Well Dead

IX. Questions at the Place of Death

“…there’s a load on my heart, about my brother’s death. May… may I talk to you? I know you can't answer, but it would ease my heart to talk to you. May I?”

Harun nodded. This was definitely going well so far – much better than he had ever expected. With luck, he would have a confession within the hour. But no, that was not likely, was it? After all, pilgrims were no priests, they could go round merrily chatting to anybody about what someone had whispered in their ear. And Wenzel was standing right beside him and Karl. The peasant wasn't simply going to confess his guilt.

“Thank you, pilgrim. You see…my brother was young of course, and he leaves a widow behind and all, but it weren’t so bad, him dying I mean, if it weren’t for the terrible way he…” The man swallowed. Harun threw a glance at his face and immediately moved him to the very bottom of his suspect list. Either this man was a perfect, play-acting fiend, or he was as innocent as innocence itself.

“He was run through, pilgrim, and terrible to look at. Blood all over him, eyes empty, that’s how we fished him out of the well up at the castle.”

Harun laid his hand on his heart.

“I think the pilgrim wishes to ask whether this has lead you to wonder about whether his soul is save”, said Wenzel, displaying an unusual ability in the interpretation of the occasionally quieted.

“Aye of course, that I do…” Karl hesitated. He looked unhappy, as though wondering what he wanted to say next.

Harun put his hand in his pocket. He felt something small and wooden there. Inspired, he pulled out his hand again, grasping the little wooden cross like a sword, ready for the strike. Again he placed his hand on his chest and then made a movement as if stabbing his heart with the cross.

“But perhaps you might rather be wondering about the soul of the murderer,” Wenzel continued, “and about in which man it dwells.”

Karl’s eyes filled with tears. “Is it wrong of me to wish my brother’s killer found?” he asked. “To think of revenge… it’s not a Christian thing to do, I know, but… oh, pilgrim, can’t you help me? Is it Christian of me to want to find the killer?”

Once again, Harun was glad for his vow of silence. He wasn’t sure what he would answer to somebody asking his out of all opinions about what was the right, Christian thing to do. What he was sure of, however, was that he couldn’t answer without laughing himself silly at the question, something which would have been both inappropriate and hazardous at the same time, in this case. He therefore contented himself with swinging the cross-sword menacingly towards an invisible enemy’s throat.

Karl looked relieved. “So you don’t think it's not rightly Christian of me to wish for revenge?”

To hell with rightly Christian, my good man. Harun swung his makeshift weapon some more. The least he could do for his ex-suspect was remedying some of the damage the village priest and or Father Ignatius had inflicted on the poor man's mind.

The peasant looked heartily relieved. “Thank you father. It has been a great comfort for me to talk to a pious Christian soul such as yourself.”

Yes, and tickle all the carrots from below. Senseless non-conversation was really quite fun. Harun patted the man reassuringly on the shoulder. But as he did so, his mind reminded him of his principles. He couldn’t just strike this poor man from his list of suspects on the grounds of sympathetic feelings and a sad facial expression. Viewed logically, he was as likely to have done the murder as any of the other suspects.

Damn this logic. But one couldn’t get away from it, could one? He would have to ask some questions at least – even if it was only to prove that this man had nothing whatever to do with his brother’s death.