Wilhelm Bridge - Chapter 16
Prussia, 1869
It was late afternoon, and the light softened in the presence of blue-gray shadows that stretched long over the ground. The air carried the lingering warmth of the day, yet stepping into the shade introduced a subtle chill, a reminder of the day’s waning heat.
Oskar and Johann proceeded in tense silence alongside the water. Earlier in the day they had discovered footprints that led to the river’s edge but failed to find any coming out. Subsequently they discovered a dark horse that they suspected was likely Matthias’s. The sight of the horse had particularly unsettled Johann, though he couldn’t quite say why.
“Wilhelm Bridge isn’t far,” Oskar said abruptly over his shoulder. His voice was clipped and strained.
“I’d be halfway to Bremen by now,” Johann muttered under his breath. The words had scarcely left his lips when he immediately regretted saying them.
Oskar spun around, his eyes narrowed. “We’re here to--Is that the kind of man you want to be?”
The weight of his words struck hard. Johann swallowed; his face felt hot with shame. “I didn’t mean—"
“Beeil dich!” Oskar’s voice was low but unyielding. Without waiting for a response, Oskar turned on his heel and strode toward the bridge. The well-trodden dirt road was uneven in places with patches of grass and exposed roots where it sloped toward the water.
As they approached the bridge, the path became narrower, forcing them to step carefully around some scattered puddles from the recent rain. A few boats bobbed gently where they were tied to wooden posts along the bank, their hulls knocking softly against the water. The air carried a faint, earthy aroma of wet earth and decaying leaves, together with a subtle fishy scent from the nearby vessels.
“Strange,” Johann said, “no sign of anyone on the boats.”
Oskar barely spared them a look. “The fishermen are probably done for the day,” he said. “No sense staying out in the sun longer than they have to.”
Wilhelm Bridge loomed large, a solid and weathered structure spanning gracefully over the Brda River. Its stone pillars, worn by years of use, stood firm against the churning water, its depth and current far stronger than it appeared. The heavy iron railings gleamed faintly in the late afternoon light; the rust of time barely visible beneath the gloss of old paint.
A clatter of hooves on the cobblestones, the creaking of laden carts, and the distant murmur of voices swelled around them as they stepped onto the entrance of the bridge.
Johann’s eyes swept uneasily over the bustling thoroughfare. “It’s busier than I expected,” he said.
Oskar, still out in front, cast a brief look over his shoulder. “It always is. Traffic never stops here.” His words were firm and impatient.
They made their way through crowds of vendors shouting their wares, horses trotting past, and laborers hauling crates and sacks, all moving with purpose across the bridge.
Johann gestured toward the teeming activity. “If Matthias came this way…surely someone would have seen a sick man.”
Oskar maintained a steady pace as he navigated through the crowded bridge. “Maybe. At this hour, it’d be hard to go unnoticed.”
Johann frowned. He shifted uncomfortably, his thoughts racing. “But at night? Early morning?”
Oskar looked somber as he paused. In a measured tone, he said, “Different story. The bridge empties out when it’s dark. Just the sound of water and wind. No one to ask questions.”
Johann swallowed. “So…no one might’ve noticed him.”
Oskar turned his attention forward again. “Depends. Some things are easier missed than others.”
When they reached the midpoint of the bridge, Oskar slowed and finally stopped, his boots scuffing against the cobblestones. He rested his hands lightly on the railing and looked down at the water, its dark surface roiling as it rushed beneath them.
With his hands shoved deeply into his pockets, Johann hesitated before he stepped beside Oskar. A refreshing breeze rolled off the water, carrying the day’s fading heat away. For several minutes, Oskar’s attention remained fixed on the water below.
Finally, Oskar spoke in a quiet voice, almost to himself. “The current’s faster here. If someone went in, they’d be carried downstream before anyone even noticed.”
Johann’s fingers tightened on the railing. He looked down at the turbulent water, his stomach twisted. “You don’t think he—"
“I think,” Oskar interrupted, “we’re not done. And standing here won’t find him.” He pushed away from the railing. The sound of the Brda beneath the bridge seemed louder, drowning out anything else Oskar may have said.
Johann lingered for just a moment longer, staring into the restless current before he followed Oskar, his steps slower.
A sudden cry rang out from downstream, “Help! Someone, help!” The voice was loud enough to be heard above the hum of the bustling bridge.
Johann’s pulse hammered as his head whipped toward the sound. “Did you hear that?”
Oskar nodded; his attention riveted. He gripped the railing as he leaned out to scan the riverbank below. “It’s coming from around that curve,” he said, motioning toward the direction of the voice.
They exchanged a look as Oskar straightened. “Mach schon!”
They bolted off the bridge, dodging carts and passersby as they went. The cries continued to grow until they rounded a cluster of willows to find a small group of men knee-deep in the water, struggling with a tangled net. The man who had been shouting looked up; his expression shifted from desperation to embarrassment. “It got caught on a snag,” he muttered, gesturing to his net and the tangle of the reeds.
Johann shoulders dropped in relief, but frustration quickly replaced it. “Sheise!” he muttered in a voice low and sharp. He clenched his fists before violently kicking a nearby rock into the water. He watched it splash before it sank below the surface.
Oskar lingered for several minutes to scan the river as if Matthias might still appear from the shadows.
After a moment, he exhaled deeply and clapped Johann on the shoulder. “Let’s keep moving,” he said gruffly, and they headed back toward the bridge.
They strode quickly on the cobblestones but slowed when they heard two men talking near the railing about a man, a conversation that caught Oskar’s attention.
An elder man’s rough hands gripped a fishing pole with the strength of someone who had spent years against the river’s current. Beside him, a younger man appeared more restless, fidgeting with his coat, his eyes flicked nervously from one side of the bridge to the other.
“Did you hear about that man?” the elder man was saying. “A couple of days ago, I saw him—pale as a ghost, barely able to stand. Was coughing something fierce, too. Some said it was the fever, others thought worse.”
Johann’s heart skipped a beat.
“Did anyone do anything for him?” the younger man asked.
“No, seemed like he didn’t want to be bothered, so we left him be. Poor soul probably didn’t make it.”
Johann shot a glance at Oskar. The mention of coughing reminded him of what Keller had said about Matthias—the way he had been unable to catch his breath, and a relentless cough.
Oskar’s face tightened. He approached the men holding out his hand. “Name’s Oskar. This is Johann….A sick man, you say?”
The elder man answered, “Hermann.” He paused to nod toward his companion. “Ja. Das ist Fritz.” He turned and indicated the spot with a gesture. “Aye, stood right over there.”
Fritz’s brow furrowed and his lips pressed together with concern.
“When was this?” asked Oskar with a hitch to his voice.
“Yesterday….no, must have been a couple days ago,” replied Hermann.
“Did he have a wagon with him or leave anything behind?” asked Oskar.
Hermann shrugged. “Didn’t see a wagon, but he was coughing something fierce.”
“That so?” Oskar mumbled, his thoughts drifted to the wagon Matthias should have brought to carry supplies…and the lone horse left by the river. “What about a horse? Any sign of a horse?”
Hermann scratched his head. “Don’t remember a horse.”
Johann asked, “Do you know where he went after he left here? Was he alone?
“He was alone, aye. Didn’t seem to have much strength left in him. Just stood there clinging to the railing.”
Fritz fidgeted. “I hadn’t heard about a sick man.”
“Aye, it was getting late, and people started to leave what with the darkness creeping in. I didn’t notice if he stayed or not. The bridge fell quiet after that,” Hermann remarked.
Johann grimaced. “So, you didn’t see him leave the bridge?”
Hermann paused to think. “Can’t say for sure,” he admitted slowly, “We weren’t really paying attention by then. Could’ve left…or not.”