The Glassblower(118)

The room was surprisingly chilly, in all likelihood because hardly any sun came through the tiny window. Ruth sat down on the bed and found herself looking at the pillow, which had been hanging on the line in the garden at noon. The white linen began to shimmer in front of her eyes, and a thought buzzed round and round in her head.

I’ve met my Polish prince.

He’s an American.





18

Steven. The globe order. Wanda. The strange smell of the room. Ruth slept fitfully, waking up again and again at the mercy of her confused thoughts—questions to which she had no answers, feelings that scared her.

She was happy when at last it started to get light. She opened the door a crack and listened for any noise out in the hall, but everything was quiet—she seemed to be the only one awake.

After she washed, she stood in front of the mirror that hung over the washbasin and began to unbraid her hair. It was a good thing she had remembered to bring her brush and comb. The old familiar routine of brushing her hair calmed her down, and her fingers were steady as she worked on one lock at a time until her hair hung down to her waist in a shimmering flood. After she had loosely plaited it and put it up in a figure-eight bun, she got dressed. Then she turned to and fro in front of the mirror, looking at herself appraisingly. She was pleased with what she saw. She had hung her dress up by the open window to air and now it looked smooth and fresh and smelled good too.

Just as she was preparing to leave, the church bells began to chime. Ruth counted one, two, three, four, five. Was it really only five o’clock? She strained to hear the next set of bells, and it, too, only chimed five times.

Ruth frowned. If she went downstairs now, she certainly wouldn’t run into Steven.

She sat down on the bed and waited.

At seven o’clock sharp she picked up her basket and bag and left the room.

Please God, let me see him one more time!

A moment later, she saw him standing down below on the stairs. Ruth was shocked to feel her heart turn a somersault in her chest.

Woolworth was standing next to him, and they were peering at a stack of papers. Steven was so absorbed in the documents that he seemed not even to hear it when the hotelier greeted them with a cheerful “Good morning.”

Ruth kneeled down slowly and undid the lacings on her shoe, then tied them up again as slowly as she could. Perhaps . . . if she waited a little longer, Woolworth might go in for breakfast and . . .

Just then, Steven looked up.

Ruth hurried to stand up straight and smiled at him uncertainly. What if he had no time for even a few words?

But then he was hurrying up the stairs toward her.

“Ruth! How fortunate that you’re still here! It’s a real stroke of luck. I was worried I might have missed you. The doorman didn’t know for sure, and you weren’t at breakfast . . .” He was babbling away like a brook.

“Have you already had breakfast?” Ruth asked.

“Of course. Mr. Woolworth is an early bird, as we Americans say. Well then . . .” Steven cleared his throat. “I’m not sure how to put this . . . perhaps it won’t suit you at all . . .” He ran his hands through his hair and a little spike stuck up out of place.

Ruth had to stifle a giggle. “Yes?”

“It’s like this: Mr. Woolworth has a couple of meetings this morning for which my presence is not strictly required. So he has been good enough to give me some time off today. And so I thought, if you would like, I might see you home? I mean, since it was my fault that you were stranded here last night.”



Instead of heading off toward the railway station, Ruth decided to take the road that led to Steinach and then onward to Lauscha. Steven followed her as though he had never even heard of the railway between Sonneberg and Lauscha.

Four hours! Maybe even four and a half if they walked slowly, Ruth told herself happily as the last houses of Sonneberg disappeared behind them. She never would have even dared to dream that Steven would be coming along with her; she had to fight the urge to pinch herself. Ever since she had left Lauscha, Fortune seemed to be smiling upon her.

The sky shone that day as though newly scrubbed clean. There was not a cloud anywhere, not even the tiniest dab of white on the distant horizon. The pine forests on the slopes alongside the road were almost black against the brightness of the sky, and the birds were singing in the treetops. A cuckoo called from somewhere, cuck-oo, cuck-oo, tireless, yearning.

The scent of wild thyme hung in the air. Later, when the air had warmed a bit and the sun reached the edge of the forest, they would smell the heady and sensual perfume of the dog rose too.

Even the rushing Steinach brook was quiet, the water seeming to caress the stony bed rather than scour it clean. Instead of sending up the spray and droplets that usually cooled her on her walk, the stream merely babbled softly.