“That’s him,” whispered an excited elderly woman in a bonnet, clasping her hand to her mouth. “God protect us! They say his black dog is the devil himself. The doctor charmed him with a pentagram, and now Satan must serve him!”
“How creepy that man looks!” groaned a girl next to her, shuddering. “Almost as if he were a demon, too. In Erfurt he made the beautiful Helen appear, and then the students all ran after her, right out into the street. And he turned the hunchbacked old deacon young again.”
“I wish he’d do that to my Hans,” sighed the older woman, fidgeting with her blouse. She turned her gaze back to the man, who had just reached the front of the stage.
The doctor was tall and haggard, wearing a black-and-blue cape embroidered with stars that glistened in the light of the torches. He was no longer young, his pronounced cheekbones shaded by a floppy hat. Two piercing black eyes shone from the dark, the left one especially menacing. His hands were covered in smooth leather gloves, making them look somewhat clawlike. Now the man raised both arms, like a priest during the holy Communion. A loud voice that didn’t belong to him rang out from somewhere in the background.
“Watch and be amazed, honorable citizens, because no lesser man than the world-famous Doctor Johann Georg Faustus has arrived!” declared the speaker. “He traveled the hot lands on the other side of the vast ocean, studied with Avicenna and the great Albertus Magnus, escaped the hellish breath of the Sphinx, and was graced with the honor of foretelling our beloved emperor Maximilian a long and healthy life. And now he is here in Bretten to share with you his skills. If anyone would like to know their fate, please step forward. The doctor will cast your horoscope for just two hellers! Upon my soul—the stars don’t lie!”
On the signal, Greta struck a piece of tin with one hand, creating a loud thunderclap, and with the other hand she swung a ratchet. The stage consisted of several crates pushed together; panels of dark-blue fabric adorned with pentagrams and mythical creatures formed the backdrop on three sides.
For almost a whole week they had been staying in Bretten, about thirty miles south of Heidelberg, and each of their shows had filled the market square to capacity. No one saw Greta behind the walls of fabric as she used tin, ratchet, cymbals, and a bagpipe to provide the sound effects for the speech delivered by Karl Wagner, Faust’s young assistant.
“Step forward, brave men and women!” Karl continued, moving out onto the stage. “He who hesitates will regret his mistake!”
The doctor’s loyal assistant was in his midtwenties, with straight hair that reached down to his shoulders. He was shaved smoothly and was so handsome that several young women in the audience were starting to whisper. Perhaps they could smell the perfume made from essence of violets that Karl always used a little too heavy-handedly.
“The first brave candidates receive a bottle of Doctor Faustus’s Original Theriac for free, and a glowing prophecy on top of that,” shouted Karl, winking at the blushing ladies. “Who knows—maybe one or two of you will meet your future husband before the year’s out.”
Some spectators now climbed the stage and had their palms read by the famous Doctor Faustus, who was sitting on a stool.
Greta set down the sheet of tin and the ratchet and prepared for her act. She smoothed her skirt, which was sewn together from colored patches of fabric, as was typical for jugglers; then she laced up her tight bodice and tied back her stubborn blonde hair with a scarf. Her costume was like armor to her, shielding what was inside. Just last spring she had turned twenty. Sometimes, when no one was watching, Greta studied her reflection in the polished piece of tin and wondered what to think of that young woman in front of her. She couldn’t stand the freckles that covered her skin like specks of muck, especially in the summer, but she liked the curve of her lips and her small nose. The bodice she wore for the shows made her look more feminine than she felt. The doctor often told her that he loved her laughter, and then he’d gaze into the distance as if remembering something from a long time ago.
“I see a significant change approaching in your life,” Faust was just telling a trembling girl, clutching her hand tightly in his clawlike grip. “Stay away from the wrong fellows. The right one will come, and soon!” He drew her close to him. “Try to avoid the barns in the fields—their walls are thinner than you think.” Faust gave her a wink, and the girl shrank back as if she’d been caught red handed.
Greta had known the doctor for more than six years now, ever since he’d rescued her from the prison in Nuremberg when she was still a little girl, an
