The Glassblower(96)

She was clearly terribly ashamed, and Peter was a man, which was another problem. But hadn’t Johanna always claimed that he was like a brother to her? Would she be less ashamed in front of a brother? Marie wondered. She didn’t know.

But she knew that she couldn’t cope with the situation on her own.



“Johanna’s been . . . what?”

Peter made a move to rush out the door, but Marie blocked his way.

“Stay here, damn it! She’s asleep. Besides, she doesn’t know I’m here. She . . . didn’t want you to know.”

“What are you talking about?” He ran his hands frantically through his hair. “I have to go to her, don’t you see? She needs me now!” He was shouting.

Marie nodded wordlessly, but she did not move out of the doorway.

He very nearly shoved Marie aside. Dreadful images flashed through his mind. His Johanna . . . defiled? Strange hands—violent hands—laid upon that lovely, proud body that he dared not even embrace?

He paced from stove to doorway like a caged beast. He would kill the man who had done this!

“When did it happen? Why didn’t you come to me straightaway? Tell me: Was it Strobel, the swine?” He shook Marie roughly by the shoulders.

“I don’t know. She hasn’t uttered ten words together since Magnus brought her to us. And I can understand that she doesn’t want to talk about it. It would be like living through it all over again.” Marie pressed a hand to her mouth.

“She didn’t even say his name? Is she trying to defend a despoiler of women? He’ll get what’s coming to him, you can be sure of that. Johanna doesn’t need to say anything; I’ll get the truth out of him all the same!”

“Peter! You’re scaring me, talking like that!” Marie sobbed. She clutched at her sides as though she too had been beaten.

When he looked over at her, he saw the same helplessness in her eyes that tormented him. Marie couldn’t help that this had happened. It wasn’t fair of him to take out his anger on her.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely. He put an arm around her shoulder and was horrified to realize that she was trembling. “The thought that something like that could happen to Johanna almost kills me.” His throat was so tight that every word he spoke hurt.

“I feel just the same way,” Marie said, tears coursing down her cheeks. “What kind of monster does something like that?” she sobbed helplessly. She put up no resistance as Peter led her over to the kitchen corner and sat her on the bench.

He fetched two glasses and a bottle of schnapps and sat down next to her. He pressed one of the glasses into her hand. “Drink!” he said, then gulped down the contents of his own glass. The burning sensation as it went down his throat was familiar, comforting.

Peter’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Magnus turned up out of the blue, today of all days. Isn’t that suspicious?”

“It wasn’t Magnus,” Marie replied. “He would hardly have brought her back to her own home. You should have seen how upset he was. He looked like he might burst into tears as well.” Marie looked at Peter, the tears stinging her eyes. “It was just so horrible seeing her like that . . . For a moment I thought she might die. It was Johanna, but so weak, so . . .” Her shoulders quaked.

Peter didn’t know how much more he could take. Helplessly he slammed his fist down on the table.

“I knew from the very start that something wasn’t right about Strobel! Damn it all, why did I ever allow her to go work for him?” The thought that he might have been able to prevent Johanna’s suffering almost drove him mad.

“Do you think it was really him?”

Peter’s face was a mask of grim determination.

“Who else?”



Nobody got much sleep that night, including Griseldis Grün. Fretting about Johanna, bafflement as to who could have done such an unspeakable thing, and the way that Magnus of all people had found her injured on the roadside—all this made sleep impossible. She ached in every limb as she got ready for work at six o’clock the next morning, even more exhausted than she had been the night before. She wanted to look in on Magnus quickly, but then stopped in the doorway as a wave of motherly love washed over her.

Her son.

A good lad.

Even a hero.

He had saved Johanna. If he had not found her, if he had not taken care of her . . . who knows what might have become of her?

His cheeks were pale even in his sleep. Though there wasn’t much flesh on his bones, he looked good. Back when he had left home, he had been chubby, his eyes almost invisible between his fat cheeks and broad nose. Now, however, his eyes with their long lashes were his most noticeable feature.