2
By early afternoon, the boys’ voices brought Gorgias back to the land of the living after spending all morning in a dreamlike state. He had remained lying down, his head to one side and his gaze absent, oblivious to Korne’s suggestions and Theresa’s gestures of affection. But gradually awareness crept back into his face, and after a few moments of confusion he lifted his head to call for Korne. The parchment-maker seemed pleased to see Gorgias’s health improving, but when Gorgias asked him about his assailant, Korne’s countenance changed, and he declared he could not remember anything.
“When we went to help you, whoever it was had already fled.”
Gorgias screwed up his face and spluttered a curse as he grimaced with pain. Then he stood and began pacing around the workshop like a tormented animal. As he walked up and down, he tried to recall his attacker’s face, but his efforts were in vain. The darkness and the suddenness of the attack had masked the identity of the assailant. He was weak and confused, so he asked Korne to allow one of his sons to accompany him to the scriptorium.
Once Gorgias left, the workshop gradually resumed its usual bustle. The younger workers spread earth over the blood on the ground and cleaned the table, while the craftsmen complained about the mess that had been created. Theresa said a brief prayer for her father’s recovery before diligently returning to her daily tasks. First, she cleaned and picked up the rubbish from the day before. Then she separated the more damaged pieces of leather and placed them in the scrap barrel, where they would rot. Unfortunately, the keg was overflowing. She had to decant its contents into maceration jars so that once the leather had been soaked, mashed, and boiled, they could make the glue that the master craftsmen used as an adhesive. When she had finished, she covered herself with a sack to keep the rain off and made for the outdoor pools in the dilapidated inner courtyard.
Theresa examined the quadrangular pools closely. Seven pools were distributed in a disorderly fashion around the central well so that the flayed skins could be easily transferred between them after the usual process of cutting, shaving, and scraping. The young woman observed the whitish skins floating on the water like scrawny corpses. She hated the penetrating acid stench that came from the defleshed pelts.
On one occasion, when she had had a severe chill, she asked Korne to relieve her for a few days because the dampness and causticity of the pools were aggravating her lungs, but all she received was a cuff around the head and a scornful guffaw. She never complained again. When Korne ordered her to turn over the sticky, wrinkled skins, she hiked up her skirt, and—holding her breath—stepped into the pools.
She was still looking over the pools when someone came up behind her.
“They still repulse you? Or perhaps you think it’s not a task a parchment-maker’s nose should have to endure?”
Theresa turned to find Korne smiling sardonically. The rain ran down his grotesque face and over his bare, exposed gums. He stank of incense, which he used to mask his usual rancid stench. She would have happily told Korne the nature of her thoughts, but remembering the past, she bit her tongue and bowed her head. After so much sacrifice, she was not about to give in to provocation. If he was trying to find an excuse to reproach her, he would have to try a lot harder.
“No matter,” continued the parchment-maker. “I must admit, I feel sorry for you: Your father has been hurt… you have had a fright… you’re nervous, of course. Evidently it is not the right time to undertake such an important test. So in consideration of your father, I am prepared to postpone the examination for a sensible length of time.”
Theresa breathed a sigh of relief. It was true that she still had the image of her blood-soaked father in her head. Her hands trembled, and though she felt strong enough, a postponement would give her the chance to calm down.
“I’m grateful for your offer, but I don’t wish to disrupt preparations. However, I would welcome a few days to rest,” she admitted.
“A few days? Oh, no!” he said with a smile. “Postponing the trial would mean waiting until next year. It’s the rules, you see. But in your state… look at you: trembling, frightened… I have no doubt that postponing it is the right thing to do.”
Theresa feared that Korne was right. Candidates who withdrew from the examination could not reapply for admission until a full year later. However, for a moment she had thought that given the circumstances the parchment-maker would make an exception.
“So?” Korne pressed.
Theresa was unable to respond. Her hands were sweating and her heart thumped in her chest. Korne’s offer was not unreasonable, but nobody could foresee what would happen in twelve months. However, if she attempted the test and failed, she would never again be allowed to retake it. Or at least, not while Korne was head of the parchment-makers, for he would use her failure as proof of what he had so frequently proclaimed: that women and animals are merely there to bear children and transport loads.
As Korne waited for her response, he tapped his fingers on a barrel. Theresa considered withdrawing, but at the last moment she resolved to show Korne that she was better qualified than any of his sons to be a parchment-maker. And what’s more: If she really wanted to become a master parchment-maker, she must get used to dealing with problems as they arose. And if for any reason she did not pass the test, perhaps in a few years’ time, she would be able to attempt it again. After all, she told herself, Korne was old, and by then he might have died or fallen ill. So she lifted her head, and with determination in her voice, she informed him that she would take the examination that morning and accept the consequences. The parchment-maker looked unperturbed.
“Very well. If that is what you wish, let the show begin.”
Theresa nodded and turned to head back into the workshop. As she was about to go through the entrance, the parchment-maker called out:
“May I ask where you are going?” he said with nostrils flaring like a horse’s.
Theresa looked at him, perplexed. She was going to her workbench to check the equipment she would use in the test. “I thought I would sharpen the knives before the count arrived, prepare the—”
“The count? What has the count got to do with this?” he interrupted, feigning surprise.
Theresa lost the will to speak. Her father had assured her that Wilfred would be present.