The Knowledge Stone Read Free

the barn. Stepping outside, he paused and looked around with great care before slipping around the side of the barn, out of sight of the farmhouse. Here he urinated quickly on the ground – something Old Malik had expressly forbidden him to do. As he did so, he recalled how unpleasant it was to go to the privy.
    There were several reasons for this. On the daily occasions he found it necessary to use the privy, he often found it occupied by Old Malik, Maretta or even Giana. Giana was a scrawny, graceless girl several years younger than Joachim, who had been acquired by Old Malik some months before. She now worked for Maretta in the kitchen or farmyard. Joachim was forbidden by Old Malik to have any contact with Giana or even approach her anywhere on the farm.
    Of course Old Malik and Maretta took precedence at the privy and must never be disturbed when they were occupying it. However the boy could not understand why Giana also took precedence over him. After all, he was older than her and had been at the farm much longer. ‘It’s not fair,’ he thought. At the same time he felt sorry for Giana because it was obvious that she was treated unkindly by Maretta. ‘Even so, it’s not fair that she is allowed to use the privy before me,’ he thought again, still standing naked by the side of the barn.
    Then an impish grin lit up his face. He looked down at the wet patch on the ground before him and whispered: ‘But I’ve certainly solved that problem for this morning!’
    At the doorway of the barn, a large barrel of scummy rainwater provided the boy with the only means he had of washing himself. Shivering a little, he scooped away the algae and threw cupped hands of icy water over his head until the whole length of his body was glistening; he winced as the water stung the red and purple wheals on his back. Scrubbing himself clean with a rough cloth, he then rolled in the straw to dry his wet and reddened body. Finally, he plunged the blood-stained shirt into the water, scrubbed the blood stain and rinsed the garment out before hanging it up on a high beam: ‘I hope that will be dry by this evening,’ he thought, ‘otherwise I’ll have to sleep in my skin.’ He hoped this would not happen because the straw in his bunk would be prickly and hurt the healing scars on his back. Climbing the ladder to the hayloft, he dressed quickly in shirt and breeches and then combed his hair flat with a roughly-hewn wooden comb that he had carved from a flat branch. The light strengthened. He was ready.
    He knew he had to hurry now. Old Malik only allowed him a few minutes to eat the food and drink that Maretta angrily threw down for him every morning. Running, he arrived just as Maretta tossed the familiar small wicker basket down on a flat stone just outside the door of the farmhouse. He tried to thank her but she ignored him, muttered something under her breath and slammed the door shut.
    The boy had tried very hard to please Maretta when he first arrived but she either rebuffed him icily or shouted angrily for him to go away, sometimes slapping his face if he didn’t move fast enough. At first, this harsh and unkind treatment made him cry but he had long become hardened to it. Nevertheless, he had made it a rule to be scrupulously polite to Maretta; maybe someday she would be in a better mood and smile at him – or better still, let him have more food.
    As he perched on the fallen tree trunk where he ate his morning and evening meals, he heard loud shouting from the farmhouse. Obviously, poor Giana had done something wrong and the shouting was punctuated by the sharp crack of a hard hand hitting soft flesh. Joachim dropped his head in compassionate fellowship but at the same time was pleased that the sound was not the so-familiar muffled thud of a heavy stick bruising and cutting into taut flesh and muscle: ‘I’m glad they don’t beat her with a stick,’ he thought, ‘slaps are really sore but they don’t injure you so