The Glassblower(47)

“Anyway,” she went on. “Strobel always reads the newspaper at breakfast and pays me no attention at all. Not that I mind.”

The others laughed.

“When the clock strikes half past seven, he folds the newspaper. That’s the sign that we must start the day’s work. The shop has been closed to customers this week, but we’ve been working all day every day despite that.” She began to tell them about stocktaking. “Hand-carved combs and hair clasps made of horn, powder compacts . . .”

Once Johanna started listing all that was hidden away in the drawers, Ruth’s eyes began to sparkle. “Strobel’s shop sounds like a treasure chest! What I wouldn’t give to be allowed to borrow just one of those lovely things!” Ruth said.

Johanna decided that as soon as she had saved a bit of money she would buy something for Ruth. Maybe Strobel would give her some kind of discount?

“You would be amazed if you could see all the lovely painted porcelain and glass,” Johanna said, turning to Marie. “This is the first time I’ve gotten to see what all the other glassblowers spend their days making. Some of it is quite gorgeous!” She sat up straight and squared her shoulders. “But now it’s your turn: What have you all been up to?”

Ruth and Marie looked at one another.

“Heimer doesn’t seem to hold it against us that he had such a blazing row with you. Or at least he behaves just the same as he ever did. And the work’s the same as well!” Ruth shrugged. “And apart from that? There’s nothing really to tell.”

Ruth wouldn’t say a word about Thomas with Peter sitting there. “And how’s Griseldis?” Johanna asked.

“She’s still sick. She’s certain to miss the money after not working all week.”

“Widow Grün is well accustomed to getting by on not very much,” Peter said. “When Josef Grün was still alive, there was never any money in the house. He spent it all down at the Black Eagle.”

“A husband who boozes instead of looking after his family—I don’t think I could live with that,” Ruth replied.

Peter opened his mouth and then shut it again, biting back whatever he was going to say.

“If you ask me, your Thomas is hardly moderate in his drinking,” Marie said sharply.

“That’s different! Working at the lamp just makes him thirsty, he says. How can you compare him to a drunkard?” Ruth almost shrieked.

“As far as I can see the Heimers are all drunkards,” Marie replied disdainfully. “Father never used to drink so much as a drop of beer while he was working. And in the evenings, he drank half of what the Heimers put away. The way they sometimes stink of beer even first thing in the morning is dreadful!”

“I don’t think it’s right that Griseldis doesn’t get any wages just because she’s ill. It’s hardly her fault that she’s sick,” Johanna said, changing the subject before her sisters’ squabbling could become a full-blown argument. “It wouldn’t hurt Heimer to pay her at least some of her wages for this week.”

“What an idea! What good does she do him when she’s ill? None at all. So there’s no need to pay her,” Ruth replied vehemently, as if it were her own money at stake.

“It could very well be that she didn’t fall ill because her stove was broken, but because of the work,” Johanna replied. “I know that I came home with a headache often enough from the stench of that silver solution.”

“Just wait. You’ll soon be getting headaches from doing sums all day long,” Peter teased her.

Marie clapped her hands. “That’s enough, all of you! The old year may not have been the best we’ve ever had, but let’s not spend the last few hours squabbling. That only brings bad luck for the new year!” She pointedly picked up a slice of bread and offered it to Johanna.

While she spread butter on the bread, Johanna tried desperately to think of some topic of conversation that wasn’t so divisive.





24

The first lesson that Johanna learned from Friedhelm Strobel was “Salesmanship is an art!”

Even on her first day at work in the new year, she had an inkling that there was more to it than just “give the man what he wants.” However, it took some time for her to realize that Strobel was a master in his profession.

He knew every one of his customers by name, and he knew what kind of business each had and what he would be looking for. He tailored his behavior so perfectly to each of his customers that he knew just the words they wanted to hear, even the tone of voice in which to speak them. For some customers, he described the wares in such extravagantly flowery language that Johanna had to bite the inside of her cheek to stifle a giggle. With others, he hardly mentioned an item’s decorative features, but talked instead about its market appeal and price. When customers knew what they wanted, he let them have all the time in the world picking out the wares, but if a customer was hesitant, he harried him into making a decision. By the end of the process, every customer had ordered exactly what the wholesaler had chosen for him, felt pleased with their choices, and believed they had been given the best possible advice.