Previously: Jonah quarrels with his younger brother, Reinhardt. Noah and his wife, Eleanor, receive news of imminent foreclosure from the new banker, Mr. Schreiber.
The sun shone through a small part in the clouds. The town was dry; it had not rained as of yet. Saint Marys’ Main Street was lined with brick stores, each sharing a wall with its neighbors.
“Let’s walk down the street,” Noah offered.
An old canal separated a section of the stores’ masonry, and a bridge spanned the waterway. Standing on the bridge gave them a beautiful view of the town park: full of grass, trees, and park benches. There was also a historical replica canal boat in the water accompanied by a plaster donkey standing on the tow path. Next to the donkey was a large plaque which read: Miami & Erie Canal. A wrought iron stairway attached to the bridge gave pedestrians access to the park grounds.
“I’d like to head down to the park,” Eleanor said. The sun and fresh air had brought her relief.
“Okay, I have some interest in that store up ahead,” Noah pointed across the bridge. “I’ll meet you in the park in a few?”
The storefront had panoramic windows spanning their front wall. A three-dimensional sign supported a steam engine that looked like it was coming out of the building. ‘Traders Co.’ was written in large red letters. Noah entered the store. Floor to ceiling were shelves cluttered with secondhand goods and novelties seemingly arranged by a tornado. A woman worked the cash register and behind her a young boy sat on the floor building a LEGO set.
Noah approached the woman at the cash register. “Do you buy as well as sell?”
“Can I see your I.D.?” She asked, “It’s policy.”
“Sure,” Noah gave the woman his driver’s license.
“One moment, please.”
Behind her was a stairway descending down. Across the entrance was a rope with a sign attached reading “No Admittance.” She stepped over the rope and descended, taking Noah’s license with her. He tapped his fingers on the glass countertop. Inside were old trinkets: silver spoons, tarnished broaches, pendants, and rings. He looked at these for a minute; then to a clock mounted behind the cash register. Another minute passed. The rustling of LEGO’s drew Noah’s attention to the small boy.
“Is that a pirate set?” Noah asked.
The boy darted a shy glance at Noah.
“I have a young son who would like that,” Noah said.
The child smiled and held up a knight minifigure, “It’s my Black Falcon’s Fortress.” Noah smiled back at him.
The woman returned up the stairs. “Al will see you.” She gave Noah his license and pointed down the stairs. Noah came around the counter, eyeing the dark stairwell, and then the woman. “You can step over it.” She waved him on.
Moth balls and cigarettes scented the basement. Table upon table filled the floor space. By the light from the stairway, Noah could see boxes filled with indexed coins from various nations and ages.
Across the room was a small office space. The door was open and an old man was sitting inside. He had thick-rimmed glasses and wore a tweed jacket. As he smoked a cigarette, he worked on a model train by the light of a green-shaded lamp. Mounted on the wall behind him a long metal apparatus hung. Looking up from his work, the man motioned for Noah to come.
“Guten tag, Mr. Brandtmeyer,” the man said. He ground the butt of his cigarette in an ashtray and reached to give Noah a firm handshake.
“You can call me Al. Please, take a seat.” Al resumed his work on the model train. Tiny bits littered the desk. He attached a little piece of railing to a train car. “Do you like trains, Mr. Brandtmeyer?”
“Sure.”
“I love trains. I used to operate them in the old country.”
“You have a lovely sign of one out front,” Noah said.
“Danke schön.”
Noah was eyeing the item mounted on the wall. Now that he was closer, he saw it was some sort of military weapon similar to a Bazooka.
Al looked up from his work with a smile. “You like my Panzerfäust, yaw?”
“Huh?”
He pointed to the item mounted above him, “Panzerfäust. All the goot little boys trained with them in the old country. Do you know these things?”
“My ancestors immigrated in the eighteen hundred’s.”
“Ah, goot. Goot.” Al frowned. He resumed his work on the model train. “Though others would say it’s a shame. Sprechen sie Deutsch?”
“No.”
“No hard feelings. What do you do for a living?”
“Farm.”
“How is that going for you?”
“Been better.”
Al’s hands hovered over the miniature train construction. “Das leben ist kein Ponyhof*,” he said then looked up from his work, “Sorry to hear that Mr. Brandtmeyer. My daughter tells me you have items for sale?”
“Heirlooms: bits and pieces of gold, silver buttons, antiquities and the like.”
“I see no parcels.” Al held his hands open as if ready to receive the heirlooms.
“Oh sorry, it was more speculative. I didn’t even know if selling was possible here.”
“You have not brought them?”
“Not with me, no.”
“We hold a ‘Traders Fair’ last Thursday of the month, just had one yesterday.” Al pointed out the office window. “You saw those boxes coming in, with the coins? That’s part of the trading guild. Best time to sell your wares.”
Noah shuffled and shook his head. “Sorry, that won’t do.” He swallowed a lump building in his throat, “I can’t wait till the end of the month.”
“You need cash now?”
Noah nodded.
Al leaned back in his chair. From a pocket inside his jacket, he brought out a pack of cigarettes. “Cigarette? Imported from the Fatherland.” He held the pack out. Noah declined. Al lit up and took a long contemplative draw.
“How interesting, Mr. Brandtmeyer burnt on farming. Is it a big farm?”
“No.”
“Just down old 33, South of Moulton?”
“Uh, yes.” Noah frowned.
“Don’t look so incredulous, Mr. Brandtmeyer. My daughter showed me your license.”
“Oh, right.” Noah glanced at the Panzerfäust, the model train, a filing cabinet in the corner, and the smoke curling around the green lampshade. His hands were getting clammy.
Al continued thinking on his cigarette. He opened the desk drawer and brought out a belt buckle. “Gott mit uns**.” Al said holding the buckle up offering Noah a full view of the relic; the words Al had spoken were written within an embossed circle above an eagle perched on a swastika. “You look displeased, Mr. Brandtmeyer. You are not the first man to offer me heirlooms.”
“Oh, right of course.”
“Pieces from this era fetch high prices. Are your heirlooms such as these?”
“Uh, no.”
Al winked and returned the belt buckle to the drawer. “I want to help you, Mr. Brandtmeyer. I like you. But truthfully, I don’t have cash on hand myself.”
He rose from his seat and went to the filing cabinet in the corner of the room. From a ring of keys on his belt, Al unlocked the filing cabinet and fingered through the manila folders. After a minute he closed the filling drawer and re-locked it. “How many years have you been farming? You’ve got strong right hand, calloused. Let me see them.”
“My hands?” Noah questioned.
“Please, raise them.”
Noah proffered his hands. Al eyed them.
“I have it,” Al beamed. The green light of the lamp reflected off his glasses. “I’ll hold your wares as collateral and I’ll hire you, just to make a delivery. Once the job is done, I share profits with you, yaw?”
“I would need to know more about the job.”
“It’s a goot job, requires strength,” he slapped Noah’s shoulders, “which you have, yet also sensitivity and wisdom.” He pointed to Noah’s head, “And I can tell you have that too. You are perfect for the job. Allow me to check my dates. And make a few phone calls. I will send you a message soon. The job would be completed by the end of next week; can you wait that long for cash in hand?”
“Would it be in hand by Friday?”
“Of course,” Al smiled and waved his cigarette.
“Okay,” Noah said.
“Wunderbar, Mr. Brandtmeyer. This may be the beginnings of a great partnership.”
“Do you want my phone number to reach me?”
“No need.” Al wore a wry smile and extended his right hand. Noah shook it. “Auf wiedersehen, Mr. Brandtmeyer.”
Noah climbed back up the stairs, hands burrowed deep in his pockets and lines furrowed deeper still on his forehead. “What am I doing?” he muttered to himself.
He lost himself in a maze of cluttered shelves, when, nestled between wicker-baskets and picture frames, a lantern caught his eye. The lantern was quite small. And the clever shutter mechanism appealed to Noah; the light could be narrowed or fanned by turning a knob. He bought it, and before finding his wife in the park, he stashed his purchase under the seat in his truck.
*The life isn’t a pony farm
**God with us
You've got the beginnings of a winner here C.M. Enjoying this immensely. Can't wait for the net parts and chapters to see where this goes. Thanks for sharing. - Jim