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beating of what sounded like a drum.
Ah, dear God, how can this be,
That all things wear and waste away'
Cautiously, I peeked inside.
At first, all I saw were rubble and rot, Then, partly hidden in the shadows, I saw a man who was anything but a skeleton. On
the contrary, he was a mountain of flesh, a great barrel of a fellow whose arms and legs were as thick as tree limbs, and with a
cub-like belly before at Legs extended he was sitting with his back propped against a crumbling baptismal font. He was,
moreover, garbed like no man I had ever seen before. Upon his head was a hat which seemed to have been split into two, like
the points on a cocks comb. At the end of these points hung bells. Moreover, the flaps of his hat came down along both sides
of his face, encircling it, then tied below, making his cheeks plump.
As for his face, most striking was a bushy beard of such ruddy red it seemed as if the lower part of his face was aflame. He
also had a large, red and fleshy nose and hairy eyebrows of the same hue, as well as a cherry-lipped mouth big even for such
a face as his.
He wore a wide-sleeved tunic of blade, and ankle-length hose with a different colour for each leg, one blue, the other red,
though the colours were faded. His brown leather boots were long and somewhat pointy at the tips. Yet, for all this rare
colour, his clothing was ragged, torn and patched in many parts, enough so that I could see his dirty, hairy skin in several
spots.
A dagger was fastened to his hip. On the ground by his side lay a fat sack, which contained, I prayed, food.
His eyes were dosed, but clearly he was not asleep. Instead, he was singing raucously while beating a small drum with his
massive hands. As I looked on, he continued to tap the drum with his big fingers, bleating out his song. After repeating the
words a few more times, he let loose a booming laugh as if he'd just heard a rare jest. He laughed so hard he put down his
drum, and opened his eyes.
Compared to the rest of him, these eyes were small and wet. Old pig's eyes, I thought, shrewd and wily. But what he must
have seen was me, staring at him. For he dropped his drum and his hand went right to his dagger.
We gazed at one another in silence.
'Good morrow, lad, he cried out, even as his hand eased off his weapon. 'May God keep you well.
'God be with you too, sir, I managed to say, though I was in awe of such a monstrous man.
And where, by St Sixtus, do you come from?' he asked. 'Not, I suppose, from this godforsaken village.
I shook my head.
'Then what place!' he said.
'Far... away, I answered evasively.
'East or west!'
I pointed in the direction I had come from,
Scrutinising me, head cocked to one side, he ruffled his beard, while a sly smile played his lips. 'You have a gifted way of
speech, he said, 'To what purpose do you travel?'
I m going to meet my father, I said, this being the answer I'd decided to give if asked. 'And, pray tell, does this father of
yours live dose!'
'In... some large town.
He considered me for a while with his shrewd, wet eyes. 'So, if I understand you, boy, he said at last, 'you know only
somewhat from where you come, but go towards ... some other place.
'As God is true, sir.
'Do you have any idea how you look!'
'No, sir.'
'Your tunic is equal parts dirt, rags and rents. Your face is scratched and mucked, as are your naked arms and legs. Your hair
is long and unkempt. I can barely count your fingers for the caked filth. In short, you're more cur than boy. How old are you!'
he asked. 'And, as God is merciful, don't be so vague.
'Thirteen, about.
'About,' he returned with something like a sneer, plus another scratch of his beard.
I said nothing, trying to make up my mind if I should run away. But, still hoping that such a barrel of a man must have some
food, I stayed.
For his part, he continued to consider me steadily with his small intense eyes. 'Might you', he said, as if reading my mind, 'be
hungry!'
My mouth began to water. 'Yes, sir, as God is kind and if it pleases you. 'Hunger never pleases me, he roared. 'Though our
great if doddering king surely means well, his loyal subjects go hungry. And why! Because the officials of this most holy
kingdom are all corrupt gluttons. His councillors and parliaments - all dressed in that new Italian cloth, velvet - sit upon the
backs of the poor and eat their till of venison and sweetmeats, Not to mention the Flemish foreigners who loot our country's
gold. But such is the will of our gracious majesty, that poor souls like you and I are not part of his daily reckoning. "It is as it
is," is his motto. Mine is, Let it be as it may be!
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