The Glassblower(114)

When the waiter brought the drinks, Steven ordered two portions of goulash with potato dumplings.

Ruth hadn’t had a bite to eat all day, but now she wasn’t sure she’d be able to swallow a morsel.

Steven Miles suggested that they finish up with business matters before the food arrived.

“Since there’s no middleman in this deal, we need to draw up a contract—in German of course. It will be based on the one we use for wholesalers, but it will take into account the fact that you yourselves are the suppliers.” He put his briefcase on his lap and took out a notepad and pen.

Ruth nodded bravely. It would all work out, wouldn’t it? What choice did she have but to trust this complete stranger?

“Who should I put in as supplier? Marie, or all three of you? That would make it Johanna, Marie, and Ruth Heimer,” he said, his fountain pen poised above the page.

Ruth swallowed. What now?

“In fact my sisters’ last name is Steinmann. I’m the only one who’s a Heimer.”

He frowned but was too polite to ask any questions.

“Steinmann is my maiden name. I’m married,” Ruth whispered hoarsely. The palms of her hands were moist now. How could she ever have imagined she’d be able to close a deal?

“Married? And your husband? What does he have to say about your habit of sneaking into other men’s hotel rooms?” It may have been meant as a joke, but to Ruth it sounded like an accusation.

“My husband doesn’t know I’m here. We’re separated, and I’m living with my sisters. And my daughter. Her name’s Wanda. She’s only eight months old. I . . .”

Dear God, what now?

Before Ruth quite knew what was happening, tears had sprung to her eyes.

Startled, Steven ran his fingers through his hair, which immediately sprang out in all directions. The waiter was approaching their table with two plates, but Steven waved him away.

“Please don’t cry. We’ll . . . look after all that. Please don’t worry. I’ll take care of it all. Do please calm down.” He held out a silk handkerchief to her.

Her hands trembled as she reached out and took it. It smelled of tobacco, and of him.

“There, there, that’s better. I’ll grant you that negotiating a contract can often be a fraught occasion, but emotions don’t tend to start running high until we get to the terms and conditions—rather than the first line. I’ve seen grown men on the verge of tears, though, I’ll tell you that!” He grinned, trying to defuse the situation.

Ruth wished the earth would swallow her up. There she was, sitting with Woolworth’s assistant in a hotel restaurant, and all she could do was make a fool of herself. The thought was so painful that fresh tears sprang to her eyes. When she saw the helpless look that Steven gave her, it was more than she could bear. Her voice was thick with tears as she choked out, “Please excuse me for a moment,” then pushed her chair back and ran from the room, half-blind.



Since she wasn’t sure where else to go, she simply stood outside the dining room. She sobbed quietly, relieved that neither the greasy waiter nor any guests were coming or going just then. She dabbed away her tears with the handkerchief and then finally went back into the room and sat down across from Steven Miles, careful to keep her face neutral.

“Please pardon my outburst,” she said, laughing bitterly. “What a silly woman, you must be thinking. And you’re quite right.”

“Not answering back now, Ruth Steinmann, are you?” She ran her finger along the flatware that the waiter had brought while she was away.

“It’s just that there’s been so much going on lately that I hardly know what my own life looks like.” She looked up at him, hoping he wouldn’t see the touch of panic she felt sure was in her eyes. “Everything’s topsy-turvy. Nothing’s the way it used to be or the way it ought to be.”

“Why don’t you just tell me about it?” Steven asked quietly.

If anybody had told Ruth before that day that she would pour out her whole life story to a complete stranger, she wouldn’t have believed it. But she did just that: she began with Joost’s death, then told him about working for old Heimer and about Griseldis and Eva and all the others, and about the pittance they had been paid that first month.

Mostly, Steven Miles simply listened. Now and then—when Ruth stumbled in her story—he asked a question. Ruth heard herself confess her girlish dreams that she would one day meet a Polish prince. Glossing over the details of how Thomas had wooed her, she told him about the wedding itself and the celebrations. The table decorations! All those guests! The good cheer! It hurt to talk about it. As she told her tale, her lost innocence seemed to yawn beneath her feet like the mouth of a chasm that might swallow her whole at any moment. But when she looked into Steven’s face and saw his concentrated, attentive expression, she knew she would not fall. It was such a relief to be able to be put down her burden. She told him how much Thomas had changed when the son he had longed for turned out to be a daughter he despised. She even heard herself telling how he had hit her. As she talked about the bruises his blows left, her voice was as neutral as it would have been describing curtain fabric. She told Steven how Thomas had torn out her hair and wrenched her arms up behind her back so that her elbows ached for days afterward. Then at last she described the night when Thomas had raised his hand to Wanda.