Breath (9781439132227) Read Online Free PDF Page B

“Does he mean that? Is he really poor?”
    Pater Frederick sits in a chair with his head leaning back against the wall and his hands clasped across his chest. “Probably,” he says, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. “Most people are.”
    This is true. Almost everyone we know labors onland that belongs to others. They don’t own what they grow. They have to pay special taxes to the lord of the land. And they’re not free to buy services elsewhere—they have to grind their grain at the landlord’s mill.
    Our family is different. We’re freemen, living on our own land, subject only to the emperor. We pay military taxes—that’s all. But we’re still poor. Not as poor as serfs, but poorer than town merchants or burghers. “But how can a scholar as fine as this Boppe be poor? Look, they’ve even put his poems in a book.”
    Pater Frederick gets slowly to his feet. “Maybe he won’t stay poor, if he gets a benefactor. Anyway, what does it matter?”
    Father hates it when our priest in Hameln town asks things like that. He says anyone who doesn’t know what’s wrong with poverty has too much to eat.
    â€œThe poor aren’t treated the same under the law,” I say, mimicking a complaint of Father’s.
    â€œUnder man’s law. But master and servant are equals before God. Man is a moral being, endowed with reason.” Pater Frederick circles me slowly. “Man understands the principle of order, the principle that allows him to share in the government of the universe. Man has moral self-determination.”
    Man: Father, my brothers, me. “What about women?”
    â€œThey have souls. They don’t reason as well as we do, but they have souls.”
    â€œWhat about children?”
    â€œAfter age seven, children, also, have moral self-determination.”
    â€œIs that why they can’t be sold into slavery after that?”
    Pater Frederick nods.
    â€œBut then, why aren’t they set free as soon as they turn seven?”
    Pater Frederick raises his brows. “Man’s law again, with its inevitable flaws.” He closes the book and leaves it on its little table, but he’s smiling. I can tell he’s happy with my reasoning—this is what he most strives to teach me, logical, moral reasoning.
    â€œDo you have sisters, Pater Frederick?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œI do. My sisters are slaves in Magdeburg. When I go there, I’m going to earn money and buy their freedom.”
    Pater Frederick doesn’t answer. He takes a box off a shelf and goes to the wide table near the wrindow. He lays out quills, a pot of soot, a bowl of vinegar, ink horns, a razor, a sponge, and a ruler.Then he presses flat a large piece of rough parchment.
    We each cut a quill to a sharp point. Then we mix the soot with vinegar to make a thick black ink. Pater Frederick draws a letter. I copy. He points out places for improvement. I copy five more times, using the ruler as a guide to try to form the letters in a straight line from side to side and of uniform height and width. Pater draws another letter. And so we go, till the parchment is full. He gives a critique of the whole work, with enough praise to make me happy. Then I sponge it clean and leave it to dry for use next month.
    We go into the kitchen and eat pork on a bed of steamed watercress, and dark bread. At home I have lots of pork, for we raise both hogs and dairy cows. But I never tire of it. Who could? Pater washes his meal down with beer. He gives me cider. I don’t bother to protest. Großmutter’s rules don’t extend to Höxter, but Pater won’t ever give me beer anyway because he says it’s clear that Großmutter is right—the fact that I am still living is proof of that.
    When we finish, Pater hands me a slab of pork and a chunk of bread. “For your dinner,” he says, like always. The smell is luscious.
    I roll them