The Hangman's Daughter

Cannon fire…A breach in the wall. Screaming women and children running along the street. Some trip. The soldiers quickly grab them and cut everything to pieces with their sabers. Blood is running in streams down the street so that people shriek as they slip and fall. To the left is a patrician house from which crying and shrill screams are rising. The roof and the upper floor are already in flames. A man is standing in the open door, holding an infant head-down by its legs like a little lamb about to be slaughtered. The baby is screaming so loud that his cries rise above the cannon fire, the soldiers’ laughter, the crackling of the fire. On the ground, a man lies in his blood. A woman crawls on her knees before the soldier and pulls on his doublet.

“Your money, where’s your goddamn money, you heretic sow, speak up!”

The woman can only weep and shake her head. The baby screams and screams. And then the man lifts the writhing child higher and flings it against the doorjamb. Once, twice, three times. The screaming stops. A blow of the saber and the woman falls sideways. The soldier looks over to the other side of the street. Madness flickers in his eyes. A mocking light, his mouth twitching, convulsed. He raises his hand and waves. The hand is white, crooked bony fingers inviting others to share in the great blood frenzy. Then the man disappears inside the house.

From above, screams can be heard. You’re running after him, jumping over man, woman, and infant, up the burning stairs, it’s the room on the left. The soldier is standing before a young girl. She lies on a table among broken dishes and shattered wine carafes, her bloodied dress pulled up to her knees. The soldier smiles at you and makes an inviting gesture. The girl stares up with horror-widened eyes. You reach for your saber and you lunge at the man. But he ducks and runs out on the balcony. As you rush toward him he jumps down the ten feet to the street. He lands the wrong way and rolls over. Then he limps into a side street. Before disappearing he points at you with his bony hand as if he wants to nail you down with his fingers.

A hissing sound.

Jakob Kuisl’s remembrances were interrupted suddenly; the devil swung his saber straight down toward the top of his head. At the last moment the hangman was able to jump to one side, but the blow grazed his left shoulder. He felt a dull pain. Jakob Kuisl staggered back against the wall. The devil’s face, distorted by hate, glowed in the torch’s light. The long scar going from his ear to the corner of his mouth twitched nervously.

“That was you, hangman! You are the one who gave me that crooked leg. It’s because of you that I’m limping! I swear to you, your death will be painful. At least as painful as your daughter’s!”