Mutter G?ttinger

On the last day of the festival, all the villagers would go to the
meadow and fly kites. The biggest, strongest kite would win the annual
prize, which was a bottle of wine and a golden cup. It was a much sort
after prize, the fact that there was no money to play for was
irrelevant to the competitors. They all knew the story of Leichart of
Slig, the winner of the first competition in 1767. He never had to pay
for a drink in his local tavern again. Leichart of Slig helped the
in-keeper design a kite for the next competition. The kite won, the
in-keeper married the most beautiful girl in the province and was
acquitted of several murder charges.

They all knew the story of Arabella Gl?pp, the first female winner,
over one hundred years after the birth of the competition. A visiting
Prince had been asked to present the golden cup, the same golden cup
they use today, to the winner. Arabella Gl?pp received not only the
trophy, but the Prince's hand. A year later, after his death, she ruled
over the whole country.

They all knew the story of Klaus Hahn, the blacksmith, last years
winner, who was recently blessed by The Pope, one of several celebrity
followers of the championship. And all wanted to win this years
competition.

After seventy two hours, two contestants remained standing. Rabalian de
Schimdt, the most ticklish man in the village, who had been the beaten
finalists for four consecutive years. Manu the moneylender had made him
the favourite. Manu stood to lose thousands of gen if the other
finalist, Mutter G?ttinger, the nun was victorious. At 116 years of
age, she was proudly told on entering she was the tenth eldest person
in the history of the competition. The eldest winner, they told her,
was just 71 years old. Whereas Rabalian de Schmidt flew his kite with
no sign of tiring, Mutter G?ttinger was struggling. She had the support
of the crowd, who had earlier dismissed her as a joke entry, but they
got behind her when she knitted a jumper with her non kite flying
hand.
"Please help me" she pleaded with the judge. "I am a frail old lady.
The competition means the world to me, but I cannot carry on. Yet the
kite could outlast any other kite, I know it. After all, it is the kite
that is being tested, not the person."
"Let me help the lady." A man shouted, tall as a lighthouse.
"Yes, let him help. She is an old frail woman." A man's voice called
out. There were echoes of agreement, and the judge worried about it
getting out of hand.
"De Schimdt. What say you? The rules are against it, but in view of
these?special circumstances, I am prepared to overrule them on your
say-so."
The crowd tensed as he thought. The kites almost met each other in the
air.
"I agree. Let this man help." The crowd cheered. The tall man ran to
the old woman and put both hands on the string. The old woman stayed
where she was, visibly relieved, her hands still on the stings next to
his. An hour passed. The winds increased, mens top hats blew clean off
their heads. The statistician ran down and whispered something in the
judges ear. The judge declared to the whole crowd that it was
officially the strongest winds in the history of the Kite Championship.
The few members of the crowd who could stand the cold temperature
cheered. Those that had left had not disappeared, they came back
wearing more clothes, with more blankets, and flasks of drink to get
them through the night. On the 83rd hour, Rabalian de Schimdt
collapsed, his kite flew far into the distance. Two doctors rushed over
to him and covered him in blankets. Few seemed concerned though, all
crowded around Mutter G?ttinger. The statistician again ran across to
the judge, who announced to the whole crowd that although she had won
this year's competition, she was just six hours from breaking the all
time Kite flying record, she was free to stay to break it, but he was
going home to bed. The statistican stayed, and all the crowd did too,
as the old woman declared she would break the record.
"We need help to break the record." the tall man shouted. I can't go on
much longer. This wind is the worst I have ever experienced." All
looked at the statistician, now sat in the judges chair.
"I will allow it" he said, "if there is a volunteer.
"I'll do it." a voice called. It belonged to a big fat bear of a man,
dressed only in underpants. He walked over to the old lady and the tall
man and placed his hands on the string. The two doctors were
overworked, so many were falling on the floor with hypothermia, sleep
deprivation or dehydration.

The seventh hour had passed. Mutter G?ttinger stood proudly, kite
dancing in the air like a ballerina. The winds had dropped, the sun was
out. All that watched had dropped dead. The doctors had been no help,
they had also frozen to death. The judge had died in his sleep in his
own bed. The statistician lay slumped over the desk, the stopwatch
still running. Mutter G?ttinger walked over to the winners podium,
climbing over bodies to get there. She took the golden cup from besides
a dead Princess, who had travelled many lands to honour the winner. She
stood at the top of podium, raised the trophy above her head, and
started to dance and sing. She walked over to where the body of
Rabalian de Schimdt lay, and circled his corpse, clucking like a
chicken.