Before the Feast by Sasa Stanisic Read Free Book Online

architecture and music, all that stuff ought to be locked away now, except for Nirvana.
    And thinking of Nirvana: there’s a Grüneberg organ in the church. Johann knows that, because he had to learn about it for his bell-ringing exam. It’s great. Not that he can really judge, but if a thing has the name of the person who made it, like Grüneberg who built the organ, then it’s better than one without a name. A Ronaldo free kick is always on principle going to be better than a plain old free kick. Even if Ronaldo misses the goal.
    Johann hears something crack, like wood, somewhere up by the church. Sounds almost like it comes from the tower. The bells are impatient. . .
    Tomorrow’s exam isn’t entirely official, like the apprenticeship isn’t official, like the profession isn’t official, and Johann doesn’t get any pay and there certainly “won’t be any future in it” (says Ma. That’s why she was shouting just now). But that doesn’t mean he (and the Master) don’t take the exam seriously. Johann liked church bells even before he was born. When they rang, says Ma, he kicked inside her. So there’s something in you, she says. In others it could be regional features, or hands (for instance with mass murderers).
    He’s already passed the theory part (history of the church and of bells, casting of bells, techniques of ringing bells). The practical part is ringing for prayers at twelve and at six. That’s no problem, he does it on his own anyway, the Master hardly has the strength these days. And at twelve he must also ring his own little composition. That’s not really a custom or suchlike, Master just likes it. He’s ninety or more, and he likes to be called Master (though he’d never admit it).
    Johann shivers. Cold is really good for you, he read on the Steel Muscles forum. Stimulates the circulation of the blood. He likes Internet forums on abstruse hobbies. Like role-playing. Easily the best is the GDR Bunkers forum. Hundreds of guys traveling around the area looking at bunkers and discussing their photos. Right nearby, on the old rocket base in Wegnitz, there’s two of them. And one here in Fürstenfeldebehind the old folks’ home. Its wallpaper is the same as in the old folks’ home. Wallpaper in the bunker!
    Anyway.
    The thunder’s coming closer. Goosebumps. Hardly a light on anywhere. In the parsonage, where Hirtentäschel is busy not smoking pot. The roads are empty except for the lady who paints. Going down to the lake. Ma once said she’s definitely all right, but something about her is definitely all wrong too.
    Johann sets off to collect the bell-ringer. Since the beginning of human history every single one of his ancestors has survived, every single person on his mum and dad’s side has successfully passed on life, and now it’s autumn and when Johann next rings the bells he will firmly believe that they, his ancestors, can hear his bell-ringing.
    WE HAVE THREE CHURCH BELLS. THE TWO SMALLER ones are twins: Bonifatius and Bruno. Johann calls them “the Bees.” They’re still young, two slender, playful lads, ringing with a bright sound, in C sharp and E sharp. They were cast in 1926 as replacements for two bronze bells that had been called up to go to war ten years earlier.
    LET HEATHENS ALL WITH FURIOUS IRE
    ATTACK ME HERE WITH SWORD AND FLAME
    says the inscription on the metal casing of Bonifatius,
    I’LL RING THEM DOWN INTO HELLFIRE
    AS I CAN WELL DO IN GOD’S NAME
    says the wording on Bruno’s casing.
    Our main bell doesn’t have a Christian name. The bell-ringer just calls her “the Old Lady.” A massive, almost black chunk of metal, with a mighty clapper, year of casting unknown.
    The twins sound good with each other. The Old Lady gets on best with silence. You can tell that from looking at her, the way she broods in the eternal twilight of the belfry, the