Sylvia by Bryce Courtenay Page B

his pale cheeks.
    I approached her and said quietly, ‘Frau Johanna, he is sufficiently humbled. Can we get water and a rag?’
    She pointed to a woman in the crowd. ‘Gilda, your house is nearest. Will you fetch a bowl of water and a rag for shitface?’ With this the crowd roared with renewed laughter. The woman, grinning, nodded and left. Frau Johanna, enjoying the notoriety, held up her hand for silence. ‘We have laughed enough! God has sent us a virgin maid who can charm the birds from the trees. I know her to be chosen by Jesus Christ as his special messenger, for I have with my own eyes seen the sign.’ She paused and looked around the crowd, now grown completely silent. ‘The holy sign of the early martyrs, the mark of Jesus, the fisher of men!’ She drew breath and then shouting said, ‘The Virgin Maid has the mark of the fish upon her back!’
    I gasped, for she had not previously spoken of seeing the birthmark. ‘Frau Johanna, it is only a birthmark – it means nothing!’ I whispered urgently.
    The widow ignored my plea. ‘Ah, the bowl of water and a rag for the piper,’ she exclaimed, as Frau Gilda broke through the crowd.
    I was angry. I felt myself being used, though I was too young to understand why. Last night Johanna had talked of different things and I had seen her as a sensible woman, but not a pious one. My heart filled with fear, now she was taking control. I trembled to think I might be with another Frau Anna. I hurriedly took the small bowl of water and the rag and started to clean the ratcatcher’s face, my own averted for the shame and humiliation I felt. ‘We must away from here! We cannot tarry!’ I whispered to him urgently, wiping the bird shit from his cheeks.
    Now the crowd had started to chant, ‘The fish! The fish! The fish!’ Then Red the Belly’s voice cut through the chanting. ‘Strip her! Show us the fish!’ The crowd took this up. ‘Strip her! Show us the fish! Strip her! Show us the fish!’ they chanted. I turned to see that they had started to move closer, those from the back of the square pushing forward so that the crowd began to surge towards us.
    Suddenly Reinhardt stepped forward. ‘Stand back!’ he shouted, ‘or you may harm the Virgin Maid! She has brought the birds from yonder woods to charm you, but should you touch her she will summon a jackdaw or a raven as an ill omen or else call a curse upon your homes and cause a plague of rats to destroy your summer harvest!’
    But he had long since destroyed his credulity. ‘Lies! Rapscallion! Whore’s son! Devil! Let the Virgin Maid show us the fish! Fish! Fish! Fish!’ they chanted, heedless of his warning.
    Reinhardt the Ratcatcher drew the flute from his belt and blew a note so high and sharp that I dropped the bowl and brought my hands up to my ears to stop the pain. And then I saw that everyone in the crowd had done the same. He withdrew the flute and you could have heard a pin drop, so silent had the crowd become.
    â€˜They be in an ugly mood and want to see the fish, what say you?’ he muttered from the corner of his mouth.
    â€˜Only if it will help us to be gone,’ I replied, concerned for what might happen next.
    He nodded his head and turned back to the silent crowd. ‘Now hear me, all!’ He paused so all could tune their ears. ‘The Virgin Maid does not wish to show you the fish, we cannot tarry and must be away.’
    â€˜Charlatan!’ Red the Belly boomed out suddenly, then turning and jabbing a fat finger at the ratcatcher yelled out, ‘Turtles into turtle-doves! Cats into tigers! Flying puppy dogs! He would trick us once again!’ He turned back to the crowd. ‘What think you of rats? Maybe the cats turned to tigers will with their fierce roaring chase away this promised plague of rats!’ The crowd broke into laughter at his taunt and Red the Belly