Q by Luther Blissett (most recommended books txt) 📖

Antwerp, 5_th__ May 1538_

‘The city was calm, Michael Weiss, my host, was generous, and my “wife” was amazing. And just for a change I had a new name. I owed Martin more than I could have given him in return. The circle of doctors whose company Cellarius kept included people who were truly anomalous for that repressive age, They wanted to debate.

‘Wolfgang Fabricius, known as Capito, was the one I was most curious about. Although he claimed to be a fervent devotee of Luther, he had a certain regard for the ones who were starting to be called Anabaptists, and seemed to want to include them within reformed Christianity. He asked me lots of questions, with a curiosity that seemed sincere to me. He had read and admired the writings of Denck. I didn’t tell him I’d known the old rogue, but I enjoyed testing his tolerance with the occasional provocation.

‘I also met Otto Brunfels, the botanist, an expert in the curative capacities of plants, who was compiling a universal herbarium and was interested in the natural world. I couldn’t extract a great deal of information from him about his faith, but I sensed that he must have sympathised with the peasants at the time of the revolt. He was a mild character, opposed to violence, filled with guilt for the way the insurrection had ended. One day, when our mutual trust must have seemed solid enough to him, he even made me read some notes for a work he was writing, in which he argued at these were times in which true Christians, as in the time of Nero, would do better to hide their rites in the catacombs of the soul, concealing their faith and pretending to sway with the prevailing wind as they awaited the coming of the Lord. This private religion of his made me smile from time to time, but it was interesting to talk to him.

‘The most difficult of them was Martin Bucer. I met him only once, at Capito’s house. A gloomy, serious man, terrified of the ruin of the times. Resistant to life.

‘It was an elegant city, Strasbourg, cultivated and at the same time peaceful and remote from the hatred that was ripening beyond its walls.’

Eloi pours me some water so that I can continue. He doesn’t open his mouth, he silently savours each word, his eyes sparkle in the shadow like a cat’s eyes.

‘Ursula was a strange, witchlike woman. Raven-haired, sharp nose, a face both hard and sensual. We couldn’t pretend for long: passion took us by the hand, it drove us wild straight away. She had no history either, I didn’t know where she came from, her accent didn’t give me a clue, and I didn’t want to know, that’s how it was, simple. She crept over to me, sinuous and silent as a wildcat, pressed her breast to my back and then I noticed her desire. What gripped us both was that uncertainty, not knowing. If we had been somewhere else it would have been different, everything would have been.’

‘Did you love her?’ His voice is hoarse.

‘I think so. The way you love when you have no past, all you’ve got is an endless present, promising nothing. God no longer had anything to do with our lives: they had been erased completely, maybe she too carried the memory of a disaster, of some terrible misfortune. Maybe she, too, had died once before. Often, at night, after making love, I thought I could read it in her eyes, that suffering. Yes, we really did love each other. She was the only person to whom I could confide all my impressions about the circle of characters I moved among during the day. She didn’t say a word, she listened attentively, then all of a sudden she would confirm my uncertain judgement with some lapidary phrase, a phrase which, a moment later, I found myself agreeing with entirely, as though she had read my thoughts, as though her reasoning were quicker than my own. And I am sure that that is how it was. She didn’t have Ottilie’s angry courage, although sometimes, in her rage, I saw the worry of that great woman, my master’s wife. She was different, but nonetheless extraordinary, one of those creatures who make you thank God for granting you the chance to walk the earth by their side.’

I stare at the dusk that is entering our study, and once again I see that sinuous body.

‘We knew from the first moment. One day we would wake up somewhere else, far apart, for no necessary reason, following the twisted path of our lives. Ursula was a season, a fifth season of the soul, half autumn, half spring.’