I went up to the shop at 07:00 to see if I could beat the Germans at the "early game". When I walked in, the ghost lights were still on, Max wasn't at his desk, and the tea cart hadn't arrived. Finally, I thought.
Just then, I heard the distinct sound of a tape measure retracting and the voices of Max and Bruno from behind one of the units. They walked out with Bruno holding blueprints, discussing the progress of construction.
"Good morning," both Bruno and Max said almost simultaneously.
"Good morning," I replied.
They continued discussing the unit for a few more minutes. The Bruno looked at me.
"I like your work. Very diligent and precise," he said to me.
"Thank you," I said.
"Are you interested in a film project?" he asked.
"Sure, absolutely! What are the details?" I asked, barely able to contain my excitement.
"There's a film crewing up for a shoot in Switzerland in the first week of August," he said. "They need to build a village in the mountains outside of Bern. It should be about a month of work. If you want it, I will recommend you to the crew head," Bruno said.
"Yes, please," I replied, smiling broadly.
"Good, I'll let you know," Bruno said turning back to Max.
"Unit 3 is about half a day behind. Stay on them, and check their tolerances regularly," he said to Max.
When it looked like they were finished, I jumped in. "What is the best way to proceed with the deck? Should we cut each sheet according to the drawings, or lay them out uncut, then trim to the frame?"
Bruno thought for a second. "Go ahead and lay them in uncut. Make sure you follow the pattern on the drawings," he said. "Don't glue the deck, just screws, and don't lay in the holes for the turn-tables. I want you to build those separately and check the clearances, then we will attach them to motors once we shim them to the correct angles."
"Noted," I said.
Max jumped in. "Back paint the plywood on stage. Use rollers so you don't get paint mist everywhere. Be sure to lay them on plastic sheets and don't spill anything."
"Got it," I said, fighting the temptation to salute.
Just then, the tea cart came in, and the woman laid out the food and coffee. The smell made my mouth water. Bruno walked over and picked up a potato fritter and took a bite.
"They are fitting costumes today," he said with his mouth full. It occurred to me this was the first time I had ever seen him do something human. "You'll probably have a lot of folks wandering around the theatre looking around. Keep them away from the stage."
"Yes, sir," I replied.
With that, Bruno turned and walked out. Max cleared drawings off his desk, then looked at me. "I think he likes you," he grinned. "Keep up the good work. He can get you on some top crews."
Tomash walked in, stopped at the food and loaded up. I went behind him. As we ate, the other crew filtered in and at 08:00 sharp, Max blew the whistle and we were off to work.
Tomash and I spent the next two days back painting all the plywood, laying it on the frame as it dried. Lots of artist types milled around during the fittings, and Tomash and I did our best to keep them off the stage, and we got a lot of dirty looks. Artists and techs didn't mix, and they didn't consider us to be important, unless something didn't work or they tripped over bumps in the floor.
There was a brief flurry of activity when Peter Runge came through. He was followed around by an entourage, some his, some from the theatre management. We hardly noticed, though I did steal a couple of looks at the star to see what kind of a character he was. He seemed nice enough, but he wasn't someone I would probably enjoy a few beers with.
On Tuesday night, I met Ute and we went out to dinner, but otherwise the carps had taken to spending out off time at the local pub. The proprietor was happy and one evening introduced himself and asked what we thought of the food and beer. The food made us belch, and the beer made us fart, and nothing was a greater compliment to a German pub owner.
Dinner with Ute was relaxing and pleasant. She took me to a restaurant on the roof of one of the skyscrapers. It was a magnificent view of the city, and the temperature was easily five degrees cooler than street level. By the end of the evening, saying "I love you" was coming easy for both of us, and dinner was mostly making goo-goo eyes at each other and swimming in the excitement of new love.
After dinner, Ute got a sad face on. "What's the matter,' I asked.
"I can't meet you this weekend," she said, lower lip fluttering.
"Oh no, something serious?" I asked.
"Not serious. I usually care for my mother during the week, and my auntie takes the weekends," she said. "My mother had a stroke a couple of years ago and has trouble doing things like cooking."
"Oh, sorry to hear that," I said sympathetically. "It's no problem. Your family comes first. We can meet any time."
She smiled faintly, looking at me with big watery eyes. I kissed her and dried her eyes. We finished our dinner and wine, and she dropped me back at the theatre.
"Don't forget me," she said. I stared at her face to see if she was joking.
"That won't ever happen, I promise," I said honestly.
We parted and I watched her car speed off into the night. I went inside and down to my room, feeling a bit woozie from the wine. I picked up my book and laid down, and was out before I read a single page.
CHIRP! CHIRP! CHIRP!
Friday was finally here, but I didn't feel the susual excitement. It would be a long weekend without Ute and I didn't feel very chatty. Normally, Tomash and I told jokes and stories to pass the time, but today I just focused on the job.
"Are you alright," Tomash asked at one point.
"Yeah," I said. "I can't meet my girlfriend this weekend, so I feel a little depressed."
"No worries," he said. "We can find some trouble, I'm sure. I don't have any plans either."
By the time Max blew the whistle, we had completed the deck, with three large holes for the turn-tables. The deck was trimmed to specifications and we had put facia across the front and part of the sides to finish out most of the major construction.
In the stage right wing, we had laid out the tables and back painted the panels. We measured out the center points and marked out the circles and cut the pieces. We had also made the cut lists for the table frames, which would be first order of business on Monday morning. According to Bruno, we were about a half day ahead of schedule and he looked happy, insofar as he showed any emotion at all.
The carps gathered at Max's desk and pay packets were handed out. Everyone was buzzing about weekend plans – except me. Four of the guys were going to a new club and asked if I wanted to come along. I agreed and one of them wrote down the name and address, and we agreed to meet at 19:00 the next night. The other four guys apparently had wives and families, and they got a little light teasing about missing the fun.
Tomash and I went downstairs, showered up and got ready to head out. I counted my money, put some in my pocket, and put the rest in the hidden panel of my pack. I now had nearly $2,000, and if I was careful, that would be enough to carry me three or four months, while still eating well and going out when I wanted.
I tapped on Tomash's door and he came out, locking his door, and we headed out.
We walked up to the usual watering hole – just the two of us tonight, the rest of the gang had gone home, or wherever.
We had barely settled at the table when the waitress came over with our beer. She took our orders and Tomash and I chatted about plans and home and the universe in general. I told him what Bruno had said about our work, but I didn't mention the film gig. Mostly, I didn't want competition for the gig, but I wasn't sure what I could reveal. Even at the level of carpenters, there were politics and rivalries and I didn't want to stir up turbulence.
After we ate, Tomash took off and I ordered another beer and pulled out my book. I had just found my dogear when one of the old men at the other table called out.
"Hey, foreigner," he said in a deep, resonant voice. "Come and join us."
I didn't take offence at being called foreigner. That was pretty much a standard term for anyone not from Bavaria. I closed my book and grabbed my beer and went over to their table. They shifted chairs around and the waitress came up behind me with a chair. I was seated on the left hand of the man who always sat at the head of the table. He was slim, wiry fellow, but he exuded quiet authority and his arms looked as if he could handle himself in a fight.
"What's your name," said another man, a large round man with a massive beard who always wore the same hat.
"I'm called Rex," I said.
"Where are you from?" asked another.
"I'm from Texas," I said, bracing myself.
There was a momentary pause as they looked at each other, perhaps trying to think of where Texas was.
"Who shot J.R.?" came the inevitable question from the other end of the table, and they all burst into hearty laughter. I grinned painfully. I had gone two full weeks without hearing that question, and it was like tearing open a partially healed wound.
We went through introductions. The man next to me who seemed to be the boss was Ignatz. I choked on a laugh. I had never heard that name before and it tickled me.
"He has 12 children," said the big bearded man. I looked at the slim unassuming man with newfound respect. That was quite a feat. "He's the leader, since he's more of a man that the rest of us put together."
Most boisterous laughing. I nodded politely to Ignatz and he returned it.
"I'm Kurt," said the big man.
"Pleased to meet you," I said. This went on until I had met all eight men at the table. I struggled to remember who was whom, though Ignatz and Kurt made impressions and we easy to keep straight.
"Have you ever tried snuff?" said Kurt at one point.
"I don't think so," I said.
"Here, hold out your hand." I put out my hand as if to received something, but he turned it sideways and arranged my thumb and forefinger to form a shallow cup. Then he picked up a small can on the table, opened it, and shook out a bit a brown dust between into the space he had made. He did the same for himself then smiled at me with a mighty mouth full of teeth. I was immediately suspicious of what was about to happen.
Kurt lifted his hand to his nose, and in one quick motion snorted the dust off his hand with a quick upward motion. I brought my hand to my nose, looking uncertain. The entire table had gotten quiet and were staring at me. I repeated what Kurt had done.
At first, there was a cool sensation from menthol, but that faded into a burning sensation with a vague smell of tobacco. I started coughing and turning red, then I sneezed two or three times. The entire table erupted in laughter. The man to my left slapped me on the back, partly as a gesture of camaraderie, and partly to restart my heart.
When the tears had cleared out of my eyes, I suddenly noticed something I had not seen before – almost everyone at the table had brown rings around at least one nostril, and a stain on their upper lips.
"What is it," I choked out.
"Powdered tobacco and menthol," Kurt laughed. I should have guessed.
I grabbed my beer and tried my best to wash the residue off the back of my throat. I excused myself and went to the toilet, partly to pay the rent on the beer, and partly to rinse out my sinus. When I returned, the men were chatting and laughing. Apparently, I had provided the most interesting moment they'd had in some time. I was bombarded with questions about my impressions of Bavaria (not Germany, Bavaria), how I liked the beer, and of course, what I thought about the women.
I told them I had a girlfriend named Ute, I loved the beer and food, and what I had seen of Bavaria (not Germany) was truly amazing. They all nodded approvingly and asked questions about Ute and how we met. Again more nodding.
Kurt broke the line with a joke. "Why do is the Austrian flag red, white, red?" he said, barely containing himself and looking at me apprehensively.
"I don't know," I replied.
"So they don't have to think about which way to hang it," Kurt bellowed and the entire table erupted. Even Ignatz broke a smile and I gathered this was the pinnacle of German humor, not that I had experienced much of it. I'd had enough beer that I was able to get up a good laugh, and just the thought of these guys laughing at such a lame joke was enough to goad me on.
This went on for some time. We drank amazing amounts of beer, and the group made sure I had at least one of the five different brews in the house. They wanted my assessment of each and asked how they compared to Texas beer. I told them about the town of Shiner, where I had grown up, and the Spetzl Brewery there. They were duly impressed that we had decent Czech brewers there, and we drank more beer in honor of Texas, which I couldn't refuse, of course.
There was a toxic gas cloud hanging over the table from all the farting and I nearly passed out when I stood at one point to pay the rent again. It occurred to me that I hadn't seen any of the men go into the toilet, despite how much beer we had all drunk. I thought I had a substantial bladder, but I was In awe at the storage capabilities of these men.
At last, two of the men stood to make their way home, then the others, except for Ignatz. I figured with 12 kids, he was in no hurry. As Kurt and I prepared to leave, Ignatz spoke up for the first time that evening.
"It's good if you get a German wife," he said. "She will keep a good house, give you children and keep your belly full," he said with a look of deep wisdom on his face. "But you know what we call German housewives?"
He looked deep and hard into my eyes, and I was transfixed. "No," I said, almost in whisper.
"House dragons," he said.
Kurt burst out laughing and I tried to picture the concept behind this term – hausdrache. Ignatz stood, looking proud and stalwart. We headed for the door. I stopped at the bar to pay, but the proprietor refused. "They paid for you," he said. I looked toward Ignatz and Kurt, watching their backs as they filed out the door.
I tossed 10 marks on the bar for a tip, and the proprietor picked it up in a flurry of "thank yous".
I went outside as Kurt pulled past. He tooted his horn and sped off. Ignatz was nowhere to be seen. I started walking – well I say walking, but more like a pinball bouncing off nearly everything vertical. The traffic was light and I tried to look at my watch, but my eyes refused to focus on the glowing face. It looked like 01:00.
I finally made it to my room and collapsed on the bed. I pulled out my book to read to sleep, and woke up the next day with the book balanced on my face.