Book One -- St. Martins
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| Draw the chickens! The feathers can wait! |
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Eve in her innocence saw the serpent as one more
lovely thing God had made for her.
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| “Kneel beneath this cloth,” instructed the
Provost. Somehow Martin’s gasping
wordless confession had left him in a state of grace and this black cloth was
his tomb. “No!” he cried in his deep and silent heart, “I am not dead. I am
alive!” Mass was said for his soul, ending with the prayer that Martin’s soul
rest in peace.
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Book Two -- Zurich
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| The city was a walled jewel between two blue strands
of stream against a shining lake.
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“Don’t stop now!”
someone yelled. Making a grand gesture with his right arm, Martin slowly drew a
ladder. The people cheered.
“Good work, young man!”
said one old man in the crowd.
“I knew it was the story of Jacob!”
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Martin saw only the girl
standing beside a chair waiting for her mother to be seated. Her brown hair was
parted in the middle, drawn back from her face and covered with the
lace-trimmed cap worn only by a maid. The pure whiteness of her skin was
interrupted only by pink roses on her cheeks, and when she lifted her face to
greet him he saw sweet blue eyes fringed with dark lashes above a friendly,
open smile. Her lips were the pure carmine Michele said had no place in nature,
and here it was, as natural as morning.
Book Three - The Sagentobel
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| “You may believe that you are Martin, an artist, but
for some time you have been Martin, a leper. No man is whole until he is able
to live as himself...” |
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| He came upon a tree that had outreached the
competitive struggle of the maple, birch and pine behind it. A magnificent
giant with a wide trunk of lucent green, awash in light, its lowest branches so
far above the lower growth that they pulled sunlight to the wildflowers on the
forest floor. Martin sat with his back against the tree. Above the highest branches,
blue sky faded to lavender.
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Book Four -- Gfenn
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“There are no enemies, Martin, save Satan. The rest
are teachers, God’s messengers. I found only Anna’s father, what was
his name? He stood in front of a group all carrying torches, fiends in the
darkness..."
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He chose the darkest day, the shortest of the year.
After breakfast he went directly to the chapel, his pouch filled with the good
black charcoal he had made and what remained of brightly colored pastels he had
made in Zürich. Above the small arched window, he drew the head of Christ, the
window forming the body of the Lord. To the left of Jesus, Martin drew John the
Baptist; to Christ’s right, St. Lazarus, the leper leaning heavily on his
crutch, shaded from the heat by an apple tree. Each movement of Martin’s hand
took his thoughts to this wall and restored his life. If the Commander didn’t
like it, Martin had only to wash it away.
