Good-bye Marianne Read Online Free PDF

sizzled over the fire. The woman stamped her feet in her heavy work boots.
    “Who’s next?”
    “We are. Two
weisswurst
, please,” said Ernest. “Is that what you’d like, with mustard?” Ernest looked at Marianne. She hesitated for just a minute. She’d never eaten one before. She felt as if
she
were the tourist in Berlin, not Ernest.
    “Please,” she nodded.
    The woman speared two sausages, spread them thickly with mustard, and put one in each of two crisp, white rolls. She gave Marianne the first one. “Good appetite,” she said.
    Ernest had grandly refused to let Marianne pay. She took a bite. Juice dribbled down her chin; mustard dripped from Ernest’s.They ignored the mess, looked at each other and laughed. No one took any notice.
    Afternoon shoppers hurried to finish making their purchases before dark.
    “What we need now…” said Marianne.
    “…is gingerbread,” finished Ernest, eyeing a stall piled high with honey cakes, chocolate pretzels, gingerbread mice with sugar whiskers, and gingerbread houses, dolls and animals.
    “My treat, but don’t take all afternoon,” said Marianne. “I still have to get my mother’s present.”
    Ernest chose a gingerbread soldier with a chocolate sword, and Marianne said, “I’ll have a tree, please.” She handed over twenty pfennigs for their purchases, and began to nibble her way round the outline of the triangles edged with white icing.
    One year she had passed Mrs. Schwartz’s door, and had been allowed to peek at her Christmas tree. She’d never forgotten the fresh smell of the pine, and the bright ornaments hanging from every bough. The warmth of the candle flames, flickering in their holders on the branches, was the most magical thing she’d ever seen. Somehow, eating gingerbread in this peaceful square had reminded her of that.
    Ernest, his mouth full, said, “This is absolutely the best gingerbread in the world, and I’m an expert, because my grandmother works in a bakery in Freibourg.”
    They walked round till they came to a stall selling carved walking sticks, wooden whistles, ornaments and toys. Marianne looked for something that would appeal to her mother.
    “My sister, Anna, wants a doll from Berlin. Your advice will be gratefully accepted,” said Ernest, trying out a walking stick whose handle was carved in the shape of an eagle. Marianne realised that Ernest was embarrassed to be seen looking at toys. She thought it was really nice of him to think of his sister.
    “How old is Anna?”
    “Nearly six. She’s the baby in the family, so of course she’s spoiled. She might like this.” He pulled the strings of a ferocious-looking jumping jack.
    Marianne picked up a small jointed doll with real braided hair, the golden ends tied in red bows to match the doll’s skirt and the braiding on the black bodice. Her blue eyes and spiky eyelashes were carefully painted; her wooden face had a sprinkling of freckles, rosy cheeks and a mouth that looked surprised.
    “Your little sister would like this. Look at the embroidery on the sleeves – it’s perfect,” said Marianne.
    “You’re right,” said Ernest.
    The doll cost three marks. While it was being wrapped, Marianne noticed a careful arrangement of music boxes. She particularly admired one which had a delicate carving of flowers on each corner of the polished wooden lid. The stall owner turned the key, and Marianne hummed along with the familiar tune. It was a lullaby her mother used to sing to Marianne when she was little, to comfort her when she awoke in the dark:
    Sleep my baby sleep,
Your Daddy guards the sheep.
Mother shakes the gentle tree
The petals fall with dreams for thee
Sleep my baby sleep.
    The man asked Marianne, “Do you like Brahm’s ‘Cradle Song,’ Miss?”
    “Yes. My mother taught it to me. She would love this music box,” said Marianne. “Is it very expensive?”
    “It costs four marks, young lady. It is my own carving.”
    Marianne gave him a five-mark note