The Glassblower by Petra Durst-Benning Read Free Book Online Page A

instead said, “It’s not been an easy time for us. A great deal has changed now that he’s dead.” She held her breath. Perhaps he knew someone who had work for them.
    “What would life be like if nothing ever changed? We can’t stop such changes; that’s for certain. But sometimes we can turn the screw a little and make them work for us.” Strobel nodded portentously. “Which is why, my dear Johanna Steinmann, I have an offer for you.”

7
    “I would like you to come and work for me. As m y . . . assistant.”
    Strobel’s words echoed in her ears. Assistant —what a fancy word. Why not say shopgirl, or hired hand? She walked through the streets of Sonneberg as though in a daze, and a thousand thoughts crowded round her, keeping pace. Strobel’s offer had given her a great deal to think about.
    At the edge of town, she stopped suddenly. Should she buy a bag of coffee as she usually did? Deciding that they wouldn’t starve to death for want of a few pennies, and that they all deserved a reminder of the good times, she headed for the grocer’s that she visited every Friday. She ignored the silver trays piled high with tempting pastries and the barrels of salt herring. A little while later, she left the shop with a couple of ounces of coffee. The smell of freshly ground beans was an extra treat she could enjoy for free.
    As soon as she reached the outskirts of town, the road began to climb gently uphill. Johanna strode on like a sleepwalker. Her thoughts kept going round and round, always returning to the conversation in Strobel’s shop.
    He had said that he admired the stubborn way she bargained with him, and he thought that she might turn out to have a good head for business—whatever that might mean.
    Her first reaction was to say, “Me? Help you here? I can’t be of any use to you!” But she had paused a moment and stroked the smooth mahogany table with the palm of her hand. Then she had asked, “What kind of work would I be doing for you?” Her voice was flat, toneless. She thought she knew the answer—indeed, she could already see herself polishing the floor. Some work!
    “I would make you my right-hand woman,” Strobel had replied. “As I do business with my customers, you will draw up inventory, note down their orders, and then deliver them to the suppliers. The greater part of your work would involve keeping proper records. In a business the size of mine, written records of every transaction are absolutely crucial.” What a pompous tone he had! “I’ve been thinking for some time of hiring an assistant. Perhaps the time has come to make the thought a reality.”
    She had just nodded. It could hardly have been more astonishing if Strobel had offered her a job polishing the moon.
    “I would pay you of course,” he had added, misinterpreting her silence. “Though you understand that we would have to agree on some probationary period at a lower rate of pay. But once you have been on the job for a while—” He broke off there, leaving the rest of the sentence to dangle tantalizingly unspoken, like bait on a hook. Johanna snorted. He hardly needed to lure her in like this! His first few sentences had been enough to conjure up images in her mind’s eye that were quite tempting enough in themselves: Sonneberg and all the visitors in its streets, customers from all around the world, orders that ran into the hundreds of items, the samples all sitting neatly in their drawers waiting for the right client—and in the middle of all this hustle and bustle, Johanna Steinmann from Lauscha. Then straightaway she had felt a pang of guilt. How could she let herself be carried away so soon after Father’s death?
    “I don’t know whether I can do all that,” she had answered, brushing aside her daydreams. She had seen herself standing there, notebook in hand, elegantly coiffed and wearing a dark-blue dress, attending to the customer s . . . but she couldn’t ever be anyone’s assistant. Although