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Authors: Joe Bandel
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fresh oil for your lamps. But this house doesn’t
care for you, doesn’t care if your shelter is preserved. You are
regarded only as an antique. It is well for you that the folk still
believe in you and in your power.”
Then he sang softly, reverently:
“ John of Nepomuk
Protector from dangerous floods.
Protect my house!
Guard it from rising waters.
Let them rage somewhere else.
John of Nepomuk
Protect my house!”
“Well old idol,” he continued. “You have it
easy protecting this village from dangerous floods since the Rhine
lays three quarters of an hour from here and since it is so regular
and runs between stone levies.
But try anyway, John of Nepomuk. Try to save
this house from the flood that shall now break over it! See, I love
you, Saint of stone, because you are my mother’s patron Saint.
She is called Johanna Nepomucema, also called
Hubertina so she will never get bitten by a mad dog. Do you
remember how she came into this world in this house, on the day
that is sacred to you? That is why she carries your name, John of
Nepomuk! And because I love her, my Saint–I will warn you for her
sake.
You know that tonight another Saint has come
inside, an unholy one. A little manikin, not of stone like you and
not beautifully enshrined and dressed in garments–It is only made
of wood and pathetically naked. But it is as old as you, perhaps
even older and people say that it has a strange power. So try,
Saint Nepomuk, give us a demonstration of your power!
One of you must fall, you or the manikin. It
must be decided who is Master over the house of Brinken. Show us,
my Saint, what you can do.”
Frank Braun bowed, paid his respects, crossed
himself, laughed shortly and went on with quick strides through the
street. He came up to a field, breathed deeply the fresh night air
and began walking toward the city. In an avenue under blooming
chestnuts he slowed his steps, strolled dreamily, softly humming as
he went along.
Suddenly he stopped, hesitated a moment. He
turned around, looked quickly both ways, swung up onto a low wall,
sprang down to the other side and, ran through a still garden up to
a wide red villa.
He stopped there, pursed his lips and his
wild short whistle chased through the night, twice, three times,
one right after the other. Somewhere a hound began to bark. Above
him a window softly opened, a blonde woman in a white nightgown
appeared. Her voice whispered through the darkness.
“Is that you?”
And he said, “Yes, yes!”
She scurried back into the room, quickly came
back again, took her handkerchief, wrapped something in it and
threw it down.
“There my love–the key! But be quiet–very
quiet! Don’t wake up my parents.”
Frank Braun took the key out, climbed the
small marble steps, opened the door and went inside. While he
groped softly and cautiously upward in the dark his young lips
moved:
“ John of Nepomuk
Protector from dangerous floods.
Protect me from love!
Let it strike another
Leave me in earthly peace
John of Nepomuk
Protect me from love!”
Chapter Four
Gives the particulars of how they found
Alraune’s mother
F RANK Braun sat above on the ramparts of Festung
Ehrenbreitstein, a fortified castle overlooking Koblentz. He had
sat there for two months already and still had three more to sit,
through the entire summer. Just because he had shot a hole through
the air, and through his opponent as well.
He was bored. He sat up high on the parapet
of the tower, legs dangling over the edge looking at the wide broad
view of the Rhine from the steep cliffs. He looked into the blue
expanse and yawned, exactly like his three comrades that sat next
to him. No one spoke a word.
They wore yellow canvas jackets that the
soldiers had given them. Their attendants had painted large black
numbers on the backs of their jackets to signify their cells. No.’s
two, fourteen and six sat there; Frank Braun wore the number
seven.
Then a troop of foreigners came up into
care for you, doesn’t care if your shelter is preserved. You are
regarded only as an antique. It is well for you that the folk still
believe in you and in your power.”
Then he sang softly, reverently:
“ John of Nepomuk
Protector from dangerous floods.
Protect my house!
Guard it from rising waters.
Let them rage somewhere else.
John of Nepomuk
Protect my house!”
“Well old idol,” he continued. “You have it
easy protecting this village from dangerous floods since the Rhine
lays three quarters of an hour from here and since it is so regular
and runs between stone levies.
But try anyway, John of Nepomuk. Try to save
this house from the flood that shall now break over it! See, I love
you, Saint of stone, because you are my mother’s patron Saint.
She is called Johanna Nepomucema, also called
Hubertina so she will never get bitten by a mad dog. Do you
remember how she came into this world in this house, on the day
that is sacred to you? That is why she carries your name, John of
Nepomuk! And because I love her, my Saint–I will warn you for her
sake.
You know that tonight another Saint has come
inside, an unholy one. A little manikin, not of stone like you and
not beautifully enshrined and dressed in garments–It is only made
of wood and pathetically naked. But it is as old as you, perhaps
even older and people say that it has a strange power. So try,
Saint Nepomuk, give us a demonstration of your power!
One of you must fall, you or the manikin. It
must be decided who is Master over the house of Brinken. Show us,
my Saint, what you can do.”
Frank Braun bowed, paid his respects, crossed
himself, laughed shortly and went on with quick strides through the
street. He came up to a field, breathed deeply the fresh night air
and began walking toward the city. In an avenue under blooming
chestnuts he slowed his steps, strolled dreamily, softly humming as
he went along.
Suddenly he stopped, hesitated a moment. He
turned around, looked quickly both ways, swung up onto a low wall,
sprang down to the other side and, ran through a still garden up to
a wide red villa.
He stopped there, pursed his lips and his
wild short whistle chased through the night, twice, three times,
one right after the other. Somewhere a hound began to bark. Above
him a window softly opened, a blonde woman in a white nightgown
appeared. Her voice whispered through the darkness.
“Is that you?”
And he said, “Yes, yes!”
She scurried back into the room, quickly came
back again, took her handkerchief, wrapped something in it and
threw it down.
“There my love–the key! But be quiet–very
quiet! Don’t wake up my parents.”
Frank Braun took the key out, climbed the
small marble steps, opened the door and went inside. While he
groped softly and cautiously upward in the dark his young lips
moved:
“ John of Nepomuk
Protector from dangerous floods.
Protect me from love!
Let it strike another
Leave me in earthly peace
John of Nepomuk
Protect me from love!”
Chapter Four
Gives the particulars of how they found
Alraune’s mother
F RANK Braun sat above on the ramparts of Festung
Ehrenbreitstein, a fortified castle overlooking Koblentz. He had
sat there for two months already and still had three more to sit,
through the entire summer. Just because he had shot a hole through
the air, and through his opponent as well.
He was bored. He sat up high on the parapet
of the tower, legs dangling over the edge looking at the wide broad
view of the Rhine from the steep cliffs. He looked into the blue
expanse and yawned, exactly like his three comrades that sat next
to him. No one spoke a word.
They wore yellow canvas jackets that the
soldiers had given them. Their attendants had painted large black
numbers on the backs of their jackets to signify their cells. No.’s
two, fourteen and six sat there; Frank Braun wore the number
seven.
Then a troop of foreigners came up into
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