Everyone Knows Your Mother Is a Witch by Rivka Galchen

Author:Rivka Galchen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harper Perennial
Published: 2021-05-05T00:00:00+00:00

Simon, you will remember already I was no longer allowed to collect earnings from my land, all my holdings were under the control of the ducal governor’s office. The Hallers alone were asking for a thousand thalers in damages, more than triple the price of my home. The Werewolf and her clan likely expected more, though on different days I heard different numbers. She liked to go around saying she didn’t care about money, only about her health and safety. The inspectors, in their blue uniforms, came and paced around the home I inherited from my dear father. They measured the windows. They wrote down in their ledgers every spoon and mouse as best as I could tell. I’ll forever be grateful to you, Simon, for keeping me company in that low moment. I don’t even remember if I won or lost those rounds we played. You have always been reserved, and I have respected that, and for that reason all the more I was gratified to hear you rage against how I was treated, against the destructive power of rumor, against how again and again you saw people ready to see monsters, not ready to stand by, not ready to see somebody through. Your rage brought you to a state that was almost a trance, or fever. You knocked over the backgammon board, and I can still hear the clatter of the stones on the ground. I had not seen that side of you before. I confess it calmed me.

Perhaps that’s why I recall what a perfectly magnificent October day it was. The sky was bright, the air smelled of wood. I had one small silver spoon, and a small collection of lace and ribbons that I had been meaning for some time to bring as a gift to Agnes, so I felt I was in the right to have removed it from my home in order to bring it to her. I headed across town to their home. It was on the day of the slaughtering of the pigs. As I walked through the town square, I saw the rope maker’s children playing with a pig’s inflated bladder. In front of the scribe’s house, a wooden frame had been set up with a swine corpse tied to it in elegant splay. The pig’s hind feet were nearer to the sky, and the front feet toward the ground. A young man was on the ground, holding a pan to collect the last bits of blood draining. The splayed legs made it look like a headless near-human figure. The kidneys were still attached, looking like decorative flourishes on a fine dress. Where was the head of this pig? Maybe already in a pot somewhere.

I passed by and went to visit the six-fingered baker, Jerg. If he couldn’t pay me, he would at least give me some rolls. He looked alarmed when I entered. He said, “Frau Kepler, it’s been a terrible time.” The bakery smelled of apple strudel, of cinnamon. “I never said anything bad about you.

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