On the day he was attacked, Paul and Hulbert showed up at their first delivery an hour late. Klaus Graf was white with rage. When he saw Paul’s battered face and heard his tale-corroborated with constant nodding from Hulbert, whom Paul had found tied to his bed, humiliation etched across his face-he sent him home.
The next morning Paul was surprised to find Graf at the stables, a place he almost never visited before the end of the day. Still confused by recent events, he didn’t notice the strange look the coal man was giving him.
“Hello, Herr Graf. What are you doing here?” he asked cautiously.
“Well, I just wanted to make sure that there wouldn’t be any more problems. Can you assure me those boys won’t be coming back, Paul?”
The young man hesitated a moment before replying.
“No, sir. I can’t.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Klaus rummaged in his coat and pulled out a couple of wrinkled, dirty banknotes. He handed them guiltily to Paul.
Paul took them, doing the sums in his head.
“A portion of my monthly salary, including today. Sir, are you dismissing me?”
“I’ve been thinking about what happened yesterday… I don’t want any problems, you understand?”
“Of course, sir.”
“You don’t seem surprised,” said Klaus, who had deep bags under his eyes, doubtless from a sleepless night trying to decide if he should dismiss the lad or not.
Paul looked at him, wondering whether to explain the depth of the abyss into which he was being cast by the bills in his hand. He decided against it, because the coal man already knew his plight. He opted instead for irony, which was increasingly becoming his currency.
“This is the second time you’ve betrayed me, Herr Graf. Betrayal loses its charm the second time around.”