C4 antho - Chamber Four

~296~ The Chamber Four Fiction Anthology
worked steadily, with his usual dedication, no one but
Roswitha interrupting. She sprayed Herr Halsa’s window, his
silk plants, his brass lamp, wiped and rubbed, a water
spritzer in one hand, an ammonia bottle in the other, wiping,
rubbing and spraying, holding the plant handkerchief between
her cheek and shoulder and a roll of paper towel under
her wing.
“I’m saying nothing, I’m saying nothing,” she said. “Keep
on with your work.” She spoke in heavily accented English
and switched to German only when someone spoke in German
to her. She was eighty or so, extremely short, with grey
skirts that wrapped not far below her breasts. “He keeps you
busy too, I know that. With his whims,” she whispered, and
shushed herself.
Joseph liked having a mercurial boss. Mercurial was a
good word for him. He was pleased to have thought of it.
When Herr Halsa returned, it was clear where he’d gone
after lunch―to the gym, as he often did. The advantages of a
workout, not just for Herr Halsa’s health but for the whole
organization’s well-being, so far outweighed any cause for
criticism that Joseph wondered at his own momentary derision,
the thought skittering into his head that these workouts
seemed to follow on occasions of secret, carefully hidden
stress. Who else was privy to Herr Halsa’s fears and
thoughts? Aside maybe from Frau Halsa and a few personal
friends, no one but Joseph could have guessed at what was
happening in the boss’s mind.
* * * *
On occasional weekend nights, with little notice, everyone
at the company was invited to a German hall for drinks
and music and laughing repetitions of the chicken dance.