KKM Novel 3 - Chapter 8 - Part 2
Disclaimer: I do not own KKM series.
Notes:
1. Translated from German, proofread by clavelsangrante. Suggestions and corrections most welcome.
2. Scanned image is taken from here.
3. Please give due credit where it belongs.
4. In this chapter, the terms 'demon,' 'magic' and 'exorcist's stone' are interchangeable with 'mazoku', 'maryoku' and 'houseki stone.'
Endless dry land spread out in front of me, with nothing in sight but a rocky mountain, sand, and some withered trees. A miniature Ayers Rock. The facility itself housed six cabins with a total of over one hundred inmates.
The bare rock surface was riddled with numerous holes. The women formed lines and climbed into the shafts one by one without saying a word to each other. Everything went quietly and in order. The workers were all skinny, dirty and exhausted. They were bound together with chains around their hips.
Not another chain, I thought.
The sun already shone very strong. Sweat immediately poured out from every pore on my skin. It was impossible to see how the mine was designed, but it couldn't be very comfortable inside.
This was clearly forced labor!
Just because they fell in love with someone they were not supposed to be in love with, they were forced to be slave laborers. What was going on with this country?
I was instructed not to enter the mine. Along with four or five other male convicts, I was to haul heavy bags under the blazing sun. The women dug up mountains of spotted stones, among which there were shiny gold pebbles now and then. Everything was pulled out of the mine on carts. In a square area outside, older women sorted the output into piles of comparably sized stones and filled linen pouches with those. These pouches were then packed more carefully into bags, which we carried to the warehouse.
This was a mine of exorcists-stones.
The other men were all bearded, burly guys. Since I had no desire to be plagued by nightmares for three nights, I avoided them. I imagined the circumstances that brought them here.
At any moment, the guards were ready to pound down on the prisoners with their sticks, sometimes even with shovels and hoes. After having towed a few bags, I began to believe that this horrific and surreal scene could be just a bad dream. In the middle of a summer holiday in the 21st century, I was torn away from the Sea World in Saitama, Japan, and thrown into a forced labor camp. And it might not be for just one day. In the end I might have to drag these heavy bags of shit at the foot of this mini Ayers Rock for all eternity. Perhaps I would never be able to get out of here again.
Or maybe it was all just a dream! I might be in fact taking a nap on the floor at my home in Japan, and something like a beast was sitting on my chest, which caused me this nightmare. I tried pinching, cutting and kicking myself to wake up, but it didn't help. The damned dream went on and on and on.
A small corner of my soul trusted that someone would come to my rescue. I only needed to grit my teeth for a little while longer. I was certain Conrad would eventually show up and save me. I kept looking out for him with each trip to and from the mine.
But how about Gwendal? The dungeon was definitely no picnic either.
My ears turned red with shame for my own selfishness. I'm fine, Conrad. Please save your brother first. I can stick it out for at least another week. I could imagine that I was in a super tough training camp for professional baseball players. I had to consider this whole thing as nothing more than a hard basic training, although I could not get rid of the feeling that I was building some unnecessary muscle groups here. I struggled with bags after bags full of stones that pierced into my shoulder, staggering toward the warehouse, a construction much more splendid than our quarter. I would have been much more useful if I had had a bath and breakfast.
After the lunch break, for which we got only a tiny ration of water, a guard grabbed my collar and dragged me to a hut. The sun glared down relentlessly through the sky.
"Is this the new boy we got today?" Asked a voice.
The funny man who just spoke to us sat in a rocking chair on a wooden porch, sipping a glass of red liquid, as if he was enjoying his holiday. His hair, eyebrows and beard were of different colors. I immediately gave him the nickname Tricolor.
"Yes, that's the boy, Master Togrikol."
Hey, I had almost hit the mark!
Togrikol's small son sat on his knees. The boy looked about six years old. Unlike his father, he had ordinary brown hair and eyebrows. Of course he hadn't got a beard yet.
"Who's that?" I muttered gruffly.
The heat and the empty stomach had made me throw all my manners to the wind and even ignore the possibility that this man could be an important person.
Tricolor-Junior, who had clung to the knee of his father, raised his little voice like a child star in a musical show.
"My father is an important man, he will find in this mine the best exorcists-stone in the world!"
"For all I care," I said, "he should kindly climb into the shaft and dig himself."
More than ten workers nearby turned around and shot sharp glances like arrows in my direction. They probably feared another collective punishment.
Togrikol stroked his red beard, and turned to his son.
"Nello, do you want to play with this boy?"
"Yes, plaaaayyy!"
The child hopped down the steps and threw himself hard against my hip. Although he was only a small preschooler, I began to stumble and fell. All who had observed us went back to what they were doing.
But if I slacked off, I wouldn't even get dinner. I started to move back towards the square area where the women were filling up the bags. Tricolor-Junior had, however, clung to my legs so tightly that it was incredibly difficult to lift them up.
"Plaaaayyy, plaaaayyy, plaaaayyy!"
"Okay, okay! But only if you can guarantee me a dinner," I growled.
"You can have dinner at our home. Our chef cooks delicious food!"
"You guys have your own chef?"
This boy looked strong and muscular for his age, which brought back in my mind the image of a little boy, falling and crying in the small alley, Jilda. They had the same height, but Tricolor-Junior had thicker shoulders and neck. Was it just because they were born into different families that they would grow up to be so different? Clutching at my hips, Nello looked up to me with begging eyes.
"Okay, okay, all right, I'll play with you." Since his father was the chief warden, I probably wouldn’t get my head bitten off if I did not return to work.
"What do you want to play? Wait, I know! How about throwing balls?"
"No, horse!"
Instinctively I looked around but there were no horse in sight.
"How about we go to the large sand dune over there, and I’ll draw a horse for you? But you must not expect too much, I’m very bad at drawing."
"Horse!" Tricolor Junior cried again.
"Okay, okay, I’m drawing your horse now. I’ll try my best not to make it look like a giraffe… woa!"
Tricolor Junior had jumped on my back without any warning. My spine groaned under the weight of this well-fed six-year-old.
"Oh, I am supposed to be the horse? But this is a stupid game."
"Run!" Nello yelled and slapped me on the butt. It would be useless talking to such a little preschooler about human rights.
The boy squealed happily and I ran. No other choice. Strictly speaking, I crawled on all fours. I tried to convince myself that this was also a work out for certain muscle groups. At any rate I didn't make quite an elegant sight as the Black Beauty.
When we had gone for about 200 meters away, we noticed a strange scene in the shadow of the rocks. A guard was holding a bundle under his arm while another was digging into the sandy ground with a spade. In front of us were innumerable small mounds the size of basketballs.
"What are they doing there?"
"These are graves. They must be burying a baby again," said Nello, his voice showed absolutely no emotion as if he was stating a matter of fact.
"They are burying what?"
"A baby. These are their tombs. The larger ones over there are tombs of the adults."
On the graves there were neither tombstones nor flowers.
Since I had shown interest, Tricolor-Junior rose from my back and proudly explained.
"These women are bad people who don't actually deserve any grave. But because my father is great and gracious, he still has them buried when they die."
"But why are the babies here?" I asked.
"Well, women make babies, stupid."
I felt a strong desire to smack the boy across his ear, but I held back. These were certainly not his own words, but those his father taught him.
"All these women are bad, because they se...se...seduced the men. That's why they are brought here. Then they bring the babies into the world. But no one wants these babies, so they die."
"Say that to your mother."
Tricolor-Junior was a bit surprised. Still smiling, he asked:
"Say what to my mother? What I’ve just said? "
"Yes, tell her what you’ve just said. In fact, tell your teachers as well, and see what they have to say to you."
"Okay, I will. But why?"
"Because what you just said is wrong. And you may only complain about women when you have had your heart broken after your first love."
My first love was a glamorous woman with extremely beautiful legs that she liked to show off. Although she was Japanese, she had soft curly blond hair. I, an innocent preschooler, used to follow her like a stalker.
Then one day, in a public bath house, I saw her going into the men's bathroom. My first love was a man, a drag queen! Enough about this topic.
While I talked to Junior, the guard struggled with the spade. He dug a hole that was barely large enough for a rugby ball. The other put the bundle under his arm to the ground. It was a shapeless lump wrapped in a dirty cloth.
"Strange..." I muttered. I had the impression that the bundle had moved, almost imperceptibly.
Suddenly I heard the screams of women. When I looked around, I saw a group of women running towards the graves - Ms. Norika, the leader of my group, along with our roommates.
"Please wait! That's Martha's child! Four days ago he was taken away from her right after birth. She says that the child was still alive."
"Do you women really think that we would bury a living child? He neither cries nor moves. He's dead. We just want to give him a final resting place, damn it!"
Other guards came running; six of them pulled the chains on the female prisoners. One of the women let out a shrill cry, tore loose from the guards and tried to run to the grave.
"Damned woman!"
Tricolor quietly approached with several guards following behind. Stroking his beard, he looked at the prisoners, who were being beaten with batons and spades.
"What are they screaming about?" He asked.
My temples swelled briefly, but with an astonishing self-restraint, I immediately brought my emotions under control.
"She thinks that her baby was still alive, and she wants him back," one of the guards said with a greasy smile.
"Nonsense!" Tricolor laughed out loud.
Impulsive actions were never good. So far my hasty sense of justice had not brought anything good. At this moment, I must stay calm and bear with it. In any case, Conrad and Gunter were both not here to back me up. Even if Gwendal and Wolf had been here, they would have had their own problems to deal with. However, all my determination vanished as I heard what Tricolor had to say next.
"Even if that's the case, does it make a difference whether the bastard is still alive or dead?"
That was too much. My self-control was gone, never to return. I clenched my fists and bit my lip.
Last Friday evening, I saw a movie scene in which Bruce Willis, still had lots of hair on his head, single-handedly fought against a group of terrorists. My father said: "It’s very difficult to fight against an overwhelmingly large number of the enemy, and he is all alone. He can’t win."
But, didn’t he win? Fighting against the enemy all alone was surely difficult, but there was still a difference between ‘difficult’ and ‘impossible.’
"Stop!" I cried. "Of course it makes a difference! And even if the child is already dead, you ought to respect the dead a bit more! You could have at least read some prayers, and let the mother say goodbye to her child. That is how it should be done! You want to be a great chief warden? A disgrace to the title, that's you!"
"What's the problem with that new boy? Is he a preacher?"
"Hey, boy, shut your mouth up at once! Otherwise we’ll throw you into the hole!"
The greasy smile on the guard's face was gone. He rushed up to me to stuff my mouth. With the I bent my upper body to dodge him, escaped his paws and head butted Tricolor.
"You can't silence me! There are still a few more things I have to say! What is all this nonsense? You can’t clap with one hand! Why is it that you condemn the women only when they are involved in an illicit relationship? It takes two to fall in love and to make love; you can't blame it all on one!"
Now there was no turning back. I went off like a rocket.
"We must honor the equality between men and women in all situations. Besides, you are violating all basic human rights in this camp! An inspection of the UN would hold you accountable, you can bet on it!"
Togrikol glanced at me fleetingly out of the corner of his eye and turned back to look at the center of action.
The dust whirled up from the dry earth. More and more women came running, wailing and screaming. More and more guards joined in thrashing them. A small woman with disheveled hair and outstretched hands let out a shrill cry. The guards grabbed her clothes and dragged her backwards. Every time she would fall heavily to the ground, and every time she would relentlessly pick herself up, trying to move forward.
"He's alive! He's alive! I know it, she cried. "He is my child!"
It was the silent Martha, who had finally found her voice.
While his subordinates tried to bring the upheaval under control, the chief warden lifted the bundle. He obviously wanted to throw it into the grave.
Before I could convince myself that I had perhaps just become the victim of a hallucination, I already stormed off.
The bundle had moved!
Maybe the wind had just played me a prank, but in a flash of the cloth, I saw something dark red definitely moving.
"Stop!" I shouted.
The white-brown lump was thrown into the air. I saw him fall as if in slow motion, the torn cloth fluttering behind. The hole was exactly the right size, as if it had been measured. It was anxious to swallow the new inhabitant.
With all my strength I stretched out my arms, eyes firmly fixed on the bundle. The sand ruthlessly scalded my arms and elbows, but I pulled a head-sliding straight out of a textbook. My fingertips caught the bundle just in time. Quick as lightning I drew it to me and secured it.
"He moved!" I screamed.
And he did indeed! Through the thin fabric, I could even feel gentle warmth.
"He is still warm. He is not dead! This child is still alive!"
I was overwhelmed by my emotions, and could speak no more. With trembling fingers, I began to remove the wrapping cloth. The women were frozen in the air. Only Martha tearfully prayed in a croaking voice.
I sat on the floor; the warm, soft bundle lay on my knees. I anxiously lifted the last shreds off of him.
My mind froze for a moment. I was shocked, horrified and paralyzed.
"What have you done to him?" I finally asked in a hollow voice.
The baby was breathing. Even if only slightly, his narrow and dark red shriveled breast raised and lowered. Both eyes and mouth were closed, his skin was completely dry. Also, the clenched hands were not moving; the left arm was lying sideways on the belly. His right arm and his right leg were twisted unnaturally.
"What did you do to this child? How could you ...”
He was not even crying.
The mother had escaped the men and took her son into her arms. The other women were surrounded together in a circle, clubs and spades kept pounding down on them.
What barbarians!
The demon stone on my chest was burning hot on my skin, I could hardly breathe. In a corner somewhere in the depths of my skull, an electrical spark rushed through the synapses. The shock crept along my spine and, resonating with my heartbeat, exploded in my ears. The low and high-pitched ringings in my head struggled with unbearable ferocity against one another.
As in an explosion, where there was a yellow stretch of dry land, now I could see nothing but snow-white smoke. I was suddenly flooded with a euphoric bliss. One of my brain cells brought back the name of a person of unsurpassed beauty.
I will...
Who would?
What happened after that, I do not know.
(End of chapter)
Notes:
1. Translated from German, proofread by clavelsangrante. Suggestions and corrections most welcome.
2. Scanned image is taken from here.
3. Please give due credit where it belongs.
4. In this chapter, the terms 'demon,' 'magic' and 'exorcist's stone' are interchangeable with 'mazoku', 'maryoku' and 'houseki stone.'
Endless dry land spread out in front of me, with nothing in sight but a rocky mountain, sand, and some withered trees. A miniature Ayers Rock. The facility itself housed six cabins with a total of over one hundred inmates.
The bare rock surface was riddled with numerous holes. The women formed lines and climbed into the shafts one by one without saying a word to each other. Everything went quietly and in order. The workers were all skinny, dirty and exhausted. They were bound together with chains around their hips.
Not another chain, I thought.
The sun already shone very strong. Sweat immediately poured out from every pore on my skin. It was impossible to see how the mine was designed, but it couldn't be very comfortable inside.
This was clearly forced labor!
Just because they fell in love with someone they were not supposed to be in love with, they were forced to be slave laborers. What was going on with this country?
I was instructed not to enter the mine. Along with four or five other male convicts, I was to haul heavy bags under the blazing sun. The women dug up mountains of spotted stones, among which there were shiny gold pebbles now and then. Everything was pulled out of the mine on carts. In a square area outside, older women sorted the output into piles of comparably sized stones and filled linen pouches with those. These pouches were then packed more carefully into bags, which we carried to the warehouse.
This was a mine of exorcists-stones.
The other men were all bearded, burly guys. Since I had no desire to be plagued by nightmares for three nights, I avoided them. I imagined the circumstances that brought them here.
At any moment, the guards were ready to pound down on the prisoners with their sticks, sometimes even with shovels and hoes. After having towed a few bags, I began to believe that this horrific and surreal scene could be just a bad dream. In the middle of a summer holiday in the 21st century, I was torn away from the Sea World in Saitama, Japan, and thrown into a forced labor camp. And it might not be for just one day. In the end I might have to drag these heavy bags of shit at the foot of this mini Ayers Rock for all eternity. Perhaps I would never be able to get out of here again.
Or maybe it was all just a dream! I might be in fact taking a nap on the floor at my home in Japan, and something like a beast was sitting on my chest, which caused me this nightmare. I tried pinching, cutting and kicking myself to wake up, but it didn't help. The damned dream went on and on and on.
A small corner of my soul trusted that someone would come to my rescue. I only needed to grit my teeth for a little while longer. I was certain Conrad would eventually show up and save me. I kept looking out for him with each trip to and from the mine.
But how about Gwendal? The dungeon was definitely no picnic either.
My ears turned red with shame for my own selfishness. I'm fine, Conrad. Please save your brother first. I can stick it out for at least another week. I could imagine that I was in a super tough training camp for professional baseball players. I had to consider this whole thing as nothing more than a hard basic training, although I could not get rid of the feeling that I was building some unnecessary muscle groups here. I struggled with bags after bags full of stones that pierced into my shoulder, staggering toward the warehouse, a construction much more splendid than our quarter. I would have been much more useful if I had had a bath and breakfast.
After the lunch break, for which we got only a tiny ration of water, a guard grabbed my collar and dragged me to a hut. The sun glared down relentlessly through the sky.
"Is this the new boy we got today?" Asked a voice.
The funny man who just spoke to us sat in a rocking chair on a wooden porch, sipping a glass of red liquid, as if he was enjoying his holiday. His hair, eyebrows and beard were of different colors. I immediately gave him the nickname Tricolor.
"Yes, that's the boy, Master Togrikol."
Hey, I had almost hit the mark!
Togrikol's small son sat on his knees. The boy looked about six years old. Unlike his father, he had ordinary brown hair and eyebrows. Of course he hadn't got a beard yet.
"Who's that?" I muttered gruffly.
The heat and the empty stomach had made me throw all my manners to the wind and even ignore the possibility that this man could be an important person.
Tricolor-Junior, who had clung to the knee of his father, raised his little voice like a child star in a musical show.
"My father is an important man, he will find in this mine the best exorcists-stone in the world!"
"For all I care," I said, "he should kindly climb into the shaft and dig himself."
More than ten workers nearby turned around and shot sharp glances like arrows in my direction. They probably feared another collective punishment.
Togrikol stroked his red beard, and turned to his son.
"Nello, do you want to play with this boy?"
"Yes, plaaaayyy!"
The child hopped down the steps and threw himself hard against my hip. Although he was only a small preschooler, I began to stumble and fell. All who had observed us went back to what they were doing.
But if I slacked off, I wouldn't even get dinner. I started to move back towards the square area where the women were filling up the bags. Tricolor-Junior had, however, clung to my legs so tightly that it was incredibly difficult to lift them up.
"Plaaaayyy, plaaaayyy, plaaaayyy!"
"Okay, okay! But only if you can guarantee me a dinner," I growled.
"You can have dinner at our home. Our chef cooks delicious food!"
"You guys have your own chef?"
This boy looked strong and muscular for his age, which brought back in my mind the image of a little boy, falling and crying in the small alley, Jilda. They had the same height, but Tricolor-Junior had thicker shoulders and neck. Was it just because they were born into different families that they would grow up to be so different? Clutching at my hips, Nello looked up to me with begging eyes.
"Okay, okay, all right, I'll play with you." Since his father was the chief warden, I probably wouldn’t get my head bitten off if I did not return to work.
"What do you want to play? Wait, I know! How about throwing balls?"
"No, horse!"
Instinctively I looked around but there were no horse in sight.
"How about we go to the large sand dune over there, and I’ll draw a horse for you? But you must not expect too much, I’m very bad at drawing."
"Horse!" Tricolor Junior cried again.
"Okay, okay, I’m drawing your horse now. I’ll try my best not to make it look like a giraffe… woa!"
Tricolor Junior had jumped on my back without any warning. My spine groaned under the weight of this well-fed six-year-old.
"Oh, I am supposed to be the horse? But this is a stupid game."
"Run!" Nello yelled and slapped me on the butt. It would be useless talking to such a little preschooler about human rights.
The boy squealed happily and I ran. No other choice. Strictly speaking, I crawled on all fours. I tried to convince myself that this was also a work out for certain muscle groups. At any rate I didn't make quite an elegant sight as the Black Beauty.
When we had gone for about 200 meters away, we noticed a strange scene in the shadow of the rocks. A guard was holding a bundle under his arm while another was digging into the sandy ground with a spade. In front of us were innumerable small mounds the size of basketballs.
"What are they doing there?"
"These are graves. They must be burying a baby again," said Nello, his voice showed absolutely no emotion as if he was stating a matter of fact.
"They are burying what?"
"A baby. These are their tombs. The larger ones over there are tombs of the adults."
On the graves there were neither tombstones nor flowers.
Since I had shown interest, Tricolor-Junior rose from my back and proudly explained.
"These women are bad people who don't actually deserve any grave. But because my father is great and gracious, he still has them buried when they die."
"But why are the babies here?" I asked.
"Well, women make babies, stupid."
I felt a strong desire to smack the boy across his ear, but I held back. These were certainly not his own words, but those his father taught him.
"All these women are bad, because they se...se...seduced the men. That's why they are brought here. Then they bring the babies into the world. But no one wants these babies, so they die."
"Say that to your mother."
Tricolor-Junior was a bit surprised. Still smiling, he asked:
"Say what to my mother? What I’ve just said? "
"Yes, tell her what you’ve just said. In fact, tell your teachers as well, and see what they have to say to you."
"Okay, I will. But why?"
"Because what you just said is wrong. And you may only complain about women when you have had your heart broken after your first love."
My first love was a glamorous woman with extremely beautiful legs that she liked to show off. Although she was Japanese, she had soft curly blond hair. I, an innocent preschooler, used to follow her like a stalker.
Then one day, in a public bath house, I saw her going into the men's bathroom. My first love was a man, a drag queen! Enough about this topic.
While I talked to Junior, the guard struggled with the spade. He dug a hole that was barely large enough for a rugby ball. The other put the bundle under his arm to the ground. It was a shapeless lump wrapped in a dirty cloth.
"Strange..." I muttered. I had the impression that the bundle had moved, almost imperceptibly.
Suddenly I heard the screams of women. When I looked around, I saw a group of women running towards the graves - Ms. Norika, the leader of my group, along with our roommates.
"Please wait! That's Martha's child! Four days ago he was taken away from her right after birth. She says that the child was still alive."
"Do you women really think that we would bury a living child? He neither cries nor moves. He's dead. We just want to give him a final resting place, damn it!"
Other guards came running; six of them pulled the chains on the female prisoners. One of the women let out a shrill cry, tore loose from the guards and tried to run to the grave.
"Damned woman!"
Tricolor quietly approached with several guards following behind. Stroking his beard, he looked at the prisoners, who were being beaten with batons and spades.
"What are they screaming about?" He asked.
My temples swelled briefly, but with an astonishing self-restraint, I immediately brought my emotions under control.
"She thinks that her baby was still alive, and she wants him back," one of the guards said with a greasy smile.
"Nonsense!" Tricolor laughed out loud.
Impulsive actions were never good. So far my hasty sense of justice had not brought anything good. At this moment, I must stay calm and bear with it. In any case, Conrad and Gunter were both not here to back me up. Even if Gwendal and Wolf had been here, they would have had their own problems to deal with. However, all my determination vanished as I heard what Tricolor had to say next.
"Even if that's the case, does it make a difference whether the bastard is still alive or dead?"
That was too much. My self-control was gone, never to return. I clenched my fists and bit my lip.
Last Friday evening, I saw a movie scene in which Bruce Willis, still had lots of hair on his head, single-handedly fought against a group of terrorists. My father said: "It’s very difficult to fight against an overwhelmingly large number of the enemy, and he is all alone. He can’t win."
But, didn’t he win? Fighting against the enemy all alone was surely difficult, but there was still a difference between ‘difficult’ and ‘impossible.’
"Stop!" I cried. "Of course it makes a difference! And even if the child is already dead, you ought to respect the dead a bit more! You could have at least read some prayers, and let the mother say goodbye to her child. That is how it should be done! You want to be a great chief warden? A disgrace to the title, that's you!"
"What's the problem with that new boy? Is he a preacher?"
"Hey, boy, shut your mouth up at once! Otherwise we’ll throw you into the hole!"
The greasy smile on the guard's face was gone. He rushed up to me to stuff my mouth. With the I bent my upper body to dodge him, escaped his paws and head butted Tricolor.
"You can't silence me! There are still a few more things I have to say! What is all this nonsense? You can’t clap with one hand! Why is it that you condemn the women only when they are involved in an illicit relationship? It takes two to fall in love and to make love; you can't blame it all on one!"
Now there was no turning back. I went off like a rocket.
"We must honor the equality between men and women in all situations. Besides, you are violating all basic human rights in this camp! An inspection of the UN would hold you accountable, you can bet on it!"
Togrikol glanced at me fleetingly out of the corner of his eye and turned back to look at the center of action.
The dust whirled up from the dry earth. More and more women came running, wailing and screaming. More and more guards joined in thrashing them. A small woman with disheveled hair and outstretched hands let out a shrill cry. The guards grabbed her clothes and dragged her backwards. Every time she would fall heavily to the ground, and every time she would relentlessly pick herself up, trying to move forward.
"He's alive! He's alive! I know it, she cried. "He is my child!"
It was the silent Martha, who had finally found her voice.
While his subordinates tried to bring the upheaval under control, the chief warden lifted the bundle. He obviously wanted to throw it into the grave.
Before I could convince myself that I had perhaps just become the victim of a hallucination, I already stormed off.
The bundle had moved!
Maybe the wind had just played me a prank, but in a flash of the cloth, I saw something dark red definitely moving.
"Stop!" I shouted.
The white-brown lump was thrown into the air. I saw him fall as if in slow motion, the torn cloth fluttering behind. The hole was exactly the right size, as if it had been measured. It was anxious to swallow the new inhabitant.
With all my strength I stretched out my arms, eyes firmly fixed on the bundle. The sand ruthlessly scalded my arms and elbows, but I pulled a head-sliding straight out of a textbook. My fingertips caught the bundle just in time. Quick as lightning I drew it to me and secured it.
"He moved!" I screamed.
And he did indeed! Through the thin fabric, I could even feel gentle warmth.
"He is still warm. He is not dead! This child is still alive!"
I was overwhelmed by my emotions, and could speak no more. With trembling fingers, I began to remove the wrapping cloth. The women were frozen in the air. Only Martha tearfully prayed in a croaking voice.
I sat on the floor; the warm, soft bundle lay on my knees. I anxiously lifted the last shreds off of him.
My mind froze for a moment. I was shocked, horrified and paralyzed.
"What have you done to him?" I finally asked in a hollow voice.
The baby was breathing. Even if only slightly, his narrow and dark red shriveled breast raised and lowered. Both eyes and mouth were closed, his skin was completely dry. Also, the clenched hands were not moving; the left arm was lying sideways on the belly. His right arm and his right leg were twisted unnaturally.
"What did you do to this child? How could you ...”
He was not even crying.
The mother had escaped the men and took her son into her arms. The other women were surrounded together in a circle, clubs and spades kept pounding down on them.
What barbarians!
The demon stone on my chest was burning hot on my skin, I could hardly breathe. In a corner somewhere in the depths of my skull, an electrical spark rushed through the synapses. The shock crept along my spine and, resonating with my heartbeat, exploded in my ears. The low and high-pitched ringings in my head struggled with unbearable ferocity against one another.
As in an explosion, where there was a yellow stretch of dry land, now I could see nothing but snow-white smoke. I was suddenly flooded with a euphoric bliss. One of my brain cells brought back the name of a person of unsurpassed beauty.
I will...
Who would?
What happened after that, I do not know.
(End of chapter)