On the Night of the Seventh Moon (7 page)

“You must visit our
Pfarrkirche,
” Ilse told me, pointing out the church. “The Processional Cross is locked away but it will be brought out to show you, I daresay.”

“It's so exciting to be back,” I told her.

“We're just in time for the Night of the Seventh Moon,” she said.

I could hear his voice then distinctly.

“The Seventh Moon,” I cried, “when Loke, the God of Mischief, is abroad and routed by the All Father Odin.”

Ilse laughed delightedly. “Your mother made you aware of our legends, I see,” she said. “This, though, is rather a local one.”

We had passed through the center of the town and had reached its outskirts. The house was a mile or so from the
Altstadt.
We turned in at a drive where the fir trees which lined it were thick and rather stubby and pulled up before a porch.

The house was about the same size as the hunting lodge and not unlike it; there was the hall on the walls of which hung spears and guns, and a wooden staircase led to a landing on which were the bedrooms. I was taken to mine, and hot water was brought; I washed and went down to a meal of sausages, sauerkraut, and rye bread which Ilse and I took alone. Ernst was resting. The journey had been so exhausting for him, Ilse explained. I was probably a little tired, too, more so than I realized.

I had never felt less so.

Ilse smiled indulgently. She was delighted by my pleasure. I wondered what she would think if she knew its true source and that my excitement was due to the fact that I was hoping to meet Siegfried again.

That afternoon we went in the trap for a trip into the forest and I was enchanted by the mist of blue gentians and pink orchids. I wanted to gather them but Ilse said they would soon die if I did. So I left them.

I slept little that night. I was so excited. I couldn't get out of my mind the belief that I was going to see him again. He would come hunting and we would meet in the forest. We must. It couldn't possibly happen that we never met again and I could not stay here forever, so it had to happen soon.

I looked eagerly about me during the ride but we saw hardly anyone—only an old woman collecting sticks for firewood and a cowherd with his cows whose bells about their necks tinkled melodiously as they walked.

The next day I went into the market which was being decorated with flags because this was the night of the full moon—the seventh of the year; the night of festivities when the God Loke was supposed to be abroad.

“You'll see the girls in their red skirts and white embroidered blouses and yellow tasseled aprons,” Ilse told me. “Some of the men will be masked; they may be dressed as gods in doublet and hose and light capes; they'll be masked and wear horns on their heads. You've probably seen the pictures of the gods in your mother's books. They'll dance and play tricks. The idea being that none will know which represents Loke and which the All Father. You must see it. We'll go into the market square as soon as the moon rises.”

I had not seen Ernst all day. He was very self-effacing and so quiet that one could almost believe he was not there. “He has changed a great deal since his illness,” explained Ilse. “He suffers a great deal more than he admits.”

So Ernst stayed in his room and Ilse and I were together most of the time. We talked a great deal—I more than she. I suppose Aunt Caroline was right when she said I talked too much; Ilse was the perfect
listener, and I did not notice that she was not so much exchanging chatter as being an audience for me.

And so came the evening of that second day—the prelude to the Night of the Seventh Moon. We had eaten what she called the English high tea as it was too early for dinner and she did not wish us to be out too late when the excitement was supposed to warm up and the fun might get too fierce.

After this high tea she came to my room, her face grave.

“I can't allow Ernst to go out,” she said. “He's not well enough.”

“So there'll be just the two of us.”

“I . . . I hardly think we ought to.”

“Not . . . go!”

“Well, on occasions like these . . . two women on their own . . .”

“Oh, but we
must
go.”

She hesitated. “Well, we must not stay late. We'll slip out to the market square and we'll see the start of it. What a pity we haven't a house on the square. Then you could watch from a window. Ernst will be very anxious. He won't rest till we're back.”

“Isn't there some man who could escort us? If we need one.”

She shook her head. “This is not really our home. We have just taken this house for a holiday. We have been here before but we don't really have friends in the neighborhood. You understand . . .”

“Of course,” I said. “Well, we'll go early and not upset Ernst.”

So that was how we came to be standing in the square with the revelers all about us. It was about eight o'clock in the evening. Overhead hung the great moon—the seventh moon of the year and there seemed to be something mystical about it. It was a strange scene; Naphtha flares burned from iron jets lighting the faces of the people. There were crowds in the square; people were signing and calling to each other. I caught sight of a man masked, with the horned headdress which Ilse had described and I recognized it at once from pictures my mother had shown me. Then I saw another and another.

Ilse squeezed my hand. “What do you think of it?”

“Wonderful,” I said.

“Keep close. The crowd's thickening and they may become overexcited.”

“It's early yet,” I told her.

I saw a girl seized by one of the horn-headed men and go dancing off with him.

“The excitement grows. You'll see.”

“What happens if the sky is overcast and there's no moon.”

“Some say that Loke is sulking and won't come out, others that he's playing one of his mischievous tricks and then one has to be especially careful.”

A group of fiddlers arrived, started to play and the dancing began.

I don't know quite how it happened; it was the way these things do happen in crowds, I supposed. One minute I was standing there by Ilse's side watching the laughing and dancing swirl of people and then next there was chaos.

It began with a sudden splash. Someone had been thrown into the pond; there was a rush toward it and in the
mêlée
Ilse was no longer beside me.

I was firmly gripped by the hand and I felt an arm about my waist. A voice which made my heart hammer said in my ear: “Lenchen!” I turned and looked up into that face; I saw the masked eyes and the laughing mouth. I could never be mistaken.

“Siegfried,” I whispered.

“Himself,” he answered. “Come . . . out of the crowd.”

He kept his grip on me and we were soon on the edge of it. He took my chin in his hands. “Still the same Lenchen.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Celebrating the Night of the Seventh Moon,” he said. “But this is an even more important occasion. The return of Lenchen.”

He was drawing me farther and farther away from the crowd and we were in a small street in which there were only a few revelers.

I said: “Where are you taking me?”

“Let's go back to the lodge,” he said. “There'll be supper waiting there. You shall wrap yourself in a blue velvet robe and loosen your hair.”

“I must find Ilse.”

“Who?”

“My cousin who brought me here. She will be worried.”

“You are so precious that there must always be those to worry about you. First it is nuns and now this . . . Ilse.”

“I must find her at once.”

“Do you think you will, in that crowd?”

“Of course.” I tried to withdraw my hand, but he would not release me.

“We will go back and if it is possible to find her, we will.”

“Come then. She was anxious. She thought we might not be able to come because her husband wasn't well enough. She must have visualized something like this.”

“Well, she did lose you and I found you. Surely I should have some reward for that?”

“Reward?” I repeated. He laughed and put an arm about me.

I said primly: “How shall I introduce you to Ilse?”

“When the time comes I'll introduce myself.”

“There seems to me a great mystery about you. First you appear as Siegfried and now as Odin, or is it Loke?”

“That is what you have to find out. It's part of the game.”

He had some sort of magic which put a spell on me; he was already making me stop worrying about Ilse. But I remembered how anxious she had been about our coming; and now she would be very worried indeed.

We had reached the square, the dancing seemed to have become more frenzied, and there was no sign of Ilse. Someone trod on my heel and my shoe came off. I stopped and stooped. He was just behind me. I told him what had happened.

“I'll get it.”

He stooped but it wasn't there, and the crowd was so great that we were jostled along.

“Now,” he said, “you have lost both a cousin and a shoe.” His eyes gleamed suddenly. “What next will you lose?”

I said quickly: “I must go back to the house.”

“Allow me to escort you.”

“You . . . you have come for the excitement of all this. I don't want to take you away from it.”

“That would be quite impossible. The excitement of this night is where you are.”

I was really frightened. I must get away. Common sense urged me to.

“I must get back.”

“If that is what you really want then you must. Come with me.”

I limped along beside him.

“How far is the house?” he asked.

“It's about a mile from the center of the town.”

“I daresay the road is bad. None of the roads is good in these parts. Something should be done about it. I have a horse in the inn yard there. You shall ride with me as you did on another occasion.”

I assured myself that it would be very difficult walking minus a shoe so I went with him to the inn yard and there was the horse; he placed me on it and as he had done on that other occasion we started off.

He didn't speak as we went along; he held me firmly against him and my excitement was almost unendurable. I felt I was living in a dream but I suddenly suspected that we were not going toward the house.

I pulled away from him.

“Where are we going?”

“You'll know soon.”

“You said you were going to take me back to Ilse.”

“I said no such thing.”

“You said if that was what I wanted.”

“Exactly, but it's not what you want. You don't want me to take you back and say ‘Here is your cousin, just as you left her apart from the loss of one shoe of course.' ”

“Put me down,” I commanded.

“Here! We're in the forest. You'd be lost. It's not the night for young ladies to be about alone.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Surprises are almost more amusing than the expected.”

“You are taking me away . . . somewhere.”

“We are not very far from my hunting lodge.”

“No,” I said firmly.
“No.”

“No? But you really did enjoy your last visit.”

“I want to go straight back to my cousin's house. How dare you try to take me away against my will.”

“Be truthful, Lenchen. It's not against your will. Remember the wishbone? You wished that we should meet again, didn't you?”

“Not . . . not like this.”

“How else?”

“This is so . . . irregular.”

“You are talking like those aunts of yours.”

“How could you know? You've never met them.”

“My dear little Lenchen, you told me so much on that night. Do you remember? You sat there with the blue velvet robe about you and you talked and talked. You were so disappointed when we said good night.”

“And you didn't even come to say goodbye.”

“But it was not goodbye.”

“How could you know that?”

“I did know it. I was determined that we should meet again. It would have been such a tragedy if we had not.”

“You are talking to lull me to security. I want to go back. I must go back to my cousin.”

He stopped the horse, and suddenly he kissed me. It was the strangest kiss I had ever received. But then who had ever kissed me before? Father on the forehead, mother on both cheeks, a peck once on my return from Aunt Caroline. Aunt Matilda did not kiss at all; she had heard that it was not a practice to be unnecessarily indulged in as it was a means of passing on germs. But this kiss seemed to drain me of all resistance; it made me feel exalted and expectant all at once. It was cruel and yet tender; it was passionate and caressing.

I drew away and said shakily, “Take me back—at once.”

“You should not have ventured out on the Night of the Seventh Moon,” he said; and he laughed rather cruelly I thought; his eyes gleamed through the mask and the horns made him look like a Viking raider.

I said angrily: “Whom do you represent tonight?”

“Just myself,” he replied.

“You seem to have the impression that you are some invader who can seize women and carry them off and behave as you like.”

“And don't you think I can?” He put his face close to mine, laughing.

“No,” I cried fiercely. “Not with me. Perhaps with some, but not with me.”

“Lenchen,” he said, “do you swear that that is not what you want?”

“I don't understand you.”

“Swear by the moon, by the seventh moon, that your greatest wish is for me to take you back to your cousin's house.”

“But of course you must . . .”

He brought his face closer to mine. “It is dangerous to swear by the seventh moon.”

“Do you think I'm afraid of fairy stories or of you?”