Clinton St. Quarterly, Vol. 11 No. 1 | Spring 1988 (Twin Cities/Minneapolis-St. Paul /// Issue 5 of 7 /// Master# 46 of 73

shall we smallest alone the sins of The Sacred Carved Cheese Crosses of Koblentz I W e all have so many sins to atone so much to be guilty about. How be forgiven for even the of our own sins, let humanity? It is too terrible to contemplate. If God is or was truly a god of “an eye for an eye,” then we would certainly be suffering much more horribly than we could ever hope to endure. Or, we would all be burning in Hell at this very moment and throughout eternity. At present, I am hard-pressed to remain upright on my feet; the unbelievable weight and stench of a cross are all but killing me as I slowly make my way down the narrow cobblestone streets of Koblentz. It is my privilege and duty to do so—and to be scourged and mocked and beaten as I do so. This particular cross weighs 145 kilograms (320 pounds); it is exactly 245 centimeters tall (8 feet), 198 centimeters (6’A feet) wide, and the crosspieces are 23 centimeters (9 inches) thick. The most unusual feature of this cross is that it is made entirely of cheese—a very special cheese that is only made here, in this town, under the strictest, most exacting conditions. The first Sacred Carved Cheese Cross of Koblentz appeared in the late 1500s and, since that time, Koblentz and cheese crosses have become inseparable. The cross I am now bearing has been handsomely carved by a handful of highly skilled craftsmen whose families formed guilds and for centuries have applied themselves solely to the art of cheese cross carving. Many interesting Biblical scenes festoon my crucifix although I am presently not able to fully appreciate their great beauty or intricacy. The relentless Teutonic sun is scorching, producing great discomfort for me as it releases the grease and oils of the cheese which then drip down the cross and are wicked by my hair into my eyes. They sting terribly and I can barely see. Also released is the pungent, overpowering odor of the cheese which, quite frankly, is one of the worst smells in the world. The heavy crosses, when dragged across the abrasive surfaces of the streets of Koblentz, break off in small bits, which are eagerly devoured by the sparrows and vermin that do not realize the blasphemy of doing so. One of the true miracles of the pageant of the Sacred Carved Crosses of Koblentz is that in all these centuries, not even one such cross has ever broken apart completely. I feel that this has to do with the sanctity of the event, as well as the. unique structural properties of the cheese itself. But this is no time for idle speculation: the cheese fluids are burning my skin, my heart feels as if it will burst, and I fear that my limbs are going to break from the sheer weight of my burden. But this is part of the price of being a man. There are three of us, as were there in the time of our Lord: three stoic CheeseMeister Penitents who bear the sacred crucifixes of Koblentz for all of mankind. My name, if you are wondering, is Klaunpantz-Schwecter. Besides myself, there are Kraust- hocker and Polterheinz. Our first names are of no importance whatsoever. We are, collectively, the holiest men of the region and we have undergone innumerable tests of faith, endurance, and physical prowess. A weakling, no matter how pious he might happen to be, would never survive the rigors of this pageant. Witness: each crucifix is carefully calibrated to weigh exactly 150 percent of the body weight of the person who is to carry it. Cheese is either added or removed from the stock cheese crosses that are delivered from the sanctioned dairies. Naturally, only a very strong man is able to participate in such a grueling event—-a very strong and holy man. Upon acceptance into the pageant, we each must bear our own cross (all three crosses representing the interminable, repugnant sins of Koblentz) through the city, on a specific course that is exactly 6.2 kilometers in length. Our ultimate goal is to be the first penitent to reach the low summit of Mount Gelt- baum. This is rarely achieved; in 424 years it has only been accomplished thirteen times—the last time having been in 1857. To reach the goal is extremely auspicious; as you might guess, it brings a great deal of fortune, favor, and publicity to the area. The greatest benefit, however, is that all the sins of commission (both venial and mortal) that take place within the limits of Koblentz are absolved for an qn'tire year. This makes our quaint little burg a very popular destination for saint and sinner alike on that particular year. But I digress.... We are well on our way; perhaps one half of the route has been completed at this time. To my far left, the stout and stalwart Polterheinz bears his cross nobly; he is a good fifteen or twenty meters behind me. Somewhere to my right is the determined Krausthocker—I can hear his grunting and shuffling gait. I know he will not get close enough to even touch me for it is against the rules for us to collide. Should this happen it will be all the worse: we would be disqualified from the tournament and publicly disgraced. At this point in the competition the crowds are encouraged to harangue and administer minor forms of torment to the penitents, in imitation of the hardships that were suffered by our Lord. Indeed, the most obscene language I have ever heard is being heaped upon us—as are partially masticated pretzels and locally grown, overripe eggplants. And yet we endure. We willingly accept and endure all forms of ignominy for the greater good of the Fatherland. For the eventual salvation of the brainless, contemptible rabble that torment us at every chance. “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.” Oh yes! Did I already mention that we are also required to wear conical paper hats that have been lightly stapled to our heads? Granted, the staples are small but they neverBy Tim Miske Illustration by Dave Rathman Design by Gail Swanlund Production: Jay Miller 14 Clinton St. Quarterly—Spring, 1989

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