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Authors: J.C. Stephenson
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on a delicate silver chain. A slim, rather stern-looking older woman, the assistant opened the locket with her thin fingers to let Meyer see that there were two holders within, which would be perfect for tiny photographs of Anna and Greta.
“Is this for your wife, sir?” she asked.
“Yes, we have two young twin girls and I am certain she would like something which would remind her of their first Christmas,” he replied, taking the necklace in his hands. It was perfect.
“It is made here in Germany, from German silver,” the assistant announced proudly.
Meyer wasn’t sure if this was a marketing tactic she was employing to encourage him to purchase the item but he liked the simple design, which caught the light and made it sparkle. He nodded, agreed that it was good that the necklace was of German manufacture, and told the assistant that he would take it. Her sternness dissipated immediately.
“What a lovely choice, sir. I am sure your wife will enjoy it for many years to come. Would you like me to wrap this for you?”
“Yes please,” said Meyer, “I am sure you will do a much better job than I would be able to.”
“Of course, sir,” she replied, as she returned the necklace to its box and began to fold brown wrapping paper around the present. As she wrapped, carefully folding the edges of the paper and securing the package with a crimson ribbon, she extolled the qualities of German design.
“The French, of course, think that they are the masters of jewellery design. While the English, well, what can I say...”
Meyer’s eye was caught by movement outside the window. It was snowing again, but this time it was large flakes that were gently floating from the sky, frolicking in gusts of gentle wind. It was beautiful, but he hoped it would not last too long or his night of dancing may be jeopardised.
He noticed that the assistant had nearly finished wrapping the box, so he reached into his breast pocket to retrieve his wallet.
“...the quality of the German silver is very high. And we know who made a profit from all of this during the war. Thank you, sir. Please come over to the cash register.”
Meyer paid for the necklace and carefully placed the wrapped package into his coat pocket before heading back towards the grand mahogany staircase. He was sure that Klara would love it. It would be the first piece of jewellery he had bought her apart from her wedding ring.
He made his way back through the atrium until he stood at the doorway. He watched as the large flakes meandered through the air to rest gently on the pavement outside. He decided he would be taking Klara dancing that night, even if he had to carry her through the snow. Meyer tightened his scarf, buttoned up his coat, and pulled on his gloves before exiting out into an almost silent street.
Despite the traffic and the people making their way along outside the store, there was very little sound. The snow was muffling everything. The near-silence seemed magical to Meyer.
He checked the road before crossing, not wanting a repeat of his close shave with the communist truck, and headed for the tram stop. As he waited for the next tram, he noticed how the snow seemed to steal the colour from the city, leaving a beautifully accurate pen and ink drawing of the buildings.
It was not long before he was seated on the top deck of a tram slowly making its way across Berlin. He had to wipe the condensation from the windows to see out, although there was not much to see through the heavy snow. He thought about that evening instead.
Meyer and his wife had first met at the Eden dancehall in Leipzig and had continued to meet up there almost every weekend. They had both been surprised by just how much they had in common with each other. They had both grown up in middle-class homes on the outskirts of the city, albeit, almost at opposite sides of Leipzig from each other. As with all German children, their childhoods had been dominated by the war,
“Is this for your wife, sir?” she asked.
“Yes, we have two young twin girls and I am certain she would like something which would remind her of their first Christmas,” he replied, taking the necklace in his hands. It was perfect.
“It is made here in Germany, from German silver,” the assistant announced proudly.
Meyer wasn’t sure if this was a marketing tactic she was employing to encourage him to purchase the item but he liked the simple design, which caught the light and made it sparkle. He nodded, agreed that it was good that the necklace was of German manufacture, and told the assistant that he would take it. Her sternness dissipated immediately.
“What a lovely choice, sir. I am sure your wife will enjoy it for many years to come. Would you like me to wrap this for you?”
“Yes please,” said Meyer, “I am sure you will do a much better job than I would be able to.”
“Of course, sir,” she replied, as she returned the necklace to its box and began to fold brown wrapping paper around the present. As she wrapped, carefully folding the edges of the paper and securing the package with a crimson ribbon, she extolled the qualities of German design.
“The French, of course, think that they are the masters of jewellery design. While the English, well, what can I say...”
Meyer’s eye was caught by movement outside the window. It was snowing again, but this time it was large flakes that were gently floating from the sky, frolicking in gusts of gentle wind. It was beautiful, but he hoped it would not last too long or his night of dancing may be jeopardised.
He noticed that the assistant had nearly finished wrapping the box, so he reached into his breast pocket to retrieve his wallet.
“...the quality of the German silver is very high. And we know who made a profit from all of this during the war. Thank you, sir. Please come over to the cash register.”
Meyer paid for the necklace and carefully placed the wrapped package into his coat pocket before heading back towards the grand mahogany staircase. He was sure that Klara would love it. It would be the first piece of jewellery he had bought her apart from her wedding ring.
He made his way back through the atrium until he stood at the doorway. He watched as the large flakes meandered through the air to rest gently on the pavement outside. He decided he would be taking Klara dancing that night, even if he had to carry her through the snow. Meyer tightened his scarf, buttoned up his coat, and pulled on his gloves before exiting out into an almost silent street.
Despite the traffic and the people making their way along outside the store, there was very little sound. The snow was muffling everything. The near-silence seemed magical to Meyer.
He checked the road before crossing, not wanting a repeat of his close shave with the communist truck, and headed for the tram stop. As he waited for the next tram, he noticed how the snow seemed to steal the colour from the city, leaving a beautifully accurate pen and ink drawing of the buildings.
It was not long before he was seated on the top deck of a tram slowly making its way across Berlin. He had to wipe the condensation from the windows to see out, although there was not much to see through the heavy snow. He thought about that evening instead.
Meyer and his wife had first met at the Eden dancehall in Leipzig and had continued to meet up there almost every weekend. They had both been surprised by just how much they had in common with each other. They had both grown up in middle-class homes on the outskirts of the city, albeit, almost at opposite sides of Leipzig from each other. As with all German children, their childhoods had been dominated by the war,
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