cracklings settle and pour off the top. Get your bacon for tomorrow. Now, there is lard and there is lard.”
Eva reached into the glass case cooled by an electric fan. “My husband was back in Germany a master butcher—not like Kozka, who no more than was a war cook—my Fidelis has learned a secret process to render fat. Taste,” she commanded. “Schmeckt gut!”
Eva held out a small blue pan of the stuff, and Delphine swiped a bit on the end of her finger.
“Pure as butter!”
“Hardly no salt,” Eva whispered, as though this was not for just anyone to overhear. “But you must have an icebox to keep it good.”
“I don’t have one,” Delphine admitted. “Well, I did, but while I was gone my dad sold it.”
“I seen you here, I seen you there,” said Eva, “but still I cannot place. If you please, your father’s name?”
Delphine liked Eva’s direct but polite manners and admired her thick bun of golden red hair stuck through with two yellow lead pencils. Eva’s eyes were a heated green striated with silver. There was, in one eye, an odd gleaming streak that would turn to a black line when the life left her body, like a light going out behind the crack in a door. At present, those eyes narrowed as the question of the lard, the icebox, thefather who sold the icebox, were forming a picture in Eva’s mind. She waited for more information.
“Roy Watzka,” Delphine said slowly.
Eva nodded as she wrapped and secured the package all in one expert sweep, and took Delphine’s money. She counted the change into Delphine’s hand. The name told her all that she needed to know. “Come with me.” Eva swept her arm around back of the counter. “Here I will teach you to make a mincemeat pie better than you ever ate. It’s all in the goddamn suet.”
“Where did you learn to speak English?” asked Delphine.
“Close listening to the butchers,” said Eva.
As Delphine came back around the counter and followed Eva down the hall, she peeked at the office cascading with papers and bills, at the little cupboards that held the men’s clothes and who knows what, at the knickknack shelf set into the wall and displaying figures made of German porcelain. These figures were of little children—one picked roses, another led a small white goat. They entered the kitchen, which was full of light from big windows set into thick walls, placed over the sink. Here, for Delphine, all time stopped. She took in the room.
There was a shelf for big clay bread bowls and a pull-out bin containing flour. Wooden cupboards painted an astounding green matched the floor’s linoleum. Bolted to the counter was a heavy polished meat grinder. The table, round, was covered with a piece of oilcloth printed with squares. In each red-trimmed square there was printed a bunch of blue grapes, or a fat pink-gold peach, an apple or a delicate green pear. There were no curtains on the window, but pots of geraniums bloomed, scarlet and ferociously cheerful. The whole place smelled generously of fresh rolls.
Upon walking into Eva’s kitchen, something profound happened to Delphine. She experienced a fabulous expansion of being. Light-headed, she felt a swooping sensation and then a quiet, as though she’d settled like a bird. She sat in the sort of solid square-backed chair that Cyprian favored for balancing while Eva spooned coffee beans out of a Redwing crock, into a grinder, and then began to turn a little iron handcrank on a set of gears that gnashed the roasted beans. The grinding made a lot of noise, so Eva just raised her eyebrows at Delphine over the little mahogany box as she cranked. A wonderful fragrance emerged. Delphine took a huge breath. Eva, hands quick and certain, dumped the thin wooden drawer full of fresh grounds into a coffeepot made of gray enamel speckled with black and white. She opened a handle on her sink faucet and got the water out of that, not a pump, and then she put the coffeepot on the stove and lighted the
Eva reached into the glass case cooled by an electric fan. “My husband was back in Germany a master butcher—not like Kozka, who no more than was a war cook—my Fidelis has learned a secret process to render fat. Taste,” she commanded. “Schmeckt gut!”
Eva held out a small blue pan of the stuff, and Delphine swiped a bit on the end of her finger.
“Pure as butter!”
“Hardly no salt,” Eva whispered, as though this was not for just anyone to overhear. “But you must have an icebox to keep it good.”
“I don’t have one,” Delphine admitted. “Well, I did, but while I was gone my dad sold it.”
“I seen you here, I seen you there,” said Eva, “but still I cannot place. If you please, your father’s name?”
Delphine liked Eva’s direct but polite manners and admired her thick bun of golden red hair stuck through with two yellow lead pencils. Eva’s eyes were a heated green striated with silver. There was, in one eye, an odd gleaming streak that would turn to a black line when the life left her body, like a light going out behind the crack in a door. At present, those eyes narrowed as the question of the lard, the icebox, thefather who sold the icebox, were forming a picture in Eva’s mind. She waited for more information.
“Roy Watzka,” Delphine said slowly.
Eva nodded as she wrapped and secured the package all in one expert sweep, and took Delphine’s money. She counted the change into Delphine’s hand. The name told her all that she needed to know. “Come with me.” Eva swept her arm around back of the counter. “Here I will teach you to make a mincemeat pie better than you ever ate. It’s all in the goddamn suet.”
“Where did you learn to speak English?” asked Delphine.
“Close listening to the butchers,” said Eva.
As Delphine came back around the counter and followed Eva down the hall, she peeked at the office cascading with papers and bills, at the little cupboards that held the men’s clothes and who knows what, at the knickknack shelf set into the wall and displaying figures made of German porcelain. These figures were of little children—one picked roses, another led a small white goat. They entered the kitchen, which was full of light from big windows set into thick walls, placed over the sink. Here, for Delphine, all time stopped. She took in the room.
There was a shelf for big clay bread bowls and a pull-out bin containing flour. Wooden cupboards painted an astounding green matched the floor’s linoleum. Bolted to the counter was a heavy polished meat grinder. The table, round, was covered with a piece of oilcloth printed with squares. In each red-trimmed square there was printed a bunch of blue grapes, or a fat pink-gold peach, an apple or a delicate green pear. There were no curtains on the window, but pots of geraniums bloomed, scarlet and ferociously cheerful. The whole place smelled generously of fresh rolls.
Upon walking into Eva’s kitchen, something profound happened to Delphine. She experienced a fabulous expansion of being. Light-headed, she felt a swooping sensation and then a quiet, as though she’d settled like a bird. She sat in the sort of solid square-backed chair that Cyprian favored for balancing while Eva spooned coffee beans out of a Redwing crock, into a grinder, and then began to turn a little iron handcrank on a set of gears that gnashed the roasted beans. The grinding made a lot of noise, so Eva just raised her eyebrows at Delphine over the little mahogany box as she cranked. A wonderful fragrance emerged. Delphine took a huge breath. Eva, hands quick and certain, dumped the thin wooden drawer full of fresh grounds into a coffeepot made of gray enamel speckled with black and white. She opened a handle on her sink faucet and got the water out of that, not a pump, and then she put the coffeepot on the stove and lighted the
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