Juan Gomez-Jurado - The Traitor's emblem

“But you-”

“I make enough to pay for the coal and to keep my family. You don’t think I’ve thought about getting another cart? I’m sorry, kid,” he said, his tone softening as he noticed the dejection in Paul’s eyes, “but I can’t help you.”

Paul bowed his head, defeated. He’d have to find work somewhere else, and quickly, because the landlady’s patience wouldn’t last much longer. He was getting down from the cart when a group of people approached them.

“What’s this, then, Klaus? A new recruit?”

Klaus’s assistant was returning with the doorman. But it was another, older man, short and bald, with round glasses and a leather briefcase, who had addressed the coal man.

“No, Herr Finken, it’s just a kid who came looking for work, but he’s on his way now.”

“Well, he has the mark of your trade on his face.”

“He seemed determined to prove himself, sir. What can I do for you?”

“Look, Klaus, I have another engagement to get to, and I thought of settling up this month’s coal. Is that the whole lot?”

“Yes, sir, the two tons you ordered, every ounce.”

“I trust you absolutely, Klaus.”

Paul turned on hearing those words. He’d just understood where the coal man’s real capital lay.

Trust. And he’d be damned if he couldn’t convert that into money. If only they’ll listen to me, he thought, returning to the group.

“Well, if you don’t mind…” Klaus was saying.

“Just a moment!”

“Might I inquire what exactly you’re doing here, kid? I’ve told you I don’t need you.”

“You’d need me if you had another cart, sir.”

“Are you stupid? I don’t have another cart! Excuse me, Herr Finken, I can’t shake this lunatic off.”

The coal man’s assistant, who’d been giving Paul suspicious looks for a while, made a move toward him, but his boss gestured for him to stay back. He didn’t want to make a scene in front of the customer.

“If I could supply you with the means to buy another cart,” said Paul, moving away from the assistant while trying to maintain his dignity, “would you hire me?”

Klaus scratched his head.

“Well, yes, I suppose I would,” he conceded.

“All right. Would you be so good as to tell me what margin you get for bringing the coal?”

“The same as everyone else. A respectable eight percent.”

Paul did some quick calculations.

“Herr Finken, would you agree to pay Herr Graf a thousand marks as a down payment in exchange for a discount of four percent on the price of coal for a year?”

“That’s an awful lot of money, lad,” said Finken.

“But what are you saying? I wouldn’t take money in advance from my customers.”

“The truth is, it’s a very tempting offer, Klaus. It would mean a big saving for the estate,” said the administrator.

“You see?” Paul was delighted. “All you have to do is offer the same to six other customers. They’ll all accept, sir. I’ve noticed that people trust you.”

“That’s true, Klaus.”

For a moment the coal man’s chest inflated like a turkey’s, but the complaints soon followed.

“But if we reduce the margins,” said the coal man, not yet seeing it all clearly, “what will I live on?”

“With a second cart you’ll work twice as fast. You’ll make your money back in no time. And there will be two carts with your name painted on them going through Munich.”

“Two carts with my name…”

“Of course, it’ll be a bit tight to begin with. After all, you’ll have one more salary to pay.”

The coal man looked at the administrator, who smiled.

“For God’s sake, hire this boy or I’ll hire him myself. He has quite a business head on him.”

Paul went around with Klaus for the rest of the day, speaking to the estate administrators. Of the first ten, seven accepted, and only four insisted on a written guarantee.

“It seems you’ve got your cart, Herr Graf.”

“Now we’re going to have a hell of a lot of work. And you’ll need to find new customers.”

“I’d thought that you…”

“No way, kid. You get along with people, though you’re a little shy, like my dear old aunt Irmuska. I think you’ll be good at it.”

The lad remained silent a few moments, contemplating the day’s successes, then addressed the coal man again.

“Before I accept, sir, I’d like to ask you a question.”

“What the hell do you want?” asked Klaus, impatient.

“Do you really have that many aunts?”

The coal man gave an enormous laugh.

“My mother had fourteen sisters, kid. Believe it or not.”

With Paul in charge of collecting the coal and finding new customers, the business began to prosper. He drove a full cart from the stores on the banks of the Isar to the house where Klaus and Hulbert-for that is what the mute assistant was called-were finishing their unloading. First he would rub the horses down and give them water in a bucket. Then he’d change the team and harness up the relief animals to the cart he had just brought.

Then he would give his companions a hand so they could dispatch the empty cart as quickly as possible. It was difficult to begin with, but as he got used to it and as his shoulders broadened, Paul was able to haul the enormous baskets around. Once he was done delivering coal at an estate, he’d gee up the horses and head back to the stores, humming happily as the others made their way to another house.

Ilse, meanwhile, had found some chores to do in the boardinghouse where they were lodged, and in exchange the landlady gave them a small discount on their rent-which was just as well, since Paul’s wage was barely enough for the two of them.

“I wish I could make it lower, Herr Reiner,” the landlady would say, “but it’s not like I really need a lot of help.”

Paul would nod. He knew that his mother wasn’t helping all that much. Other tenants in the boardinghouse had whispered that sometimes Ilse would stop, lost in thought halfway through sweeping a corridor or peeling a potato, holding on to the broom or the knife and staring into the void.

Concerned, Paul spoke to his mother, who denied it. When he insisted, Ilse ended up admitting that it was true in part.

“I may have been a little distracted lately. Too much going on in my head,” she said, stroking his face.

This will all pass eventually, thought Paul. We’ve been going through a lot.

However, he suspected there was something else to it, something that his mother was hiding. He was still determined to find out the truth about his father’s death, but he didn’t know where to begin. It would be impossible to approach the Schroeders, at least while they could rely on the support of the judge. They could have Paul thrown in prison at any moment, and that was a risk he couldn’t take, especially not with his mother in the state she was in.

At night the question gnawed at him. At least he could let his thoughts wander without worrying about waking his mother. They now slept in separate rooms, for the first time in his life. Paul had moved to one on the second floor, toward the rear of the building. It was smaller than Ilse’s, but at least he could enjoy his privacy.

“No girls in the room, Herr Reiner,” the landlady would say at least once a week. And Paul, who had the same imagination and the same needs as any healthy sixteen-year-old boy, found the time to let his thoughts wander in that direction.

Over the months that followed, Germany reinvented itself, just as the Reiners had done. A new government signed the Treaty of Versailles in late June 1919, signaling Germany’s acceptance of sole responsibility for the war and committing to colossal sums in economic reparation. On the streets, the humiliation to which the Allies were subjecting the country produced a buzz of peaceful indignation, but on the whole people breathed more easily for a time. In mid-August, a new constitution was ratified.