The Pegnitz Junction Read Online Free Page B

First factory ever to make good-class kitchen units for the unpretentious home. Disguised stove, vanishing sink, disappearing refrigerator, all that. First indoor barbecue, first electric spit for use in the smaller American residential facility. During the conflict the factory converted to making submarine gallery units, after the war reconverted to kitchen conveniences, all the wiser for the experience
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    The woman had finished her bun. She wet a handkerchief with eau de cologne, washed her hands and passed the handkerchief around the back of her neck. The trees rushing by were reflected in her eyes.
We never lived in Flushing because of the mosquitoes. Settled at once in Elmhurst and remained without a break for forty-seven years. Lived in a duplex residence. First rented then bought the upper, were later in a position to purchase the lower. Rented the downstairs place to white Lutherans of which there was no shortage. Never owned a car – never needed one. Never went anywhere. Other couple had bungalow with heated garage, car, large yard and barbecue. Never used the barbecue – she couldn
’t
cook. Arrangement was that they would come to us for their evening meal. Had every evening meal together for forty-seven years. She didn’t shop, couldn’t market, never learned any English. I cooked around seventeen thousand suppers, all told. Never a disagreement. Never
an angry word. Nothing but good food and family loyalty. I cooked fresh chicken soup, pea soup with bacon, my own goulash soup, hot beer soup, soup with dumplings, soup with rice, soup with noodles, prepared my own cabbage in brine, made fresh celery salad, potato salad our way, potato dumplings, duck with red cabbage, cod with onions, plum dumplings, horseradish salad, sweet and sour pork our way, goose giblets with turnips. Man in Brownsville made real bratwurst, used to go over on Saturday to get it fresh. I made apple cake, apple tart, apple dumplings, roast knuckle of pork, kidneys in vinegar sauce, cherry compote our way, cheese noodles, onion tart, trotters five different ways, cinnamon cookies, no brook trout – never saw any real brook trout
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    “Do you want to read to me?” said little Bert, seeing that Christine was not doing anything in particular.
    She opened the book with her customary slowness, which seemed to irritate the child and drive him to refuse the very thing he wanted. She said, “Bruno drives a racing car?”
    “No.”
    “Bruno and the cowboys?”
    “No.”
    “Bruno and the wicked stepmother?” This time Herbert said “No” just as little Bert seemed about to say “Yes.”
    They came for dinner every night, at first on foot, then when they got the car they would drive the three blocks
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    She was saved from inventing more about Bruno by the passage of one of the vendors Herbert had promised. Though his trolley was marked “Coca-Cola,” he had only a tepid local drink to sell. He had no ice, no cups, and so few straws that he was reluctant to give any away. Christine took a can ofwhatever it was, and the one straw he grudgingly allowed her. She saw she had made a mistake: Herbert would not let little Bert have soft drinks, even in an emergency, because they were bad for the teeth, and of course he would not drink in front of the thirsty child. When she realized this she put the can down on the floor.
    “Read!” said little Bert.
    The woman in the corner, who had also bought a can of whatever it was, drank slowly, making a noise with her straw.
Nobody was ever as close as we were, two cousins married to two cousins. Never a cross answer, always found plenty of pleasant things to say
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    “I’m sorry about the drink, little Bert,” said his father. “But you see, there are days when everything goes wrong from early morning, and even the weather is against you. That is what life is like. Of course it isn’t like that
all
the time; otherwise people would get discouraged.”
    “Read out of your book,” the child said,