“Good afternoon, Frau Schmidt,” said Paul. “What can I get you?”
The woman cast a quick look around her, trying to give the impression that she was considering her purchase, but the truth was that she’d set her eyes on the sack of potatoes in the hope of finding a price tag. It was useless. Fed up with having to change their prices daily, Paul had started memorizing them every morning.
“Two kilos of potatoes, please,” she said, not daring to ask how much.
Paul began to pile the tubers onto the scale. Behind the lady a couple of boys were contemplating the sweets displayed in the window, their hands firmly stuffed in their empty pockets.
“They’re sixty thousand marks a kilo!” boomed a rough voice from behind the counter.
The woman barely looked at Herr Ziegler, the owner of the grocer’s shop, but her face went red in reaction to the high price.
“I’m sorry, madam… I don’t have many potatoes left,” lied Paul to save her the embarrassment of having to reduce her order. That morning he had worn himself out, piling up sacks and sacks of them out the back. “A lot of our regular customers are yet to come. Would you mind if I gave you just one kilo?”
Her look of relief was so obvious that Paul had to turn away to hide his smile.
“Fine. I suppose I’ll have to make do.”
Paul took a few potatoes from the bag until the scales settled at one thousand grams. He didn’t remove the last one, a particularly large specimen, from the bag completely but kept it in his hand while he checked the weight, then replaced it as he handed the potatoes over.
The action didn’t escape the woman, whose hand shook slightly as she paid and took the bag from the counter. As they were about to leave, Herr Ziegler called her back.
“Just one moment!”
The woman turned, pale.
“Yes?”
“Your son dropped this, madam,” said the shopkeeper, holding out the smallest boy’s cap.
The woman murmured her thanks and practically ran out.
Herr Ziegler headed back behind the counter. He adjusted his little round glasses and continued to rub the cans of peas with a soft piece of cloth. The place was spotless, as Paul kept it very clean, and in those days nothing stayed in the store long enough to gather dust.
“I saw you,” said the shopkeeper without looking up.
Paul took a newspaper out from under the counter and began to leaf through it. They would have no more customers that afternoon, as it was Thursday and most people’s wages had dried up several days earlier. But the following day would be hell.
“I know, sir.”
“So, why did you pretend?”
“It had to look as if you hadn’t noticed I was giving her the potato, sir. Otherwise we’d have to give a free one to everybody.”
“That potato will be coming out of your wages,” said Ziegler, trying to sound threatening.
Paul nodded and buried himself in his reading once again. He had ceased to be afraid of the shopkeeper long ago, not only because he never went through with his threats but also because his gruff exterior was just a front. Paul smiled to himself, remembering that just a minute earlier he’d spotted Ziegler putting a fistful of sweets in the boy’s cap.
“I don’t know what the hell you find so interesting in those newspapers,” said the shopkeeper, shaking his head.
What Paul had been frantically searching for in the papers for some time now was a way of saving Herr Ziegler’s business. If he didn’t find one, the shop would be bankrupt within the fortnight.
Suddenly he stopped between two pages of the Allgemeine Zeitung. His heart somersaulted. It was right there: an idea, in a small two-column piece, almost ridiculous beside the large banner headlines announcing endless disasters and the possible collapse of the government. He could have skipped straight over it if he hadn’t been searching for that very thing.
It was crazy.
It was impossible.
But if it works… we’ll be rich.
It would work. Paul was sure of it. The hardest thing would be to convince Herr Ziegler. An old conservative Prussian like him would never accept such a plan, not even in Paul’s wildest dreams. Paul couldn’t even imagine how to suggest it.
So I’d better think fast, he said to himself, biting his lip.