Story: A Friend (part four)

A Friend

(part four)

“He hasn’t changed so much, has he?” She looked again, from the photo to Anton in his chair.

“And this is Anton with his grandmother.”

“No. That’s the older boy.”

Seconds ticked by. “A shame,” Herward said.

That was a way of putting it. A lot of life was a shame, and she had given not much thought, for many years, to the child who’d died so early.

“You talked to your roommate about your grandmother.” Herward slid the photo across, nudging the edge under Anton’s fingers. Anton grabbed it, held it over his head, while his other hand polished. “What’s this garden she’s standing in? My grandmother had an apartment. The building was ugly, I had to wait on the steps after school. She took me because my mother wouldn’t.”

“Not true,” Mrs. Leonhardt said. For Herward. Why should a soldier in her house think she didn’t love her son, just because she could sympathize…in her most private heart, and just a tad…with some made-up woman’s not wanting Anton.

But Herward’s impulse to friendship could not be blunted by the dull sequestering of Anton’s mind. Herward called again—and when all the silver was polished and the buffet sat adorned with it, winking at envy, he made a suggestion.

“Some of the new officials…you know, the city is crowded now, everyone living in rooms. Some have occasion, in their positions, to entertain. Only a couple of shops in the city sell antiques. It’s a trip out of district, so…”

He was inviting her, and Mrs. Leonhardt felt it, too, how the G.R.A. rigmarole kept you in your place. “They’d make me pay for a permit, just to carry a packed box, or have to take everything out and explain it fifty times.”

“And you’d get less than you paid for these.”

He was sharing their lunch the second time, less begrudged, him feeding off her rations. Herward was bringing Anton out. Her son had stopped calling her Mrs. Leonhardt. He now called her Her.

“You think I should advertise?”

“Where would you do that?”

“Me? I don’t know anything about it. You’re the one saying.”

“I wondered if the idea of bartering would offend you. I can introduce you to a woman.”

“She wants to trade me something? What’s she got?”

“Maybe a little ease.”

This communicated. But not in a wiping-the-look-off-your-face way, and Herward gave her, also: “When you think about permits.”

4

Tourmaline

Tourmaline (part five)

(2016, Stephanie Foster)