The Passport

THE CRYSTAL VASE

Amalie is a kindergarten teacher in town. She comes home every Saturday. Windisch’s wife waits for her at the station. She helps her carry the heavy bags. Every Saturday, Amalie brings a bag of food and a bag with glass. “Crystal glass,” she says.

The cupboards are full of crystal glass. The glass is arranged according to colour and size. Red wineglasses, blue wineglasses, white schnaps glasses. On the tables are glass fruit bowls, vases and flower baskets.

“Presents from the children,” says Amalie, when Windisch asks: “Where did you get the glass from?”

For a month Amalie has been talking about a crystal floor vase. She points from the floor to her hips. “That’s how tall it is,” says Amalie. “It’s dark red. On the vase is a dancer in a white lace dress.”

Windisch’s wife’s eyes grow large when she hears about the crystal vase. Every Saturday she says: “Your father will never understand what a crystal vase is worth.”

“Ordinary vases used to be good enough,” says Windisch. “Now people need floor vases.”

Windisch’s wife talks about the crystal vase when Amalie is in town. Her face smiles. Her hands become soft. She lifts her fingers into the air as if to stroke someone’s cheek. Windisch knows she would spread her legs for a crystal vase. She would spread her legs, just as she strokes the air softly with her fingers.

Windisch becomes hard, when she talks about the crystal vase. He thinks about the years after the war. “In Russia she spread her legs for a piece of bread,” the people in the village said after the war.

At the time Windisch thought: “She is beautiful, and hunger hurts.”