Death and the Devil

At that moment the door of the building where the carter had gone opened. A man whose legs ended at his knees crawled out to see what was going on. Laboriously he struggled in Jacob’s direction. The two from the gate were catching up with him while the group by the church prepared to encircle him. Desperately Jacob searched for an escape, but wherever he looked the place was bounded by walls. He was trapped. They had surrounded him, were ready to fall on him, tear him to pieces, transform him into one of them. Jacob’s head was ringing. He stumbled and fell to his knees.

One of the men opened a hole of a mouth with spittle dribbling out, and squatted down. “Can we help you?” he asked politely.

Help? Jacob blinked and looked around. Regarded dispassionately, one could hardly say they had surrounded him. On the contrary, they were observing him timidly and keeping their distance.

Again the bearded man from the gate laughed. “Hannes always gives them a fright the first time,” he roared. It didn’t sound at all threatening, just amused and friendly. The strange grunts were still coming from the faceless man’s chest, but now Jacob realized he was laughing, too, the laughter of a man with no mouth, probably no tongue.

The bell inside Jacob’s head stopped ringing. “Where am I?” he asked, getting back to his feet. He could feel his heart beating at the top of his chest, just below his throat.

The two men exchanged puzzled glances, then looked at Jacob again. “You’re in Melaten. How can you not know the leper colony, since you came here yourself?”

Melaten! The leper colony! The largest in Cologne, to the west of the city, on the road to Aachen. He had escaped—to a leper colony!

The living dead, they called them. To contract leprosy meant to be taken away from your family and friends, no longer be part of their lives. The laws were inexorable. There was even a rite, with obsequies, eulogy, and last blessing, in which the congregation said farewell to lepers as to someone who had died. After that they began their lives in the leper community, away from society. Any contact with healthy people—in church, at the market, the inn, the mill, the communal oven—was forbidden on pain of punishment. They were not allowed to wash in flowing water. If they wanted to buy something, they were not allowed to touch it until they had bought it. If they should happen to speak with a healthy person, they had to keep downwind of them. They were only allowed to go out of the colony with the permission of the hospice master, only allowed to visit the city on a few days of the year to beg, clearly identifiable in their jacket and breeches, white cloak down to their knees, white gloves, and large hat, and carrying their wooden rattle so people could hear them coming.

Lepers died twice. They were the dead who were still waiting for death. Excluded from society and left with nothing but their hope of heaven. Those who could afford it bought a place in a leper house like Melaten, one of the largest in the German Empire, others built primitive shacks on designated land or lived a vagrant life.

The immense pity everyone felt for them was only outweighed by their revulsion.

Jacob shivered. He pulled his habit around him and clasped his arms tightly. “Excuse me, but—” He shot a quick glance at the gate.

“Did you come with the cart?” asked the man.

“Yes, I—”

“Saint Dionysus be praised! You must be the priest they were going to send. Follow me, Father, he’s in the last house. Though whether he’s still alive or not, I don’t know.”

Now they thought he was a priest! Was he going to have to give someone the last rites? “I—I really ought to be going,” he stammered.

The man shook his head. “It won’t take long, Father. Who else is there to pray for him?”

“Pray? But I’m—no, wait.” Jacob rubbed his eyes and thought. He was wearing a habit, therefore he was a monk. Would they let him go if he admitted he wasn’t?

He’d think of a way out of the situation. Somehow. “Good,” he said, “let’s go.”

“No!” It was a well-known voice that rang out.

Jacob spun around. “Jaspar!” he exclaimed, as much in bewilderment as relief.

“I’ll do that,” said Jaspar, as if their meeting was expected. “Got here before me, did you? Have you been cadging a lift again? No matter. You wait here. My novice,” he explained to the man. “A bit timid, unfortunately, and not quite right in the head, either. Always forgetting things, sometimes even his own name.”

“A bit old for a novice, isn’t he?” said the man hesitantly, with a side glance at Jacob.

“Yes. It’s his low intelligence. He’ll never rise any higher.”

Jacob’s chin sank. “Hey, Jaspar, what’s all this?”

“You just keep your mouth shut and wait for me, d’you hear? Stay here till I get back, don’t run away and don’t talk to people.”

“But—”

“No buts. Sit over there by that wall.”