sickness. Some were lost to marriage. The wandering life—the mummer’s life—is fragile at best.” He shrugged. “In any case, I’d rather be alone.”
“Then, why …?” I faltered.
“Why, what? Speak out.”
“Then, why do you need me?” I said.
In response he reached into his sack and pulled out the leather balls again. As before, he tossed them round and round, so that they seemed to float about his hands.
“Here,” he said, holding out the balls to me. “Let me see how skilled you are.”
“Me?”
“Of course, you.
“I can’t do such things.”
“Saint Crispin,” he barked, “stand before me.”
Reluctantly, I took my place before him.
“Now, pay attention,” he said. Beginning with one ball, he demonstrated how to toss it back and forth between his hands. He told me to do the same.
I did so, clumsily at first, but under his insistent commands, I began to grasp his method.
“There! Now,” Bear said, “watch this.”
He took up a second ball, and along with the first, began to throw it back and forth. “Do that,” he said.
Tossing two balls between my hands was quite another matter. I could barely manage it.
“Again,” he shouted. “And again.”
When I failed he was always severe, insisting I try over and over again. But, at last, the balls began to fly for me.
After sitting back and watching me intently with his shrewd eyes, he said, “Enough. We need to move on. You’ll practice more. You’ll add more balls as you go. Music, too. And I vow, by the joy of Christ, you’ll learn it well.”
“But… why?” I said.
“You shall see.”
We continued along the muddy road. This time, as we went, Bear sang at the top of his voice:
“Loudly sings the cuckoo!
Grows the seed and blooms the meadow!
Comes the spring,
The woods do sing!
Sing, cuckoo, now; sing, cuckoo!
Sing, cuckoo, now; sing, cuckoo!”
Then from his sack he took out a music pipe—a recorder, he called it—and began to play the same melody, after which he sang the verse again. “Sing,” he commanded. “I don’t know how.”
“Crispin, if I bid you to sing, you’ll sing,” he said.
Haltingly, I tried. “Louder.”
I complied. As we went along, I was convinced more than ever that Bear was mad.
22
T OWARD EARLY EVENING BEAR found a secluded spot some paces off the road. There he ordered me to stand against a tree.
I hesitated.
“Do as I say,” he said.
When I did, he pulled a twist of rope from his sack, and to my alarm proceeded to tie my hands behind the tree.
“What are you doing?” I cried, seeing this as confirmation of his madness.
“I need to fetch us some food,” he said, pulling the knot tight. “You’ll only interfere. And I don’t want you running off”
“But I swore I wouldn’t,” I said. “I beg you, don’t leave me here.”
“Pha,” he mocked. “As God in Heaven knows, both wheat and trust take a full season to grow.”
Without another word, he went off, leaving me alone. More than once I tested the knot, determined that despite my vow, I’d run off. But no matter how I tried, I could not get loose. Instead my arms grew numb.
How long he was gone I don’t know. Enough to fill my heart with more misery and make me swear violent oaths at him. I even screamed for help, though I knew help would never come.
But when I caught sight of the sack he had left behind, I told myself he was bound to return, if not for me, for it. Sure enough, he did. What’s more, a large, fat rabbit dangled from his hands.
“There, Saint Crispin,” he said when he came into view, a great grin on his red-bearded face, “now you can see that for good or ill, I always keep my word.”
He untied me. Faint from standing so long, my arms aching from being tied, I immediately sat down.
“Do you know the penalty for poaching?” he said as he worked his dagger skillfully to skin the rabbit.
I was so angry, I only shook my head.
“To feed us I’ve put both ours lives
“Then, why …?” I faltered.
“Why, what? Speak out.”
“Then, why do you need me?” I said.
In response he reached into his sack and pulled out the leather balls again. As before, he tossed them round and round, so that they seemed to float about his hands.
“Here,” he said, holding out the balls to me. “Let me see how skilled you are.”
“Me?”
“Of course, you.
“I can’t do such things.”
“Saint Crispin,” he barked, “stand before me.”
Reluctantly, I took my place before him.
“Now, pay attention,” he said. Beginning with one ball, he demonstrated how to toss it back and forth between his hands. He told me to do the same.
I did so, clumsily at first, but under his insistent commands, I began to grasp his method.
“There! Now,” Bear said, “watch this.”
He took up a second ball, and along with the first, began to throw it back and forth. “Do that,” he said.
Tossing two balls between my hands was quite another matter. I could barely manage it.
“Again,” he shouted. “And again.”
When I failed he was always severe, insisting I try over and over again. But, at last, the balls began to fly for me.
After sitting back and watching me intently with his shrewd eyes, he said, “Enough. We need to move on. You’ll practice more. You’ll add more balls as you go. Music, too. And I vow, by the joy of Christ, you’ll learn it well.”
“But… why?” I said.
“You shall see.”
We continued along the muddy road. This time, as we went, Bear sang at the top of his voice:
“Loudly sings the cuckoo!
Grows the seed and blooms the meadow!
Comes the spring,
The woods do sing!
Sing, cuckoo, now; sing, cuckoo!
Sing, cuckoo, now; sing, cuckoo!”
Then from his sack he took out a music pipe—a recorder, he called it—and began to play the same melody, after which he sang the verse again. “Sing,” he commanded. “I don’t know how.”
“Crispin, if I bid you to sing, you’ll sing,” he said.
Haltingly, I tried. “Louder.”
I complied. As we went along, I was convinced more than ever that Bear was mad.
22
T OWARD EARLY EVENING BEAR found a secluded spot some paces off the road. There he ordered me to stand against a tree.
I hesitated.
“Do as I say,” he said.
When I did, he pulled a twist of rope from his sack, and to my alarm proceeded to tie my hands behind the tree.
“What are you doing?” I cried, seeing this as confirmation of his madness.
“I need to fetch us some food,” he said, pulling the knot tight. “You’ll only interfere. And I don’t want you running off”
“But I swore I wouldn’t,” I said. “I beg you, don’t leave me here.”
“Pha,” he mocked. “As God in Heaven knows, both wheat and trust take a full season to grow.”
Without another word, he went off, leaving me alone. More than once I tested the knot, determined that despite my vow, I’d run off. But no matter how I tried, I could not get loose. Instead my arms grew numb.
How long he was gone I don’t know. Enough to fill my heart with more misery and make me swear violent oaths at him. I even screamed for help, though I knew help would never come.
But when I caught sight of the sack he had left behind, I told myself he was bound to return, if not for me, for it. Sure enough, he did. What’s more, a large, fat rabbit dangled from his hands.
“There, Saint Crispin,” he said when he came into view, a great grin on his red-bearded face, “now you can see that for good or ill, I always keep my word.”
He untied me. Faint from standing so long, my arms aching from being tied, I immediately sat down.
“Do you know the penalty for poaching?” he said as he worked his dagger skillfully to skin the rabbit.
I was so angry, I only shook my head.
“To feed us I’ve put both ours lives
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