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

not regret it! Thank you and Gawd bless you, sir!'
    Mr Goldstein grunted and taking up the bell on the desk he rang it loudly several times. Mary now became conscious that, in the short time she'd been in Mr Goldstein's office, the warehouse had filled with the hum of people going about their work. Now the buzz and clatter stopped as the bell rang out.
    'Mr Baskin!' Mr Goldstein shouted into the sudden calm.
    Presently a tall and very thin, Ichabod-Crane-looking man, stooping almost double, opened the wide door and entered the office. Mr Goldstein, writing in the ledger, ignored his presence for a full minute while the man stood with his hands clasped in the manner of a mendicant, his head downcast and his eyes avoiding contact with Mary.
    Looking up from his ledger Mr Goldstein pointed directly at the abacus.
    'Tomorrow Miss...' he suddenly realised that he had not enquired as to Mary's name, '...Miss Abacus!' he added suddenly and smiled at Mary. 'Ja! I can call you this!' He returned his gaze to Mr Baskin, 'Tomorrow she is startink vork. You show her varehouse, please!'
    'Very well, sir, at once, show her the warehouse is it, Mr Goldstein? I shall attend to Miss Aba... Abacus?' He paused. 'For what purpose may I ask? A visit is it?'
    Mr Goldstein looked up. 'Clerk, she is new clerk!' he said impatiently and then returned his attention to the ledger.
    'The position? A woman? New clerk?' Mr Baskin was clearly confused as though the three bits of information couldn't somehow be joined together in his mind.
    'Ja, of course, Dummkopf! Next veek she is maybe havink your job!'
    Mr Baskin stiffened to attention as the three bits of previously disparate information, with an almost audible clang, shunted into place in his mind.
    Once outside the office and well clear she turned to the unfortunate Mr Baskin. 'Me name ain't Abacus, sir, it's Klerk, spelt with a "K", it's a Dutchie name, me father was a Dutchman.'
    Mr Baskin looked directly at her for the first time. 'If Mr Goldstein says its Abacus, then that's what it be!' Mr Baskin sniffed. 'No arguments will be entered into and the contract is legal and binding.'
    He paused and seemed to be thinking and, indeed, his expression suddenly brightened. 'Unless...' he began looking directly down at Mary again.
    'What?' Mary asked suspiciously.
    'You don't turn up for work tomorrow!' Mr Baskin's expression took on a most beseeching look and his voice carried a whining tone. 'It would be a most honourable and decent thing to do, Miss... Miss?'
    'Klerk!'
    'Ah!' Mr Baskin said pleased. 'Ah, yes, well that's it, then isn't it? That is precisely the situation! We have no position here for a Miss Klerk! No such person is known to us here! Mr Goldstein knows of no such person! I know of no such person! No such person exists, I'm very much afraid to say you're a missing person! You will not be commencing tomorrow, we shall not be expecting a Miss Klerk!'
    Mr Baskin announced this as though Mary were some impostor whom, just in the nick of time, he had cleverly exposed and quickly undone.
    Mary bristled. 'Why, sir, you can call me Miss Spotted Chamber Pot if you like, but this billet is the most important thing to 'appen to me in me 'ole bleedin' life! If I 'as to crawl over broken glass all the way from Whitechapel, you may be sure, sir, I'll be standin' 'ere large as life tomorrow an' all!'
    Her change of name was not of great concern to Mary, for she had never been christened and her own surname had not served her particularly well in the past. Her new one, compliments of the little bottle-shaped man in the glass office, at the very least identified her with an object she loved. She decided she would happily become Mary Abacus.
    'Mr Goldstein said as you should show me the ware-'ouse, sir, Mr Baskin,' Mary now declared timorously.
    Despite the sour reception she'd received from Mr Baskin, it was quite the happiest day of Mary's life. The large warehouse was stacked to the ceiling with goods of