The Grantville Gazette - Volume 6 Part 11

"Speaking of food, where can I go to eat?"

"There are many places but do not go into the Club 250. They do not like Germans. Besides, they don't have any food except beer and pretzels." Bernhard waved a hand. "But let's get you a bed first. Grab your bag. I'll take you over to the workingman's dormitory. There is no public bath but there are what they call showers."

Bernhard led him to the dormitory a short walk away. It was a large three-story brick building. An old German with one arm was sitting behind a desk. He was dressed American-style in a plaid s.h.i.+rt that b.u.t.toned down the front. "Name?" he wheezed. He dipped his quill into the ink.

"Georg Bauer."

"How long will you be staying?" he asked, looking up from the form he was filling out.

Georg shrugged. "A week at least. I don't know. I just came from Jena and started work today." The old man wrote down where he came from.

"Where are you working?"

"The Laughing Laundress." The old man nodded and wrote that down.

"Two dollars per night or ten dollars for a week," the old man said, putting down the quill and lifting his palm expectantly. "Won't find a bed anywhere for less. If you have any valuables, I can put them in the cage. No swords, pistols or other weapons in the dormitory. I lock them up here.

You can keep your dirk."

After a short discussion, Georg handed over his money and got some American change.

"Brigitta!" the old man called.

A yawning woman wearing a long skirt and a linen blouse came out of the room behind the desk. A comfortably fleshed dark blonde and not unattractive, Georg noticed. Probably getting a little sleep before working tonight if she's napping now, he smirked.

"This is Georg Bauer. Put him in room 302. Bunk seven."

"Come." The woman led him down the hallway to the stairs. "One day they will fix the elevator but until then we use the steps," she grumbled and began climbing. Georg had no idea what an elevator was but following two steps behind her, his mind imagined what lay beneath the skirts not far from his eyes.

Once on the third floor, Georg walked next to her and smoothly slipped his arm around on her hip. "Will you come see me tonight, darling?" he asked.

Without commenting, Brigitta reached down, gripped the middle finger of the hand on her hip and bent it back.

"Aahh!" Georg yelled, going to his knees as she turned towards him, cruelly pressing his finger and hand backward. "Let go! Please!"

"A lesson to you, good sir," Brigitta said, releasing his finger. "There may be prost.i.tutes in Grantville but let them find you. Never, but never, make an a.s.sumption that any woman, no matter how she is dressed or where she works, is a prost.i.tute. Is that clear?"

Georg's eyes were watering as he worked the finger. "You might have told me before!"

"Of course." She smiled wickedly. "But you'll remember it so much better this way. You can see the room number above the door. 302. Your bunk is number seven and you can see the number on it from here. Remember its location. If someone finds you sleeping in his bunk, you may lose some teeth. There is a cabinet for each bunk and yours is number seven. The showers are at the middle of the hallway and . . . wait, I'll have to show you. Put your bag in your cabinet and join me down the hall."

A few minutes later Georg was standing inside a room as large as his own bunk room. There were colored tiles on the walls and it had a strange smooth rock floor. At a level just above his head there were four s.p.a.ced pipes sticking out from the wall with something bell-shaped at their end. Two k.n.o.bs were on the wall below each pipe and a square opening was built into the wall above the k.n.o.bs.

"This is how you turn on the shower." Brigitta stood to the side and turned one of the k.n.o.bs.

Water sprayed out of the bell-shaped device. "There are two k.n.o.bs. The one I just turned on, the one on the right, is for cold water. The one on the left is for hot water. You can adjust the temperature of the water coming out to your liking. Clear? When you are finished, be certain no water is coming out of the shower head. We do not waste water here."

Georg thought he understood but figured he could watch or ask someone else when he took his shower.

"One more thing," Brigitta said, with that nasty smile of hers. "There are four showers in this room, the only one on this floor. Only one person per shower. Try to share and people will think you're . . ." She gave a sign for a h.o.m.os.e.xual. "Wait in the hall with a towel around your waist or in your trousers or go back to your room. Use a towel to dry before you leave the shower. People slip on these floors and there's enough dirt on them without making mud. I have enough work to do. Understand?

"The hallway lights come on at sundown and go off an hour before midnight so everyone can get a good night's sleep. At dawn a bell will be rung so everyone can get to work on time. Any questions?"

Georg had a thousand but decided he'd try showering now that men were coming into the hallway from where they'd been working.

Half an hour later, freshly showered, he joined Bernhard at the door of the dormitory.

The Thuringen Gardens was busy when Bernhard and Georg walked in. "It's always like this from middle afternoon until late at night," Bernhard explained. The waitress bent forward next to Georg showing a generous cleavage as she set the quart-sized beer mugs before them. Georg was about to slip his arm around the woman's bottom as he often did in taverns but as he reached out, a twinge from his finger reminded him that Grantville was different. He carefully withdrew his arm. Bernhard was sitting across the long table from him. The corner of his mouth curled up slightly.

"That'll be five dollars," the waitress said. "Would you like to order a meal?"

Georg did a quick calculation and was horrified. So much for a beer? That was more than triple what it cost in Jena! More! How much had they devalued the money here? Did he even dare to spend his good Jena money?

"Order what you want, Georg." Bernhard smiled at the look on Georg's face. "I'll buy your meal tonight and you can return the favor after you get your first pay. They have herbed roast chicken, which is very good but that you can buy for yourself. The dish is expensive but the price has been coming down in the past month or two as more people have begun raising chickens."

Georg ordered first. After Bernhard put in his order for a round of cooked ground beef on a bun and pickled red cabbage, he continued Georg's orientation. "I guess someone must have told you that grabbing the a.s.s of a waitress in Grantville is not a good idea."

Embarra.s.sed, Georg told the story of his brief encounter with Brigitta to Bernhard's amus.e.m.e.nt.

Bernhard grinned and leaned forward with his forearms on the table. "You got off easy. I've met her before and she knew you were new to Grantville. She's attended several unarmed combat cla.s.ses. Easier than using a knife on someone who wants to get too friendly, you know. If I or most of the other men around us had done that, I might have gotten a look of what's between her legs. Of course, her foot would have been standing across my throat. Not worth it. Not worth it at all." He chuckled and took a large swig of beer.

Georg shrugged. "Everyone tells me that Grantville is different. How much different?"

Bernhard looked around for a moment. Then he pointed towards a large table in a back corner where eight people were dressed in American and German clothing. "See that table? The new princ.i.p.al of the school for teenage children, the last having been killed in the Croat raid a few weeks ago, is sitting there. Another man is the manager of the steel plant in Swarza along with his wife who is also highly educated in physical mechanics. Another is Herr Wesley Jenkins, the brother of our employer and a senior civil servant. There's talk of sending him somewhere else in Germany whenever Herr President Stearns and King Gustavus Adolphus come to an agreement.

The woman sitting next to him is a German who's a widow from Badenburg but who has also been working with Herr Wesley. The woman next to her used to be a camp follower but she's with the CoCs now. The last man is a Scottish weaver, specializing in wool.

"Now name me a place in the world where you can find such a diverse group that isn't traveling or drinking heavily. Each and every one of them is working hard not only for themselves but also to better Germany as a whole. Think about all the people you've ever known.

Where else have you ever seen a people like these here?

"Now I won't say that everyone in Grantville is that way. In fact, there are a lot of Americans who wish they were back where they came from, working for little more than subsistence pay because back there they had so many conveniences. Didn't have to work half as hard for them, either. Which is also why most of those people will never leave Grantville if they can help it.

"I'd known of your Herr Jenkins before he left here because I was cutting timber for Herr Chad Jenkins. Frankly, he did not have the best reputation. In fact, he . . . well, never mind. Now I can't help but admire him. Of all the Americans who left Grantville, I think he's about the only one who doesn't work closely with other Americans, only Germans."

"You're German. What makes them different?" Georg asked, as their meals were placed in front of them.

Bernhard shrugged and had a bite of his sandwich before continuing. "It's something inside them, in their education, that they refuse to be defeated by events. You've already heard how long they were educated. Do you realize that in this city less than one child in ten dies of illness? They claim that number is ridiculously high, that in a few years it will be less than one in a hundred.

What medicines they can produce keep many children alive but cleanliness is the single largest reason they say. It's nearly an obsession, the insistence on was.h.i.+ng their hands before eating and after using the facilities. The sewer you were building in Jena is part of that insistence.

"Next month I will return to my home town to bring my sister and children here. After the Croat attack, I figured if Wallenstein and Richelieu are that afraid of Grantville-educated children, then I'd better get mine here as soon as possible. Can you imagine what an education is worth from the most knowledgeable place in the world?"

"Interesting." Georg bit into his toasted roll. It was sliced lengthwise and contained sauerkraut and sausage that was slathered with mustard. Expensive but not bad, he thought, letting its sharp and spiced flavors fill his mouth. He put it down and tried some pickled cabbage. It was . . .

different, definitely not as good as what his mother used to make but then whose was? "Is this place open for breakfast as well?"

"No. Just keep sniffing when you leave the dormitory tomorrow morning and watch where the other men go. There's a few different places. I live in a house owned by Herr Jenkins with five other men and we have a German woman who cooks for us every morning. Care for another beer?"

When Brigitta walked down the hallway ringing the bell the next morning Georg woke up with a headache. Not his usual headache caused by drinking too much. His head hurt in different places. He opened his eyes or at least tried to. Something was definitely wrong because he couldn't open them more than slits. What was in that beer last night?

Georg threw back his blanket. He walked stiffly over to his cabinet, got out his clothes and, sitting on the bench, put them on painfully. He hadn't felt this bad since that drunken fight in . . .

Checking his pouch before putting on his trousers, he found that he had most of his money. Well, that was good news.

Slowly, painfully he put his head up and walked out. It was cool for being the just past the middle of summer he thought, taking a deep breath. Ouch. That hurt too. He breathed in through his nostrils and . . . cooking sausage. Breakfast!

Georg looked around at the other men coming out of the dormitory. "Hey, where's a good place for breakfast?" he called.

One of them looked at him strangely and then nodded. "This way."

"What the h.e.l.l happened to you?" Bernhard asked when Georg walked into the shop almost an hour later.

"I don't know," Georg admitted. "I remember leaving the Gardens. I don't remember much past then. I saw another tavern. I think it was a tavern. I guess it sold food because I remember a sign in English saying, 'No Krauts'. 'No' meaning 'nichts' and 'Krauts' I figure was for 'cabbage.'

They didn't have any cooked cabbage for sale. Stupid sign to put up. I'd already had enough to eat anyway. I opened the door and well, that's the last I remember from last night."

Bernhard sighed. "Kraut is a derogatory term for German. Remember when I told you not to go to the Club 250 yesterday because they don't like Germans? Guess what you did. Somebody, probably a lot of somebody's beat you up. Let me take you over to the restroom. I'll clean you up."

When Georg looked in the mirror, he was shocked. First of all, he'd never seen himself in a decent mirror. Second, it was no wonder he felt bad. Both eyes were swollen almost shut and his face had been brutalized. There were smears of dried blood from his nose on his chin and cheeks where he'd wiped his face last night. Thank heaven he'd been feeling no pain.

"I hope you can see well enough to work," Bernhard said. He washed and rinsed Georg's face until it was cleared of all blood. "We've got a s.h.i.+pment going out on Monday. If we don't get enough finished today, we're going to have to work on it tomorrow."

"Are you all right?" Herr Jenkins asked as soon as he saw Georg.

"I feel hurt but it could have been a lot worse," Georg said bravely. As time went on, he was feeling more aches and bruises in various parts of his body. But he still had all his teeth and he'd given worse in fights. "They weren't really trying hard to injure me. Either that or I defended myself well and my knuckles don't look that bad." Bernhard brought over two light blue pills with a gla.s.s of water. "Here. This will make it hurt less."

"What kind of pills are these?" Georg asked, putting the pills into his mouth and taking a drink of water to wash them down.

"Like an essence of willow bark in pill form. They call it aspirin. It relieves pain. There's a doctor in Jena who compounds it for us."

Fortunately, being the newest member of the a.s.sembly crew, Georg's job was the easiest. All he had to do was hammer square-ended metal caps on each end of the cylinders and lightly tap gears with a small hammer onto each cap using a covering piece of wood before pa.s.sing them to the next position.

Since Georg was paying for his own meal tonight and wouldn't be paid by Herr Jenkins until noon tomorrow, he only had a sandwich and a beer at the Thuringen Gardens. Well, one more beer. He could afford it and it really was good beer.

By the time he left the Gardens, the sun had been down for hours. He still had enough in his pouch for tomorrow's breakfast.

The streetlights were on, which helped as he stumbled the short distance from the Gardens to the dormitory. It was a warm, beautiful night and Georg was feeling one with the world. He would have sung but in the past people had compared his singing to the braying of a mule and he was determined to be a good boy here in Grantville.

Should have used the facilities in the Gardens before he left, Georg thought as his bladder began to feel uncomfortable. Probably not a good idea to p.i.s.s in the streets here. He'd wait until he got to the dormitory.

Umm, the dormitory was just a little far away. n.o.body will notice if I duck into an alley for a few moments. He was feeling awfully tired . . .

"Hey, you! Yes, you with your schwantz hanging out. What do you think you're doing?" the German patrolman asked. Georg was propping up a wall with one arm, the other holding his trousers as he returned the fluid of at least one large mug of beer back to the earth from whence it came.

Georg turned, slumping sideways against the wall without stopping the flow. "Jesus Christ!

He's whizzing all over the place," the second of the two patrolmen shouted.

The first patrolman laughed. "I should have let him keep going the way he was. Now he's wet his trousers as well, Jonathan. I thought you would have seen this in the army. Come, we'll take him home. After he pulls up his pants."

"Shouldn't we take him in?" the younger man asked as the two men helped Georg continue walking back in the well-lit street.

"Why? He hasn't done anything wrong except relieve himself in the wrong place. Besides, look at his face. He's had enough trouble already and he's not violent. Putting him in a cell would be a waste of the taxpayers' money."

About that time Georg began to feel sick. Very sick.

The next morning Georg's head exploded when Brigitta walked down the hall clanging that infernal bell. Wearing only his pants, he stumbled into the bright hallway headed for the showers. At least he knew why his head hurt this morning.

Brigitta was coming towards him from the end of the hall, still ringing the bell. She grinned at Georg's expression as he clamped his palms over his ears. "Herr Bauer! When you take your shower, keep your trousers on." She laughed.

Georg looked down and just as the urine and vomit on them registered in his mind, his pants fell to his knees. Brigitta burst into loud peals of laughter and started ringing the bell again.

Bernhard looked over at Georg an hour later when he came in to work not looking much better than he had the day before. Only now his trousers were soaked as well. Bernhard just shook his head with a sad smile.

"Georg?" He saw the younger man wince. "We've got enough rollers prepared. Today you'll press and then stencil the name of the company on the slats that will be on both sides of the top of the wringer a.s.sembly."

Georg took a piece of paper out of his pouch and handing it to him. "Bernhard, what does this mean? The old man at the front desk gave it to me when I came downstairs this morning."

Bernhard took a quick glance at the police citation. "Drunk and committing a public nuisance.

You understand the drunk part. The public nuisance probably means you were p.i.s.sing somewhere that was not a restroom. Probably in a street or alley. Right?"

"I . . . uh . . . don't remember too well," Georg admitted, his face screwed up trying to remember. "You mean that's a crime in Grantville?"

Bernhard nodded. "Remember what I said about cleanliness? Now you'll have to go to the police station and pay a fine. Probably about ten dollars. That's most of what you've earned your first day. Don't forget you're going to owe for another week at the dormitory before you get paid again."

"What? What am I going to live on? How will I pay for my food?"

Bernhard shrugged. "Perhaps you can get an advance on your pay from Herr Jenkins before that comes due. Come, I'll show you the pressing equipment and how to place the stencil so you can paint it."

When Bernhard had explained Georg's situation to Herr Jenkins, he looked very unsympathetic. In fact, Chad pulled out a folder with Georg's name on it and inking a quill, wrote down the circ.u.mstances.

"I don't like this. I don't like this at all, Georg. I hired you based on my son's recommendation. Now you're letting him down as well as me. Frankly, I'm tempted to let you go right now. But I won't. This time. The next time you get into trouble . . . But I will advance the amount of your fine from your pay for next week before court because I understand your situation and that will be the last time. Understand?" Herr Jenkins asked sternly.