wil is a stinker,” I said. It was the only comment in my head at the moment, so I said it to keep up my end of the conversation.
“A stinker is right,” said Hans. “I don’t know why he has to make work so difficult for me. I mean, look at Sea Sprite. You could have put him out in no time. If he would just have us do what we’re best at we could get three times as much work done. But no, not Wilhelm Bloch, he would never do anything reasonable. Except maybe when the nobles are watching.”
“Wilhelm Bloch is a rat,” I announced, thinking of just how much of a rat he was. “He’s a stinking rat.”
Suddenly inspiration took me and I dashed down a side street.
“Where are you going?” called Hans. “That’s the wrong way.”
“This is the way to ol’ Willie’s house, isn’t it?” I asked, stumbling back to him.
“Well, yes....”
“Well, come on!” The running seemed to clear my head, so I ran all the way. Hans stayed at my heel and tried twice to stop me.
“Wait,” he said. “I was only blowing off steam. No need to get excited.”
I arrived at Bloch’s front gate and tottered a moment, looking at his big white house and that large pane of glass.
“What are you going to do?” asked Hans.
First I let out a whoop to shatter the peace and quiet, which seemed rather complacent to me just then. Then I picked up a rock and hurled it as hard as I could.
“Wilhelm Bloch, you’re a rotten bastard. You’re a....” Hans had his hand over my mouth before I could say more, but I probably would have only called him a stinker again. Hans pulled me away, but I looked back. A faint light appeared behind the window, revealing the jagged glass remains.
“Hey,” I said. “I hit it.”
“Yeah, you hit it. Come on.” Hans gave me a yank on the arm.
“Dead center,” I whispered, catching some of his caution.
We ran to the end of the street.
“Do you think anyone saw us?” I said, panting. My head was definitely clearing now.
“I don’t know,” said Hans. “I hope not.”
“Am I in trouble?”
“Are we in trouble?”
“I’m sorry. I really am. I....”
“Come on. Let’s get you home.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“No.” It sounded like he was, but after a moment he began to chuckle.
The next morning was chilly and overcast. Very early, even before we fed and watered the horses, Bloch had all the stableboys gather in the yard. We stood in a line, watching him, waiting for him to speak. He did not say a word. He just stared at us with the be
st angry look he could muster. We stared back at him, furtively glancing at one another and wondering what it was all about. Of course, I knew what it was all about. So did Hans.
Bloch had had all night to stew and plan, and he was not raving and ranting. Apparently he had decided to put the fear of God into us with his calm silent fury, and make fear and guilt show plainly on the face of the culprit. It worked, too. Too well, that is. Fear and guilt showed on the faces of all of us.
Bloch snorted indignantly. He went to the head of the line and began to glare at each of us in turn. His quiet was disturbed. I could see him preparing to bluster as he puffed his way down the line.
Philip stood back behind him, apparently above suspicion. He was chewing his thumbnail, head tilted sideways, surveying us. Actually, he was surveying me. I was the only one he was looking at. I glanced away quickly. Bloch had come to me.
“You don’t look too well today, Albert,” he snapped. “What’s wrong with you? Fear of retribution? Guilt lying heavy on your soul? Well?”
As he glared into my eyes I had this sudden urge to throw myself at his feet and cry, “I did it! I did it! Oh, will you ever forgive me?” I choked back the giggle rising in my throat.
“Nothing, sir.”
“Where were you last night?”
“I....” I glanced at Hans. “I had dinner with Hans and his family, sir.”
“No wonder you look ill.” That in itself seemed to give him satisfaction, but he did not let it drop. “Your path home would not have taken you far from my house. And it would have been at the right time. Yes, you did it all right,” he announced, grabbing a hold of my collar.
“Did what, sir?” I said. I remembered Tybalt’s innocent replies to the marquis’ accusations. With one thought I both felt guilty at the comparison, and wished I had Tybalt’s skill at lying.
“He couldn’t have done anything last night, Uncle Wil,” said Hans. “I walked home with him. All the way.”
“What!” Bloch still held my collar, but he turned on Hans with a fury.
“It’s the truth, Uncle Wil,” said Hans, backing away. “He was with me.”
Bloch glanced at me. “He did it after you left.”
“Oh, no. He couldn’t have,” persisted Hans.
“Why not?”
Hans swallowed and turned pale. “Uh. You know Papa, how he is with the ale when we have guests. Albert was dead on his feet. He couldn’t have got out of bed, let alone...do something wrong.”
“Albert can make trouble in his sleep, can’t you Albert?” said Bloch, almost sweetly. I nodded vigorously. He released me with a jerk and turned on the group. “Who did it? Tell me. Was it you?” he said, suddenly pointing at Hans. Hans shook his head and backed away. “No, you wouldn’t. All right, I want to know who it is, now! Who did it? Come on, who?”
“It might not have been any of them,” said Philip, raising one eyebrow hopefully.
“Who else would it be? No, it’s one of them, and they all know who. Look at them! They know. And I’m going to wait here until they tell me.”
“Sir, it’s past feeding time,” I said. “The horses....”
“You shut up,” he snapped. Philip had his mouth open, but Bloch shut him up with a glare. “Who did it? I want to know and I’m going to find out. Just you watch me. I’ll find out if it is the last thing I do.” He was looking at me when he said it, but then he surveyed us all. “Well? Get to work. Go on. Go!”
We scrambled for cover in the stable. As we ran, one of the larger boys looked at me. “What’s got him so mad?”
I shrugged and ducked into the stable. Inside Hans was leaning on a stall post, holding his hand to his heart.
“I thought he had us,” said Hans. “I really thought we were both going to get it.”
“Thanks Hans,” I said.
“Forget it,” he said. “I half wish I’d done it myself. Papa’s always talking about doing that very thing. Hey, maybe he’ll think my father did it. Papa’ll be glad to take the credit.”
While I was filling the hay nets Philip came by and pulled me aside.
“Our lord and master still thinks you did it,” he said. “If I was you, I’d avoid him for a while. He’s a bit on the murderous side.” He bit his lip and looked at me.
“I will,” I said.
“Did you?” he asked, raising his left eyebrow.
“Hunh?” I said.
“Do it?”
“Certainly not,” I said indignantly, without even hesitating. I was getting good at lying, and getting better by the minute. Soon I would be leaving Tybalt von Stenbau at the starting post.
Philip, however, raised his right eyebrow. “I thought as much,” he said, grinning. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell Bloch. Not that he needs telling. Just be sure to stay away from him. And his house. Right?”
“Right.”
“Good.” He nodded and went away.