The Potato Factory by Bryce Courtenay Read Free Book Online Page A

just touched the floor. Using them to gain a purchase Mr Goldstein spun himself around so that the chair, with his fat dumpling body within it, flashed past her astonished face fully four times, much like an egg in an egg cup turned into a merry-go-round.
    When it came to a halt Mary could see that Mr Goldstein now sat considerably closer to the ground and that his boots were planted firmly upon it. Propelling himself towards the desk his stomach now fitted neatly beneath it, the desktop coming to just under his arms.
    'A test? Ja, das is gut!' He pointed to the abacus. 'From vere are you learnink zis?'
    'My father, sir. 'E were in the East Hindies.'
    'He is Chinee man?'
    'No, sir... er, Mr Goldstein, 'e were a Dutchie, from 'Olland.'
    Mr Goldstein reached for his quill and dipping it into the small pot of blacking he hastily scrawled an elaborate equation on the pad in front of him. Then he pushed it over to Mary.
    Mary examined the problem scrawled on the paper tablet. Then, laying it down, she placed her abacus beside it and began immediately to move the beads across the thin wire rails, her long, slender fingers blurring with the speed of her movements. She hesitated once or twice before once again sending the bright beads flying. In a short time she slapped the last bead into place and stood back looking down at Mr Goldstein. There had never been a more important moment in Mary's life.
    She looked up to see that Mr Goldstein was smiling and holding a gold hunter open in his hand. Mary announced quietly, though her heart was once again pounding furiously and she fought to keep her breathing steady, 'Eight 'undred and sixty-two pounds... at eleven pounds, fourteen shillin's and sixpence ha'penny a case, sir... er, Mr Goldstein.'
    'Gut! Gut, young lady, in vun half minute! Now ve can see, ja?'
    He placed the watch down on the desk and sliding open a drawer produced a large ledger which he opened and examined for a moment, running his fat index finger down several columns until it came to rest.
    'Ja! Das is gut! And also schnell!'
    'Beg pardon, sir?'
    'Very fast!' he beamed. 'You can write also in ledger?'
    He pointed to the pad on which he'd written previously and returning his quill into the blacking pot he handed it to Mary.
    'Please... Numbers, also vords, let me see?'
    Mr Bishop had not only provided books for Mary from the master's library but, upon her beseeching him, had on several occasions found old ledgers for her to copy out. Mary had studied these assiduously, emulating their neat columns and precise language a thousand times until she knew the contents of every page in her sleep. Now she wrote carefully in the well-formed and almost elegant copperplate she had studied so hard at the hands of her young Oxford lover, and later for countless hours on her own, to perfect.
    34 cases @ a total of six hundred and twelve pounds no shillings and eightpence = seventeen pounds, one shilling and sevenpence halfpenny per case.
    Then she repeated the sum in neat numerals directly below this sentence. She handed the quill and pad back to Mr Goldstein.
    Mr Goldstein examined Mary's writing for a sufficient period of time for her to grow anxious that she might have made a mistake. Then he looked up, his expression stern and businesslike, shaking a fat finger with a large gold ring directly at her as in admonishment.
    'I pay eight shillink for vun veek and Saturday only no verk. Half-past seven you are startink, eight o'clock you are finishink. Tomorrow half-past seven o'clock report, if you please, Mr Baskin, who is also here the senior clerk.'
    Mr Goldstein pointed his stubby finger at the abacus, 'Gut!' he said.
    Unclenching his remaining fingers he patted the air in front of him as though he were patting the abacus in approval, giving Mary the distinct impression that he had not employed her, but her frame of wooden beads.
    Mary had to restrain herself from bursting into tears of joy.
    'Thank you, sir, Mr Goldstein! You'll