Читать книгу The Twins - Sheldon Cohen - Страница 5

Werner dressed in his Sunday finest. He and two of Alfred’s friends were to meet Alfred in the town’s beer hall where they would spend one last night with him while he was still a bachelor. Werner was in no mood for levity, but this obligation he could not ignore.

Alfred was the first to arrive. He chose a booth in one corner of the large square room farthest from the bar. He sat there contemplating his future as a married man, burying his insecurity behind a confident demeanor.

Werner’s younger and only brother, Alfred, was twenty years old. He lived in town and worked as an apprentice glass blower. In fact, he was the source for the glass tubes for his father’s experiments. During the heavy season of malt production, Alfred would spend whatever time he could spare working on the farm helping Werner.

He was the same size as his older brother, also had blue eyes and blond hair, and knew how to have a good time. Unlike Werner, who resembled their father, Alfred had more of his mother’s appearance. He had a thin face, high cheekbones, and a slightly upturned nose. Several months ago, he had announced his engagement to Helene Schmidt, the only child of a local hotel owner.

Besides blowing decorative glass works, Alfred was involved in producing the cathode ray tubes physicists and chemists used for experiments at the University of Munich. He would receive drawings of these special tubes and then shape them according to the scientist’s specifications. This was the most difficult task in glass blowing, and Alfred’s boss, Sigmund Halder, blew the more complicated forms. Alfred would tackle the simpler structures, and, when he showed improvement, Sigmund would give him some of the more difficult tasks. He would fashion a cathode ray tube for Ludwig and wonder why his father was wasting his time on “that stuff.”

The second son of a German farm family needed an occupation to depend upon, because the first-born son would always inherit the farm. In German society, this was tradition. Many second sons would leave Germany in difficult times. The majority of them immigrated to the United States.

Alfred was secure for the time being. Although his income was insufficient to support a wife, his apprenticeship was doing well, and working with his brother in malt production supplemented his salary enough to give him the confidence to go ahead with the wedding.

Ludwig had no such faith, and he suggested his son should wait until he had more financial security. Alfred would have none of it.

“My job is good,” he would answer his father.

Ludwig would counter. “I know what you do at the glass works. You spend a lot of time blowing those glass shapes for the University of Munich…”

“Yeah, I do. So that’s good, isn’t it?” interrupted Alfred.

“It’s been good, but the use of those glass tubes is for a certain kind of research. And they’ve made discoveries about the atom and light and electricity that could mean that this kind of research might not be necessary anymore. They may cut down or even stop using those glass tubes. You never know.”

“How do you know about that kind of stuff?” Alfred would ask.

“I read plenty. You should try it sometime. They learned a lot by passing electricity through those tubes. In fact, they learned what electricity is, so they may not need to experiment like that any more. It looks like they have better methods now.” At this point Alfred’s eyes would glaze over, and Ludwig would realize that he had just wasted his breath.

Alfred remained deep in thought as he waited for his guests at the beer hall. Noisy and boisterous patrons filled the room. The Augsberg beer hall was the most popular meeting place in town.

The room was about forty meters square with a high ceiling held up by twelve pillars. Tables seating two to eight patrons filled the center of the room. Booths seating four to eight patrons surrounded the periphery on two sides. A large bar with stools occupied a third side. Behind the bar were two entrances to the kitchen.

Alfred’s waitress approached him. “Yes sir, what would you like?”

Alfred could only stare. The waitress was very attractive. She had large brown-green eyes and brown hair that flowed an inch past her shoulders. She wore no makeup, but Alfred could see that she needed none, for her complexion was as clear and unblemished as an artist’s portrait. She wore an apron over a floor length brown skirt and an orange blouse with embroidered frills on her shoulders. However, a frown and her moist shimmering eyes shattered the image as Alfred noticed that she appeared to be on the verge of tears.

“I’m expecting some other guys, but I’ll have a beer now, please,” he said, “but what’s the matter? You look like you got the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

She turned her face. “Nothing,” she said. “I’ll get you your beer.”

Alfred raised his hands, palm up. “Wait, don’t run away so fast. Cheer up. What’s your name?”

“Frieda,” she said, not making eye contact.

“Where are you from?” Alfred inquired in a compassionate tone of voice.

“I’m from Austria.”

“I figured that by your accent. How old are you, Frieda?”

“Twenty.”

The rapid-fire questions by Alfred would keep her around a bit longer. He liked what he saw, but he sensed some unhappiness. She looked depressed. “Okay, Frieda, my name is Alfred Stegerwald. It’s good to know you, but I think you could use some happy time. I can tell when a woman is down.”

Frieda looked at Alfred. “Stegerwald,” she said with a mask like face. “I’m fine,” she added.

They spoke for a few minutes with Alfred doing most of the talking. Back to his jovial and carefree manner, he asked Frieda many questions. She answered in a monotone.

“I better get you your beer,” she said.

He watched wide-eyed as Frieda walked away. Her long skirt could not hide her curvaceous body.

When Werner and their friends arrived, Alfred was half-finished with his beer.

“Boozing up already? The wedding boy is not supposed to pay,” said Werner.

“I told the waitress you were coming, and she said she’d run a tab. Drink up, boys. My brother has more money then he knows what to do with.”

“Yeah, right,” said Werner. He was deep in his own thoughts. He was at the beer hall because he had to be and would try to get his frustration with his own wife out of his mind. Plenty of beer might be a good way to do it.

Alfred searched the bar with his eyes. When he saw his waitress, he waved his hand. “Frieda,” he called, holding up four fingers.

“You know her name already?” said Sigmund, Alfred’s barrel-chested boss.

“You bet I know her name, and her age, too. She’s twenty. She’s from Austria. It never takes me long to learn about a good-looking lady.”

“You got damn good taste,” said Reinhard, a neighbor and former schoolmate of Alfred’s. He stood a full head taller than his classmate did. Their peers had once deemed them an unusual combination as they walked to school together.

“She lives in one of the cabins in the back,” said Alfred.

“I suppose you also got her measurements?” asked Sigmund.

“He doesn’t have to ask such questions. Lover boy gets the measurements in person,” said Reinhard.

Frieda returned with the four beers perched on a tray on her right hand, shoulder level, palm up.

“Thank you, Frieda. My brother here, money bags Werner, gets the bill.”

With unchanged expression Frieda said, “Here you are gentlemen. Heidi will be your server now.”

Alfred sat upright. “What? You’re deserting us, Frieda?”

“I’m off duty now. I only work until 9:00.”

“But we were just getting to know you. The beer’s gonna turn bitter if you leave,” said Alfred with a wink

Werner smiled. He knew his notorious, womanizing brother was on the make.

“As long as you’re off duty, maybe you’d like to join us, Frieda,” said a flirtatious Alfred.

Frieda stared at Alfred, her eyes like slits. “The boss wouldn’t like that. He says I can’t sit with the customers.”

“What a narrow-minded man. What about your cabin? Can you sit with the customers there?” asked Alfred.

Frieda bent over Alfred, cupped her hand over his ear, and whispered, “I can sit with anyone I want in my cabin. I pay rent there. If someone leaves the beer hall, then he isn’t a customer anymore.”

“Yes,” said Alfred delighted with her sudden change.

Frieda turned and walked away. She left her apron at the bar, and, just before she left the beer hall, she glanced back and stared at Alfred. Her face had a dual mask: sadness and anger.

Werner watched this interplay between the attractive waitress and his brother with the knowing smile still on his face. He looked at Alfred. “What the hell was that all about?”

Sporting a smug smile, Alfred said, “The poor thing has fallen in love. She can’t help it. I have that effect on all women. It’s a curse I must bear,” said Alfred, placing the back of his right hand on his forehead.

Reinhard told his friend, “Don’t worry. Since I’m a good friend of yours, I’ll be ready to help anytime I can. After all, what are friends for?” Then he added, “Time for a toast. Let’s drink to my crazy friend. He should have such a good marriage that he won’t have to think of the Frieda’s of the world.”

“I’ll drink to that toast,” said Alfred, “but I need to add something. May I always appreciate a woman with a body and face like Frieda’s, even though I have a good marriage.”

“Drink up,” said Werner, guzzling his beer.

They sat there conversing for twenty minutes, and then Alfred said, “This beer is starting to run right through me.” He frowned and added, “And I’m feeling some cramps.” He rose and walked with a hesitant gait. “Save my seat,” he laughed.

After about fifteen minutes of animated conversation, Werner realized that Alfred was not yet back. “Where the hell is my brother?” he asked, gazing around the beer hall.

“I bet he’s still pissing from all that beer,” said Reinhard.

“He said he had some cramps. Maybe he’s working from the other end too,” laughed Sigmund.

“I better go check. The way he’s been guzzling, for all I know he passed out,” said Werner.

In the rear of the beer hall were a number of outhouses for the customers to use. Werner passed several cabins on the way. A full moon illuminated the area. He reached the outhouses and checked them all. Alfred was not in any of them. As he started to return, he heard the door of one of the cabins open and saw Alfred walk out. Werner stopped. He realized that his brother had visited Frieda, but he was not surprised. He backed up into the shadows. He froze. He hoped Alfred had not seen him.

As he stood there watching Alfred leave, his marital situation flooded his brain. He became angry; he thought about the coldness of his wife. His muscles tensed. His fists clenched. He visualized Frieda in her long skirt incapable of hiding her desirable body. His mind’s eye could see her swaying as she walked. His body stirred. Lust began to overwhelm him. He could feel his heart pound and accelerate. He walked toward her cabin, his wide eyes fixed on the unclosed door. He buried every other thought; only one thing was on his mind. He would not take no for an answer. He walked into the unlit room. It was not easy to see, but he could detect Frieda lying in bed. She turned her head and looked at a dim outline of a man silhouetted against the open door. She said nothing as Werner closed the door, darkening the room, and walked toward her.

Werner returned in fifteen minutes. “Did you get lost?” said Alfred, eyeing his brother with suspicion.

“Me? Where the hell were you? I thought you fell in. I looked all over for you,” said Werner.

“You took a world record piss,” said Alfred.

“Second place,” said Werner. “You got first prize.”

They changed the subject and stayed until midnight. Werner arrived home and crawled into bed without disturbing his wife. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.