Eavesdropping
27 April 2009, 4:09 p.m.
49° 5' 39.18" N, 8° 32' 4.06" E
“Would you shut your damn mouth!” says Bruno. I guess I’ve interrupted once too often, so yeah, sure, I’ll be quiet, I’ll let him do his thing.
What he’s doing is kneeling on one of the middle seats of the minivan, his shoulders filling the rear-view mirror, listening to Bertha make a phone call. Through the white noise of the autobahn, as we pass the towns of Untergrombach and Obergrombach, I can just barely hear Bertha’s voice. She doesn’t sound quite as furious as when she was yelling at Bruno before, but I can tell she’s talking about something that still makes her angry.
“It’s her mom,” says Bruno. “That’s who she called...”
“Whom she called,” says Lambert. “And whatever happened to the word mother?”
Bruno twists around and leans into the front seat, his hands on Lambert’s headrest.
“Do you wanna do this?” says Bruno, right in Lambert’s ear. “Translate Bertha’s shitty Latin into demotic American English? It’s not as if I enjoy the vulgarities....”
Lambert just sighs and raises his hand in a vaguely permissive gesture.
“No, no, please continue,” he says.
Bruno twists back into eavesdropping posture and listens for a minute. “It seems... she’s telling her mom all the same stuff she told me… how disgusting Matilda is… how Matilda complains about being a widow, when everyone knows it was her—the whole world knows she’s the one who sent the assassin… ”
“You mean Matilda took out her husband?” I say. “Godfrey the Hunchback? Everyone knows that?”
I’m being a little disingenuous here, feigning surprise and ignorance when in fact I’ve read three or four different biographies of Matilda, and I’m well aware of the different theories about the death of the Hunchback, her husband—the uh, previous Duke of Lower Lotharingia, I mean the one before Conrad. There’s a pop-feminist bio that practically congratulates Matilda for ordering the hit, as a real triumph of self-actualization, and then there’s the super-Catholic version, the life of the saint for young girls, the one that describes in tearful detail Matilda’s journey through the wilds of Lotharingia, on her way up north to bury Godfrey, her beloved husband, the murdered Duke.
Right now, I’m playing dumb, because I want to find out what these guys think.
“In the Emperor’s camp,” says Lambert, “Matilda’s guilt is taken for granted. Henry assumes that Matilda had the Hunchback killed so she could hand over his lands to the Pope. That’s why Henry stepped in and gave the dukedom to Conrad.”
“Shh!” says Bruno... “I just found out what really pissed off Bertha—Matilda gave her a message from Agnes!”
“Agnes?” I say. “I know who that is! It’s Henry’s mother, right? Agnes of Poitou!”
“Well, Agnes used to be his mother,” says Lambert. “Since Henry’s been excommunicated, I would imagine the dowager now says that she has no son.”
“Listen up,” says Bruno. “Bertha is saying that Matilda saw Agnes in Rome. Matilda always makes a point of visiting Agnes in her convent, whenever she’s in the old town. That makes Bertha sick... wait—now she’s on to a new subject... It’s... it’s Conrad! They’re talking about Conrad! Agnes told Matilda that she couldn’t stop thinking about Conrad.”
“How grandmotherly,” says Lambert.
“Agnes is infatuated with Conrad—with his pale skin and sensitive eyes—with his passivity and obedience—with his aptitude for a life of holiness and scholarship. At least that’s what Matilda told Bertha,” says Bruno.
“An unmistakable message,” says Lambert. He turns to me. “Do you see where this is going?”
“Uh... no,” I say.
“Boy oh boy!” says Bruno. “Listen to this! Agnes would love to have Conrad visit her in Rome. And both Matilda and Agnes are certain, absolutely certain, that the Pope would take a personal interest in Conrad’s education.”
“Well,” says Lambert. “The little Duke is quite a prize.”
“What’s the big deal?” I say. “So what if Agnes wants her grandson to come visit her?”
Bruno stops listening and turns toward me. “Don’t you get it?” he says.
A Mercedes zips by—a big one. That’s the fastest vehicle I’ve seen so far out here on the autobahn.
“He doesn’t get it,” says Lambert. “Tell him.”
“Well, in Bertha’s opinion,” says Bruno, “Matilda and Agnes are trying to steal her son.”
“Not to mention all his lands,” says Lambert.
“So that’s why she’s angry,” says Bruno.
“And she’s quite correct,” says Lambert.
“Hell yeah,” says Bruno. “A lotta people would like to grab that kid.”
Then he untangles his legs and turns to sit normally in the seat, facing forward. He really should put on his seat belt—but nah, I’m not going to remind him. Not right now.
With Bruno’s shoulders out of the way, I can see Bertha again, in the wayback seat. She’s still on the phone—but now she’s sitting quietly. In the mirror, she looks thoughtful, almost polite: a dutiful daughter listening to her mother.
Next episode: Invasive Frogs
(available when published)
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