“Whooooah!”
The coal merchant’s cart screeched to a halt on the Rheinstrasse. The two horses stamped restlessly, their eyes covered by blinkers and their hindquarters blackened by sweat and soot. The coal merchant jumped to the ground and distractedly ran his hand along the side of the cart, which bore his name, Klaus Graf, even though only the first two letters were still legible.
“Clean this, Hulbert! I like my customers to know who is bringing them their raw material,” he said almost amiably.
The man in the driver’s seat removed his hat, pulled out a rag still bearing distant memories of the original color of the cloth, and set about working on the wood, whistling. This was his only way of expressing himself, as he was a mute. The melody was gentle and swift: he, too, seemed happy.
It was the perfect moment.
Paul had been following them all morning, ever since they came out of the stables Graf kept in Lehel. He’d also observed them the previous day and understood that the best time to ask for a job would be just before one in the afternoon, after the coal man’s midday rest. Both he and the mute had polished off large sandwiches and a couple of liters of beer. Left behind was the bad-tempered drowsiness of early morning, when the dew accumulated on the cart as they waited for the coal store to open. Gone, too, was the irritable tiredness at the end of the day, when they’d drink their final beer in silence, the dust constricting their throats.
If I can’t do it, God help us, thought Paul desperately.***
Paul and his mother had spent two days trying to find work and had eaten nothing whatsoever in that time. Pawning the watch had given them enough money for two nights in a boardinghouse and a breakfast of bread and beer. His mother had persevered looking for work, but they’d soon learned that a job was a pipe dream in those days. Women had been thrown out of the positions they’d occupied during the war when the men returned from the front. Not because the employers wanted this, naturally.
“Damn this government and its directives,” a baker had said to them when they’d asked him for the impossible. “They’ve been forcing us to hire war veterans when women do the work just as well and charge much less.”
“Did women really do the work as well as men?” Paul asked him insolently. He was in a bad mood. His stomach was growling and the smell of bread baking in the ovens was making matters worse.
“Better sometimes. I had one woman who could work the dough better than anybody.”
“So, why’d you pay them less?”
“Well, it’s obvious,” said the baker, shrugging his shoulders. “They’re women.”
If there was any logic to this, Paul couldn’t understand it, even though his mother and the employees in the workroom nodded in agreement.
“You’ll understand when you’re older,” one said as Paul and his mother left. Then they all burst out laughing.
Paul’s luck hadn’t been better. The first thing he was always asked, before the potential employer found out if he knew how to do anything, was whether he was a war veteran. He had suffered many disappointments in the space of a few hours, so he decided to confront the problem as rationally as he could. Trusting to fortune, he decided to follow the coal man, to study him and approach him in the best way possible. He and his mother had managed to stay in the boardinghouse for a third night after promising to pay the following day, and because the landlady felt sorry for them. She even gave them a dish of thick soup with bits of potato floating in it, and a piece of black bread.
So there was Paul, crossing the Rheinstrasse. A bustling and happy place filled with peddlers, newspaper sellers, and knife grinders, who hawked their boxes of matches, the latest news, or the benefits of well-sharpened knives. The smell of the bakeries mixed with the dung of horses, which were much more common in Schwabing than cars.
Paul took advantage of the moment when the coal man’s assistant left to fetch the doorman of the building they were going to supply, to get him to open the door to the cellar. Meanwhile, the coal man prepared the enormous birch-wood baskets in which they transported their wares.
Maybe if he’s alone he’ll be friendlier. People react to strangers differently in front of their juniors, Paul thought as he approached.
“Good afternoon, sir.”
“What the hell do you want, lad?”
“I need a job.”
“Get lost. I don’t need anyone.”
“I’m strong, sir, and I could help you unload this cart really fast.”
The coal man deigned to glance at Paul for the first time, looking him up and down. Paul was wearing his black trousers, white shirt, and sweater, and still looked like a waiter. Compared to the corpulence of the big man in front of him, Paul felt like a weakling.
“How old are you, lad?”
“Seventeen, sir,” lied Paul.
“Even my aunt Bertha, who was terrible at guessing people’s ages, poor thing, wouldn’t put you at any more than fifteen. Besides, you’re too scrawny. Get lost.”
“I turn sixteen on May twenty-second,” said Paul, sounding offended.
“In any case, you’re no use to me.”
“I can lug a basket of coal perfectly well, sir.”
He climbed up onto the cart with great agility, took a shovel, and filled up one of the baskets. Then, trying not to let the effort show, he put the straps over his shoulder. He could tell that the fifty kilos were destroying his shoulders and lower back, but he managed a smile.
“See?” he said, using all his willpower to keep his legs from buckling.
“Kid, there’s more to it than picking up a basket,” said the coal man, taking a packet of tobacco out of his pocket and lighting a battered pipe. “My old aunt Lotta could pick up that basket with less fuss than you. You need to be able to carry it down steps that are as damp and slippery as a showgirl’s crotch. The cellars we go down to almost never have any light, because the building administrators don’t give a damn if we smash our heads open. And maybe you could get one basket down, maybe two, but by the third-”
Paul’s knees and shoulders could no longer take the weight and the boy fell facedown onto the pile of coal.
“-you’ll tumble over, as you’ve just done. And if that were to happen to you on those narrow stairs, yours wouldn’t be the only skull to get broken.”
The lad clambered up on stiff legs.
“But-”
“There’s no ‘but’ that’ll make me change my mind, kid. Get off my cart.”
“I… could tell you a way of making your business better.”
“Just what I need… And what would that be?” asked the coal man with a mocking laugh.
“You lose a lot of time between finishing one delivery and beginning the next because you have to go to the warehouse to collect more coal. If you bought a second cart…”
“That’s your bright idea, eh? A good cart with steel axles to take all the weight we carry costs at least seven thousand marks, not counting the harnesses and horses. Have you got seven thousand marks in those tatty trousers? I’d guess not.”
“But you-”
“I make enough to pay for the coal and to keep my family. You don’t think I’ve thought about getting another cart? I’m sorry, kid,” he said, his tone softening as he noticed the dejection in Paul’s eyes, “but I can’t help you.”
Paul bowed his head, defeated. He’d have to find work somewhere else, and quickly, because the landlady’s patience wouldn’t last much longer. He was getting down from the cart when a group of people approached them.
“What’s this, then, Klaus? A new recruit?”
Klaus’s assistant was returning with the doorman. But it was another, older man, short and bald, with round glasses and a leather briefcase, who had addressed the coal man.
“No, Herr Finken, it’s just a kid who came looking for work, but he’s on his way now.”
“Well, he has the mark of your trade on his face.”
“He seemed determined to prove himself, sir. What can I do for you?”
“Look, Klaus, I have another engagement to get to, and I thought of settling up this month’s coal. Is that the whole lot?”
“Yes, sir, the two tons you ordered, every ounce.”
“I trust you absolutely, Klaus.”
Paul turned on hearing those words. He’d just understood where the coal man’s real capital lay.
Trust. And he’d be damned if he couldn’t convert that into money. If only they’ll listen to me, he thought, returning to the group.
“Well, if you don’t mind…” Klaus was saying.
“Just a moment!”
“Might I inquire what exactly you’re doing here, kid? I’ve told you I don’t need you.”
“You’d need me if you had another cart, sir.”
“Are you stupid? I don’t have another cart! Excuse me, Herr Finken, I can’t shake this lunatic off.”
The coal man’s assistant, who’d been giving Paul suspicious looks for a while, made a move toward him, but his boss gestured for him to stay back. He didn’t want to make a scene in front of the customer.
“If I could supply you with the means to buy another cart,” said Paul, moving away from the assistant while trying to maintain his dignity, “would you hire me?”
Klaus scratched his head.
“Well, yes, I suppose I would,” he conceded.
“All right. Would you be so good as to tell me what margin you get for bringing the coal?”
“The same as everyone else. A respectable eight percent.”
Paul did some quick calculations.
“Herr Finken, would you agree to pay Herr Graf a thousand marks as a down payment in exchange for a discount of four percent on the price of coal for a year?”
“That’s an awful lot of money, lad,” said Finken.
“But what are you saying? I wouldn’t take money in advance from my customers.”
“The truth is, it’s a very tempting offer, Klaus. It would mean a big saving for the estate,” said the administrator.
“You see?” Paul was delighted. “All you have to do is offer the same to six other customers. They’ll all accept, sir. I’ve noticed that people trust you.”
“That’s true, Klaus.”
For a moment the coal man’s chest inflated like a turkey’s, but the complaints soon followed.
“But if we reduce the margins,” said the coal man, not yet seeing it all clearly, “what will I live on?”
“With a second cart you’ll work twice as fast. You’ll make your money back in no time. And there will be two carts with your name painted on them going through Munich.”
“Two carts with my name…”
“Of course, it’ll be a bit tight to begin with. After all, you’ll have one more salary to pay.”
The coal man looked at the administrator, who smiled.
“For God’s sake, hire this boy or I’ll hire him myself. He has quite a business head on him.”
Paul went around with Klaus for the rest of the day, speaking to the estate administrators. Of the first ten, seven accepted, and only four insisted on a written guarantee.
“It seems you’ve got your cart, Herr Graf.”
“Now we’re going to have a hell of a lot of work. And you’ll need to find new customers.”
“I’d thought that you…”
“No way, kid. You get along with people, though you’re a little shy, like my dear old aunt Irmuska. I think you’ll be good at it.”
The lad remained silent a few moments, contemplating the day’s successes, then addressed the coal man again.
“Before I accept, sir, I’d like to ask you a question.”
“What the hell do you want?” asked Klaus, impatient.
“Do you really have that many aunts?”
The coal man gave an enormous laugh.
“My mother had fourteen sisters, kid. Believe it or not.”