The Glassblower(102)

“So what is your problem?” Peter asked patiently.

Marie heaved a deep sigh before she answered. “If you must know, it’s Johanna.”

Peter frowned.

Should she really tell him? Or would Peter just take Johanna’s side? Marie decided at least to try.

“The trouble is that Johanna has nothing to do. Ruth’s busy with Wanda all day long, combing her hair, giving her a bath, crocheting a new dress. I think it’s all a bit much. But at least the two of them leave me alone. When Wanda’s not playing with my paints, that is,” she added. “But Johanna? She runs around the house like a caged animal. She’s so bored that she’s already tidied up my desk and sorted all my papers—though if you ask me she actually just made a mess of everything—and I can hardly sit down at the bench without her peering over my shoulder. Asking questions and wanting explanations. She’s driving me mad!” Marie threw her hands up helplessly.

“I understand what you’re saying, but how can I help?” Peter asked, looking at her in resignation. “I’ve asked Johanna at least three times to come and work for me. I could pay, of course. But she won’t hear of it.” He pointed to a stack of cardboard boxes with blue, red, and green glass gleaming inside.

“I’ll grant you that packing these animals of mine isn’t half as exciting as working in a big shop. But at least she would have something to do.” There was no mistaking the frustration in his voice.

“Oh, Peter! Here I am, telling you my tale of woe, and you have troubles enough of your own.” She gave him a nudge.

“Do you remember our conversation earlier this year? When I said that some miracle might bring Johanna back to Lauscha?” He laughed a bitter, joyless laugh. “Now she’s here indeed, but she’s further away from me than ever. At best, I’m her big brother. At worst, I’m a man so she can’t trust me. The way she looks at me sometimes—as though she’s worried I’ll lay a hand on her.” He shook his head sadly. “After what that swine did to her, I can understand her reservations. Is she ever going to feel like a normal woman again?”

Neither of them spoke for a while. Then Marie said quietly, “Can’t you talk to Johanna, even so? If she doesn’t have something to do soon, she’ll drive me up the wall. And who knows? Maybe once you two are working together side by side . . .” She tried to sound encouraging.

Peter laughed. “Yes, yes, and this year Christmas will come at Easter!” Then he became serious once more.

“All right then. I’ll talk to her again, though I’ll feel pretty stupid doing so. But I suppose it hardly matters if she turns me down one more time.”



Peter didn’t need to wait long for his chance. Johanna stuck her head in his doorway the very next day.

“I’ve made buttermilk—shall I bring you a glass? It’s ice-cold, good, and refreshing,” she called over the hissing of the gas flame.

Peter would rather have had a beer, but he agreed all the same. He turned off the gas and they walked out behind Peter’s house and sat down. For a few minutes they talked of this and that, then Johanna lay back in the grass. She drew up the hem of her dress as far as her knees and sighed aloud.

“Oh, the sun feels good! For the first time in my life I can sunbathe just as long as I like. Ruth says I’ll end up with skin like a farmer’s wife, but she spends half her days herself sitting on the bench in front of the house and soaking up the sun.”

Peter had to fight hard to resist the urge to reach out and wipe away the milk moustache on her upper lip. If possible, Johanna had become even more beautiful in the past year. He admired the way her hair gleamed, falling in gentle waves over her shoulders and arms in her sleeveless dress.

He was so lost in thought that he almost missed the opening that her remark gave him.

“Does that mean the two of you spend your days lazing in the sunshine?” he asked, grinning.

Johanna sat up.

“You’re quite right. I can’t go on idling my days away.”

Peter was delighted.

“It’s just that I don’t know what to do with myself.” Johanna went on. “Ruth still won’t say a word about what happened. She’s dug her heels in though, and I’m beginning to think she’ll never make peace with Thomas. And the two of them are married!”

“To be honest, I don’t really feel like talking about Ruth,” Peter said somewhat irritably. “But while we’re on the subject, she’s not the first woman to run away from her husband, and she won’t be the last.”