Only Prompts - 21. O. Henry Prompt 4 - Witches' Loaves

Wim trotted behind as his Master raved. In the middle of the street, mind you!

“Sir! Master! Please remember where we are!” Wim ran in a circle around his Master, Otto Wieland.

Wim still didn’t know exactly what was wrong, only that they had been in the middle of the brew when it happened. It happened and it caused Master Wieland to throw sand over the flame and push the black kettle to one side, off the heat.

Then he ranted loudly in their native tongue, which if you heard them speaking you’d be certain it was German. Yet, if you listened closely you would also know, it was not.

“Master, where are we going?”

Wieland stopped and stared at his young apprentice. As was his habit, he removed the round wire rimmed spectacles and wiped them as he replied, “Where? To the bakery of course! Where else?”

~~

The bakery. Yes, of course. Otto attended the bakery each Tuesday and Thursday to make his purchase. Wim went with his master on these forays, usually waiting outside as his Otto conducted the transactions.

The woman who ran the bakery was polite—for one of them—and she seemed to be friendly.

“Of course, Master notices not her affection for him. Desire, perhaps,” Wim thought. He shuddered when he thought about desires. He quickly moved his thoughts away from such baseness lest Master take note.

Wim was unsure how Master had not taken note of the woman’s—Martha was her name—obvious desire toward him. If he had noticed, Otto would have been sure he’d done nothing to incite such attention.

It had started slowly. First the painting had appeared, and Master could not resist to comment about that. Art was a hobby and he loved to impart his knowledge of the subject to anyone willing, or forced to listen.

Then Martha had started to put fresh flowers out on Tuesdays and Thursdays when Otto was known to visit. The flowers always sat where the 2-for-1 priced, day-old items sat. These, of course, were all that Wieland would purchase. Nothing else was wanted, or required.

And though he knew better, Wim coveted a fresh vanilla slice. It was folly, he knew, but still the scent of them when he drew close was maddening. His salivating was the reason Master often told Wim to wait outside.

In any case, Martha began to wear bright blouses on these days also. The worst of them was the white one with blue dots. It made Wim’s eyes swim and cross slightly, so waiting outside wasn’t a chore on Blue-Dot Days. He didn’t understand how Master could stand it, but he was older and wiser.

They had come like always on Thursday morning. Otto seeing the blue-dotted blouse from outside told Wim to wait. He knew it would take hours for Wim’s eyes to uncross. The shop-door bell jangled pleasantly as Wieland pushed it open and stepped inside.

Martha was at the counter smiling and greeting her customer warmly. Wieland was two steps inside when the commotion began. The scream of sirens broke the morning idyll. So loud was the sound, it brought customers and staff to the windows to see the parade of fire engines roaring along the street.

Wim turned to watch, as did his Master.

That was when it happened, Wim mused later. “It had to have been then.”

Once the gang of trucks was gone, people turned back to their business. Otto was about to ask for his regular purchase, when Martha smiled and handed him, already packaged, his two-for-one day-old dinner roll order.

She held it out, but pulled it back when she noticed Otto’s hands. “Oh, your hands!”

Wim, his face pressed to the glass, watched his Master look at his hands. They were stained, there was little way for them not to be stained. “What is that dotty woman up to?”

Martha reached out and grabbed one Otto’s hands. In one hand she held him, and in the other, a paper sack of old rolls.

Otto was a gentleman, so he gently pried himself from her grasp. He smiled, handed her the payment, and then took the dangling bag. “Dear lady, thank you. I bid you adieu until next Tuesday.”

Wim could see the disappointment on Martha’s face. “She should know she cannot have a man like Master. He would never be interested in her that way!”

Then Master and Wim had gone back home. The last stage of cooking could begin now that the important rolls had been bought. They were not for eating! They were an important part of the chemical process.

And now Wim was tasked with cleaning the kettle. Its contents ruined because of that witch’s loaves! In the bottom lay an orange-brown stinking, oily, clotted mess. The smell was so horrid, Wim tied a bandana over his nose. It hadn’t helped much.

~~

“Wim, you must wait outside. I will deal with this myself.” Master had patted him on the head. Then after another wipe of his spectacles, he pushed open the door. The bell reacted with an angry jangle.

Wim waited. He watched Otto yelling his displeasure. Of course, she could not understand what Master was saying.

Bravely the little apprentice opened the door. Both his Master and she were yelling. He: Hexenbrot, and she: I don’t know what that means.

Summoning his courage, Wim said, “He’s saying you sold us witches’ bread. The rolls were filled with vile cream and it spoiled the whole batch!”

“The whole batch of what?” Martha’s glance flew between the pair.

At that moment Master broke into English. “No! No, Wim, you’ve said enough.”

“Oh … oh … I am sorry.” Poor Wim turned and ran from the shop. He stood outside, breathing heavily.

Inside, Otto switched to his less than perfect English. “You’ve upset him, my sweet companion. He’s had to clean the kettle and his medicine will be late!”

Martha was horrified she’d done something to hamper Wim’s health. “I am sorry … Mr. … Mr.?”

“Ah! Herr Wieland.”

“I’d never want to hurt your … employee, Herr Wieland.”

Wieland looked at Martha like she had grown another head. “Employee? He isn’t my … ach, never mind. Can you supply me with two more dinner rolls so I can finish my recipe?”

“They were fresh this morning. No charge of course.” Martha’s voice had taken on a whiny edge. “Will they be all right?”

“Yes, fine.” Otto was distracted. He looked at Wim who had sat down and was scratching his arm. “The degree of freshness doesn’t matter.”

Martha, her heart heavy, bagged up two more rolls and handed them to Wieland. She smiled and said, “No cream this time.”

Otto bowed slightly. “Thank you, madam. Until Tuesday, then.”

Wieland hurried from the store. Wim looked pale and he knew he had to get the boy home before it was too late.

“Wim, come.” Wieland looked down at the boy. “Get up. We must hurry.”

“I feel funny, Master.”

“Yes, come. We must get home.”

Otto pulled the boy up and pulled him along down the street. Luckily it was quiet now. People were home where they belonged.

They only needed to get across the park. Otto led the boy by the arm until he felt a tug. It was too late. Wieland pulled his charge into a little copse of trees.

Several minutes later, Otto emerged from behind the trees. He had a bundle of clothes under his arm, the bag of rolls in his hand. Beside him trotted a large blond dog.

Well, it looked like a dog, unless you got close.

Otto looked down at the creature. “Come, Wim. Let’s get home and get the recipe prepared. Before it’s too late for me too!”

Wieland scratched the back of his hand, where blond hair had sprouted.

C'est fini