The Glassblower(107)

“But Johanna’s the one who’s been libeled. And it’s all Strobel’s fault. I can hardly imagine what it’s like. You stand there talking to people, and all the while they believe the most horrible things about you. And there’s not a thing you can do about it. I wouldn’t want to be going through what she’s going through, that’s all.”

“And we’re not, thank God,” Ruth said bitterly.

“You can be very unkind, do you know that?” Marie said.

“And you only ever assume the worst of me. I don’t mean that the way you think I do.” She drew up her old chair from the workbench and sat down next to Marie.

“You heard what Johanna said: her name’s mud in Sonneberg. But that doesn’t mean that we’re all tarred with the same brush now, does it?”

“I don’t know. Really, it ought not to. But the wholesalers might lump us all together when they find out that we’re Johanna’s sisters,” Marie answered. She had guessed what Ruth was driving at. It wasn’t as though she too wasn’t racking her brains about what to do next.

“Do you think so?” Ruth bit her lip. She looked as though she hadn’t been expecting that answer.

“Actually I was going to suggest that I take your globes and show them to the wholesalers. But of course, if they show me the door just the way they did with Johanna . . .”

Marie looked askance at her. So she wasn’t as brave as all that!

“I think we should ask Peter to show my baubles to his wholesaler.”

Ruth looked up, relief showing on her face. “As you like. After all, they’re your baubles.”

And who had just been blathering on about our future and our life, Marie grumbled silently to herself.



Marie was already asleep when somebody shook her arm roughly.

“Wake up!” Ruth whispered in her ear. “I have to talk to you.”

Marie stumbled downstairs after Ruth so as not to wake Johanna, and followed her into the kitchen.

“Are you mad? Why are you waking me up in the middle of the night? I can’t spend my days lazing about like some people, I have to go to work in the morning,” she said as Ruth put the gas lamp on. The light shone unpleasantly harsh in Marie’s eyes, so she turned the flame lower.

“I have an idea!” Ruth said, bursting with excitement. “I have a wonderful idea!” She bounced across the kitchen and knelt down in front of Marie. “Just imagine; there’s a way I can help us all. If what I have in mind works, then we won’t be dependent on anyone. We—”

“Ruth, please!” Marie chided her. “It’s the middle of the night, and I’m not in the mood for riddles. Tell me what’s buzzing about in that head of yours and then we can both go back to bed.”

All at once Ruth looked like the fun-loving girl she had once been. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glowed with delight, and she laughed mischievously.

“Once you hear what I have in mind, you won’t get a wink of sleep anyway!”



The next morning Ruth got up earlier than usual. After looking in on Wanda, she went down to the washhouse. Marie happily ceded the mirror to her and even offered to go in and take care of breakfast. When Ruth nodded to her absentmindedly, their eyes met in the mirror.

“You really think you can do this?” Marie asked, her hand on the door handle.

“It’s the only way,” Ruth replied.

“It’s not. As I said yesterday, we can always ask Peter . . .”

“You’re right. But . . .” She nodded into the mirror to cheer Marie up, who was looking worried. “Just let me give it a try. The worst that can happen is that I get turned down. In which case we’d be right where we are now. But if my plan actually works . . . knock on wood . . .” Hurriedly, she rapped her knuckles against the wall. “But we shouldn’t even talk about it. No need to tempt fate.”

Once Marie had left, she washed herself from head to toe and carefully combed her hair. Then she took a thick strand between her fingers and held it up to the sunlight that shone through the narrow window. Was she imagining things, or had her hair lost some of its shine? It used to look better than this. She stepped back to the mirror. And wasn’t her skin rather pale, despite all the time she’d been spending out in the fresh air? Had her eyes lost their sparkle? She put the brush down as a wave of sadness overcame her. She felt so old all of a sudden. Old and worn like a tool that had passed through many hands—this despite the fact that she had only fallen into one pair of hands. She gave a bitter laugh.

It took some effort to shake herself out of the joyless mood. She gave her hair another fifty strokes of the brush and made faces at herself in the mirror as she did so, trying out various expressions. She had to radiate confidence. She wasn’t looking for Mr. Woolworth’s sympathy—she wanted a contract.