Trafika Europe 6 - Arabesque

the scarecrow

finished freeing the scrap of cloth from the dried blood. He pulled the cloth away, and then the damage to the eyes was obvious. They were bloody and swollen, as if a wild beast’s fangs had ravaged them. The herbalist scooted back and sighed deeply. He remarked like a diviner repeating a prophecy: “When a herbalist is perplexed about the cure, a patient is left with the choice between a sorcerer or a diviner.” He dipped a piece of black linen in another container, which was filled with a green liquid, and began to massage his patient’s eyes with that. He added, “It doesn’t harm the herbalist to acknowledge his inability to effect a cure when he sees that the malady resisting him isn’t—l ike ordinary diseases—an enemy

spawned by the wasteland, but a messenger from the Spirit World.” He tossed the rag aside and drew a leather pouch from his satchel. He untied its ribbon very slowly and sprinkled dark powder into his palm. Then he spread this suspect dust around the eyes, and the maniac responded for the first time by ceasing his muffled moaning, even though his fist continued to pound the mat with the same beat. “I haven’t concealed anything from my master. I shared my doubts with him about the affliction the first day.” The feverish hero resumed his moaning, swaying, and drumming. The herbalist soaked another piece of cloth in a liquid from another container and then wrapped the cloth around the

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