It was not especially bright inside the shop, and Marie had to let her eyes adjust to the dim light. The smell—old, stale air with a sour note to it—took some getting used to as well. She had had no idea that books could smell so unpleasant.
“Is there anybody there? Mr. . . . Sawatzky? Hello!” Magnus called.
Marie was awestruck. Towering piles of books were stacked wherever she looked. The stacks in front of the windows were heaped so high that the daylight only came through the chinks in between.
“And there we were complaining about a few cardboard boxes in the house,” she murmured.
“Good day, Sir, Miss, how can I help you?”
Marie spotted a man standing in the half dark between several piles of books.
“We’re looking for a few books,” Magnus replied. “My companion here can tell you more.” He pointed to Marie.
Alois Sawatzky was much younger than she had imagined a bookseller would be. She would have felt rather less foolish telling her wishes to an old man.
“I’m looking for books on art.”
“On art . . .” The man ran a finger through his beard. “What, in particular, do you have in mind?”
Marie breathed out slowly. “In particular? Well, what do you have in stock?”
“My dear young lady, my stock is so extensive that bibliophiles come from as far afield as Weimar to buy from me. I’ll need you to give me one or two ideas as to what you want. Otherwise we could be here till tomorrow morning.” He coughed.
“Well, you see . . .” Magnus began, about to come to her aid, but one look at Marie’s face told him that she could cope with this arrogant young man quite well on her own. She took a deep breath and raised her chin.
“I would be most interested in a treatise on modern artistic styles. Everything that is en mode, so to speak.” She fixed him with a gaze that Johanna would have been proud to see. En mode—if he could use fancy words, then so could she. “I would also be interested in any works you have on older traditions. The old masters and such.” She waved her hand dismissively. “And if you happen to have anything on the history of glassblowing, that would be good as well. And then, I don’t know whether any such book has ever been written, but something about drawing techniques—a drawing course, so to speak—for charcoal sketches in particular would be useful. And if there is any such thing for color drawing as well, then all the better. Apart from that, I would also be interested in . . . What is it?” She stopped, frowning.
The man’s eyes had been growing wider and wider as she ran through her list.
“Could it be that your stock is not quite so extensive after all?” she asked in a gently mocking tone.
“Quite the opposite, my dear young lady.” It wouldn’t have taken much more, and he would be bowing and scraping in front of her. “I am certain that we can turn up a few treasures for you. If you would care to follow me? Allow me to lead the way.” He pointed toward the back of the shop.
Marie smiled at him. Once he had turned his back, she winked at Magnus. They made their way together through the heaps of books until the man stopped.
“So, here we are! Perhaps the gracious lady would like to look at one or another book, with no obligation to buy of course?”
He pointed behind himself. Marie’s worldly airs and graces fell away at once.
“Are these all books about art?”
The bookseller’s smile grew wider.
“But of course! Or do you happen to know of any subject—with the exception of love—that has been written about more extensively than art?”
When she left the shop two hours later, Marie’s cheeks were aglow. She was flushed all over as though she had a fever—and not just because she had spent all her savings. She hesitated when Magnus invited her for a beer—in part because she could hardly wait to get home and cut the string on the parcel of books and because she didn’t know whether Magnus could afford to visit a tavern. She accepted all the same.
“But only on one condition: we don’t run into Ruth!”
As they walked through Sonneberg, Magnus pointed out every shop they passed and had a tale to tell about each of them.
“Given that you’ve been running mail and messages between Lauscha and Sonneberg for only a few months, you certainly know your way around,” Marie said admiringly. “I don’t think I’d have even found my way back to the marketplace without you.”
Magnus led them to a tavern that was tucked away off the main street. “Well, at least I’m good for something.” Once they were settled at a table, he ordered two glasses of beer and two plates of bread and cheese.