Our Ladies of Crafts – A Story

As I watch from the open window of the upper-floor room in the printing house, three figures move slowly beneath the flickering light of a lantern. Their shadows stretch across the stone slabs of the fortress. In that moment, I stand motionless in the darkness, like an observer from another time. And yet, I wonder what the law would say about such people—those who walk by night, telling stories of the past, intertwining lives with shadows that should no longer walk among us. My hand slowly slides down the edge of my coat, seeking the familiar weight of the judge’s gavel, but I feel only empty space and silence. The night is thick, the air heavy with rain that seems to be waiting for something to happen.

First in the group is a women named Erika. Her name, in fact, is not unfamiliar to me. As a judge, I know the people of this town well, and I’ve heard of her books—stories she draws from the archives and the yellowed pages of the past, where the names of women accused of witchcraft are recorded. Erika studies court records from a time when the fortress walls were darker, and superstition held powerful sway. Sometimes, I wonder if she’s aware of the danger that lies in exploring those dark, bygone crafts that the law once punished by fire.

Then there is Nikolina, she is the second in the group. They say she’s an actress in town, but her face in the lantern light reveals only a cold, distant silence. She has walked these streets a hundred times, guiding tourists through time and telling tales of spirits and shadows. Each time, it seems as if she becomes part of that past, merging with the stones beneath her feet. Her voice, often praised, has already drawn the attention of those who believe in the power of stories and journeys through time. Were I alive, perhaps one day she might have passed through my doors, accused of something that defies explanation.

In the end, Miro...a professor of Latin and a learned man. Yet even among such people, intellect is not always a shield against suspicion. An old Latin saying goes: Scientia potestas est - knowledge is power

Prošli su kroz Vodena vrata, tiho i oprezno, kao da nisu obični prolaznici već putnici kroz vrijeme. Erika, Nikolina i Miro hodaju stazama na kojima su žene nekada preživljavale usprkos kugi, smrti i praznovjerju. „Gospe od zanata,“ tako su ih zvali – žene koje su bile otporne, nevidljive, ali koje su oblikovale grad. Dok Erika podiže fenjer, prstima prati staro kamenje, kao da osjeća njegovu povijest. Glas joj je tih, ali jasan, dok priča o kugi i vještici Agati. Grad je tada bio drugačiji, no ljudska priroda ostala je ista; strah je bio naš vodič, a zakon naš mač.

Nikolina se nadovezuje, koristeći svoj glumački dar da oživi prošle žene – majstorice zanata koje su rukama gradile i održavale grad dok su muškarci odlazili na bojišta. Njene riječi, meke, ali teške, nose sjećanje na sve one neispričane priče. I dok ih slušam, u meni se budi neka čudna mješavina nostalgije i opreza. Njihove riječi ne samo da oživljavaju prošlost, već je i mijenjaju.

Miro ostaje tiho, promatrajući svjetlost fenjera s mislima koje lete dalje. Možda je on jedini koji razumije tanku liniju između prošlosti i sadašnjosti, između znanja i praznovjerja. Tako nas podsjeća da povijest nije samo knjiga, već i dio naših srca.

Dok ih promatram s visine, u mraku, dio mene ne može zanemariti staru sumnju. U vremenu kada sam bio živ, žene s toliko mudrosti bile su predmet osude. Da je drugo vrijeme, možda bih ih prijavio – rekao da Erika zna previše o vješticama, da Nikolina koristi čudne moći, a da Miro skriva opasne istine. Ipak, stojim ovdje, ne podižem ruku, ne donosim presudu. Možda zato što u njima vidim nešto što ne želim priznati – njihovo putovanje kroz prošlost nije ništa manje stvarno od mog.

Kada nestanu iza ugla, tišina me obuzima. Pomislim na Agatu, na žene ovog grada i na povijest koja se čini poput beskrajnog kruga. Možda su Erika, Nikolina i Miro samo još jedan dio tog kruga i možda je moja uloga samo da ih pustim.

Zatvaram prozor.