Hiddensee: A Tale of the Once and Future Nutcracker(13)

After an evening meal, Pfarrer Johannes went from house to house and interviewed some of his flock. Then he came home and locked himself in his study and didn’t come out till the morning. He intercepted Dirk in the path by the churchyard. Dirk was airing yesterday’s cleaning rags on the gravestones.

“Dirk,” said Pfarrer Johannes. “I need ecclesiastical advice in this matter. You are to carry my complaint to the Roman Bishop’s residence in Meersburg. I will include a letter to introduce you. What is your last name?”

All these years in, and this was the first time the minister had asked. Dirk could only say, “I am a foundling.”

The minister turned over the packet of correspondence in his hands. “I can’t call you Dirk Foundling,” he said. His voice betrayed an unaccustomed tenderness. Perhaps he was ashamed of his lack of curiosity up till now.

“You could baptize me with a new name,” suggested the boy.

Pfarrer Johannes wasn’t one to joke about matters of faith and good works. He stood in the shadows of the arborvitae. Young children in the nearby school-yard screamed in pleasure, torturing some poor idiot smaller than they were. The clock in the village tower sounded the hour. A brown bird hopped on the edge of a stone urn, and chirped.

“Dirk Drosselmeier,” said Pfarrer Johannes Albrecht. Whether this was a christening or not, Dirk didn’t know. He had no reason to argue, though. A fellow needed two names, one for affection and the other for civic duty. “Get your things, young Herr Drosselmeier.”

“I’ll be coming back?” he asked.

“God knows the answer to that question.”

Dirk had an extra shirt in his nook. He packed it in a leathern satchel that Pfarrer Johannes gave to him. Into the pack Dirk also put a hunk of bread, some ham, a round of cheese. He remembered his gnome-hasped knife just in time, so he could cut through the cheese’s rind.

“How will I find Meersburg?” he asked.

“Come. I shall walk with you to the right road and point you on your way.” The minister sighed. “If you see that bear in the woods, tell it I harbor no ill will.” Dirk had nothing to say to this. He had learned that Pfarrer Johannes was kind, but he couldn’t tell when Pfarrer Johannes was making a joke. The minister went on: “I see, Drosselmeier, you still have your crutch.”

“Yes.”

“I remember what we said about that when you arrived. I told you to throw away your fanciful stories and your need for vivid paintings and images of the life of Christ and the way of faith. I asked you if that staff was yours, and you said you couldn’t yet tell me. Have you learned anything while you were here? Have you outgrown childish things, Drosselmeier? Now you are getting toward being a man? Can you throw your staff away?”

“It fits me nicely now,” said Dirk. “It is not too big any longer.”

“All in good time, then. Do you realize I will miss you?”

“Not too much,” replied Dirk.

The minister shook his head fondly and waited for Dirk to say something more, but the boy had nothing to add. So Pfarrer Johannes kissed the boy and sent him on his way.





Bildungsroman





16.


The worthy minister had pointed out the only road that tended toward Meersburg. A bit of a hike; Dirk would be leaving the Kingdom of Bavaria for the Grand Duchy of Baden. It would take several days, depending on how lucky Dirk was in getting a lift. And in getting accurate directions.

“Lucky?” Dirk had asked.

Pfarrer Johannes had corrected himself. “Blessed.”

Luck and grace: an unmatching pair of boots with which to address a long dusty road.

The early summer day was fine. Dirk minded his gait. For a while the path ran between golden meadows and fields. Barns and farmhouses squatted among them, stout with prosperity. The world was at work. An early harvest of hay on that slope, with hired workers stopping to break bread and share ale at noon. A family tending a fenced garden of peas and beans. Dirk asked for no portion. He was happy to anticipate his own bread and cheese.

Before long the road left the arable terrain behind. An airy woods of aspen and larch closed around the boy. He was to follow the road toward Lindau and then ask for directions to Meersburg.

Making his way around the brow of a ridge, Dirk saw the three arches of a stone bridge spanning a vigorous stream. The path before him diverged. The main route led over the bridge to the far bank. The second path kept to the side on which Dirk had been traveling. It dipped underneath the nearer arch, into darkness and out the other side. Deeper into the forest.

He knew which way he was meant to go, but not which way he would go. He paused to think about it.

A brown bird came down from some bower and landed upon the rustic rail of the bridge. She sat there, almost encouragingly, were he to think about it like a poet. Come, come this way, bright world ahead, she seemed to want to say, in short bursts of song.

And yet what now is hidden in shadows below may become more welcome to you in the long run, growled a voice in his pocket. This is my third and final warning. You can leave the path entirely, don’t you know that? Pick up your bearskin.

How I have grown, thought Dirk to himself; that I can now hold two contrary thoughts in my head.

All paths lead to the same place, and that place is whatever comes next.