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Page 66.

32. Dancing Procession

The sound of marching bands grew louder, always repeating that same hypnotic melody—combination jig, anthem, and hymn.

Romain, an athlete, almost laughed if it weren't so serious. "It's not so much I am out of shape—it was so unexpected to have to suddenly run like that."

For a moment, Rick and Hannah stood doubled over with their hands on the knees, huffing.

"Come on," she said, and hurried on ahead.

Dozens of bands played the hypnotic music like a St. Vitus Dance. The narrow streets were clogged with thousands of pilgrims of all ages, races, genders, and nationalities. The babble of languages among crowds of watchers was indeed as diverse as anything Rick had ever heard all in one small place. People hung from windows with folded arms, watching. They leaned over balconies, crowded together. A few people threw confetti that twirled in colorful dots like snow.

The legion of pilgrims kept coming around the corners from the river bridge—hopping, holding white hankies between them, rocking from side to side.

The din was almost overwhelming, as was the sheer atmosphere of so many people jammed into the narrow streets and small cobblestone squares on the way to the great monastery and basilica dating originally to the early European Middle Ages, just after the collapse of the Western Roman Empire.

Romain told his two visitors much local history in bits and snatches on their drive to Echternach, and on their walk to and from the Professor's house on the lake just beyond the city's long ago tumbled medieval fortress walls from another age. (Endnotes #8)

The police of the Grand Duchy had cordoned off the center of Echternach for the annual springing or jumping procession. Coming from any direction, one had to cross through steel barricades staffed by white-kepi police in orange vests and blue uniforms. One saw many police cars with slowly—almost festively or even respectfully—flashing dome lights. There were also police Land Rovers as well as motorcycles, whose riders wore riding pants tucked into black boots.

Romain, Rick, and Hannah pushed into the crowds.

Up and down, left and right, swayed the pilgrims with their white handkerchiefs, while that obsessive music played on and on, over and over again.

It was that type of music German psychologists had long ago dubbed Ohrwurm (ear worm) because it was a type of melody that got into your brain and stayed there, playing itself over and over again.

Rick almost wanted to hold his ears. The sound obsessively echoed and re-echoed in every alley, every street, pumped out by tubas, drums, trumpets, all the brass and percussion of a U.S. football game halftime performance. There must be at least a thousand musicians walking or hopping around, including violinists, accordionists, and children with kazoos. It was maddening, but that was the intended hypnosis for which the pilgrims metaphorically sought a cure inside the basilica of St. Willibrord.

Romain gesticulated. He was speaking, but his words were drowned out.

Rick, trying to listen to Romain, was jostled by dancers.

For a while, Rick managed to keep a hold on Hannah's hand, until they had to separate and duck down low as dancers swept over them—one row after another.

Romain waved and pointed wildly. "I have seen the Professor down the street." Rick could easily make out the slow, deliberately formed words.

Romain took off running. He disappeared into the crowd, almost vaulting over the shoulders of spectators and passing dancers alike.

In the deafening din, he turned and found that Hannah had disappeared.

He took a few hesitant steps, thinking he would locate her easily—but there was no sign of her.

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