2 Oma Schaurig
In a tight-knit community, such as Niedergruseldorf, news can travel faster than smallpox. However, on this occasion, there were only three people ‘in the know’. The Graf was absorbed in his science; his reclusive lifestyle preventing any leakage of information. Sophia had no desire to feed the gossipmongers who regularly cast her as an outcast. And Karl was considered a soul of discretion by all in the village; the saying being, ‘It’s easier to get a free drink out of the barman at The Ox than it is to get a secret out of Karl.’ This arrangement allowed all parties time and space to consider the consequences of the recent revelation.
Upon Karl’s return home from work on the next Saturday evening, he was visited by Sophia. He invited her to sit a while with him as he assaulted his evening meal, armed with little more than a wooden spoon. She declined the seat, preferring to pace back and forth in front of the warming flames crackling in Karl’s blackened fireplace.
“I just have to know.”
“Mmmhmm.”
“She’ll remember, won’t she, Karl?”
“Hmmm.”
“She has to.”
“Whmm?”
“What?”
Karl finally finished his mouthful. “I said, why?”
“Why what?”
“Why does she have to remember?”
“Well, for a start, it can’t have been that often that she’ll have delivered twins in this little village. And, for another thing ... well, she just has to. I just have to know.”
“Why?”
“If I was born first, ...”
“... it won’t make any difference; Peter would still be the heir.”
Sophia stopped pacing, made it clear to Karl that she was trying very hard to refrain from hitting something, and then looked at him in a manner daring him to finish the thought he’d just started.
Seeking refuge in his food, Karl thought it wise to shovel another spoonful of grey matter into his mouth.
Frustrated, Sophia resumed her pacing.
“I know it won’t make any difference now; but when the Graf dies, and clearly without any offspring other than Peter and me, I just want to know who is going to inherit. If Peter is older than me, even by a few minutes, then, of course, it is only right he should be the heir. But, if it’s the other way round ...” Sophia left this revolutionary suggestion hanging in the air, right in front of Karl.
Fortunately, the piece of meat currently occupying most of his attention was of such dense and combative consistency, it afforded Karl plenty of valuable thinking time before he could swallow and, therefore, be obliged to respond.
“Sit down, Sophia, you’re making me dizzy while I eat.”
She did as suggested, but with little grace.
“Tell you what, Sophia, why don’t you and I go and see her tomorrow?”
“Really? You’d do that? Accompany me through Gruselwald to her cottage?”
“Of course. And, anyway, I’m quite curious myself to find out how this is g
