Perishable Goods, part 1

“Well, you’re looking very dapper,” were Grandpa’s first words when I walked into the room. It was true, if I may say so myself; my hair was combed into a respectable shape for the first time in a long while, and my new suit gave me an air of authority. That’s what I thought, at least.

“What you all dressed up for? You can’t afford a suit, not now, not when the economy’s the way it is,” he muttered incredulously, easing himself out of his chair and shuffling slowly towards the drink cabinet. “You finally got a proper job or are you on trial?”

“Neither, Grandpa,” I smiled, adjusting my hair ever so slightly in the mirror. “I’m meeting someone. A woman.”

“Can’t afford a woman either,” he said, pouring himself a glass of wine and gulping it down in one. “Too high maintenance. Go on, what’s she called then?”

“It’s not a date. Strictly business, I’m afraid. Here we are,” I said, pulling the folded slip of paper out of my breast pocket. “We’re meeting at a café in the middle of town. Her name’s Elsa Winters.”

“Sounds German,” Grandpa replied darkly, setting himself slowly back into his chair, another full glass in hand. “I wouldn’t trust one of them if I were you, son, not one bit.”

“Having flashbacks again?” I grinned, running a hand unconsciously through my hair.

“I fought and almost died so your generation wouldn’t have to grow up speaking German,” he muttered, sipping at his wine, “so a little respect would be appreciated.”

“Well, be that as it may,” I said, glancing down at my watch, “I need to be going. See you later, Grandpa.”

He breathed in deeply. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be asleep, but I heard him stir as I passed.

“Be careful out there,” he murmured, shifting in his chair. A moment later he was snoring again.

* * * * *

The pale sun barely shone through the paler sky. Only a few weak rays of light penetrated the thick layers of clouds. It was almost noon, but still a grey mist clung determinedly to the town. I shifted in my seat, pulling up my jacket collar, the folded slip still clutched in my hand.

Two men in army uniforms sat at a far table, cigarettes in near-blue hands jammed tightly against their lips. The rest of the café patrons had migrated indoors. I shivered and glanced at the slip again. Elsa Winters, Café Oranje, half past eleven, table nine. I wondered why our rendezvous couldn’t have been somewhere a little warmer.

I looked up as a shadow fell over the table, a figure emerging almost instantaneously from the fog.

“Excuse me,” asked its owner, “is this seat free?”

“Only if your name’s Elsa,” I replied, squinting up at my new companion against the faint sun. I didn’t recognise her, which wasn’t a surprise really; I’d never seen Elsa Winters before, and even if I had, a tightly wound scarf and dark glasses obscured most of her features.

She sat without speaking.

“I take it you are her, then.” I took a short sip of my coffee. “I can call you Elsa, right?”

“If you must,” she replied shortly. “And what should I call you, Mister-”

“Dante.” I offered my hand, and soon regretted it as an icy wind sliced at my fingers.

“Alright then, Mr Dante,” she said, ignoring it. “I suppose you realise why I wanted to see you?”

“My animal magnetism?”

“A little professionalism, if you please,” she ignored my comment. I would probably have done too if I were her. “I’m here to talk business.”

“Couldn’t we have done that inside?”

“Mr Dante, this matter is highly important and, more to the point, highly sensitive. We must make every effort to ensure we are not overheard.”

“I still think we could do that inside.”

“I need to move some- what shall we call it? - cargo out of the country.” She finally took off her glasses; her eyes were small, dark and tired. “Mr Dante, what do you do for a living?”

“I work in shipping and exports,” I replied warily, taking another burning gulp of coffee.

“You’re a smuggler.”

“I have been known to export contraband items from time to time, yes.” I motioned for her to continue, but she stayed silent. “Well… what sort of cargo do you want me to deliver?” I finished limply.

She raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know what you… oh, you can’t be serious,” I muttered, suddenly realising what she meant, draining the last dregs of my coffee.

“Think about it, Mr Dante,” she said, reclining in her seat and snapping her glasses back onto her face. “If all goes well you end up with a clean conscience and some extra cash in your pocket.”

“And a bullet in the back of my head if it doesn’t.” I stood abruptly, almost knocking over my chair. The soldiers at the other table turned around and stared at us. “It’s not like I don’t need the cash, alright,” I hissed, more quietly now until they lost interest and turned away. “I’ve smuggled alcohol, drugs, hell, even weapons when the money’s been right, but this is… this is something else. I’m not interested. You’re wasting your time. And, more importantly, you’re wasting mine.”

“Like I said, consider it,” she replied, the corners of her mouth twitching slightly. “If you change your mind, meet me at this address tomorrow.”

She leaned forward, another slip held in her proffered hand. I hesitated for a few seconds.

“Now why would I want to do that?” I asked after a moment, grudgingly taking the slip nonetheless. “And there are lots of people in the city who’d be more than happy to do it. Why’d you call me?”

“For the same reason I know you’ll change your mind,” she said, getting up. “And when you get back, ask your grandfather about Lieutenant van Buren.” Then she was gone, leaving me standing alone in the plaza, with a chill wind sweeping over my back.

* * * * *

“…come into my house and start throwing accusations around, I’m a war veteran, for goodness’ sake!” I heard Grandpa’s bellow echo down the hallway as the door clicked shut behind me.

“For whatever reason, your patriotism is lost on me.” His companion’s retort was sharp and smug.

“I gave and lost more in that war than you lot ever did! Damn cheek, if you ask me. No respect, it’s the same with all you people-”

“Something the matter?” I asked, striding into the room. I could see Grandpa was a dark shade of red, the wine glass in his hand visibly trembling.

“Well, if it isn’t Dante Junior,” the other man smirked, flicking imaginary specks of dust off his immaculate uniform. “Your grandpa and I were just having a little… conversation.”

“I’m not twelve,” I said, undoing my tie in the reflection of the mirror, “is he under arrest or not?”

His face darkened. “I’d watch your tongue, Dante, or he will be,” he growled. “Now you’d better-”

“What, Karl, can’t take a little bit of lip from a kid?” Grandpa snapped, slamming his glass down on the table so forcefully I was afraid he’d break it.

“That’ll be officer to you, Dante,” Karl retorted, swivelling around to face him. The room fell silent.

“I can see my presence isn’t appreciated here,” he continued a moment later, growling from behind his teeth, “so for the sake of my own sanity I’d best be going. Unless you have any further interjections, Dante?”

“Not at all, officer,” I replied coldly, flinging my battered tie onto the sofa.

“Well, don’t let me keep you then. Good evening, gentlemen.”

Grandpa slumped into his chair as the door slammed shut.

“Thank God he’s gone,” he croaked, hand reaching for the glass of wine on the table by him. “I was losing track of which Dante was which. How did your date go?”

“I told you, it’s not a date, it’s strictly business.” I slouched in the chair opposite him, helping myself to a glass of scotch from the cabinet. Grandpa’s wine had never been to my liking. “By the way, have you ever heard of a Lieutenant van Buren?”

“Van Buren?” Grandpa was suddenly completely alert. “Of course I know van Buren. Have I never told you about him?”

I shook my head.

“I’m disappointed with myself. My, we practically grew up together. Our mothers talked for hours over the fence each day. Our fathers won and lost fortunes to the other at cards. I’m pretty sure we’d have been born in the same ward on the same day if our parents could have arranged it.” He took another deep swig of wine. “Neither of us liked the look of what the Germans were up to, so as soon as the War broke out we signed up. Recruitment options were, obviously, quite limited here, so we skipped over the channel and joined the navy together.” He downed the last dregs of his glass and wiped his mouth. “Cannon shrapnel shredded my leg up once, and he patched it up nicely. I owe my life to that man. And, since he was the one who introduced me to your grandmother, I guess you do too. Wherever did you hear of van Buren from?”

“Elsa mentioned him…” I began, but trailed off when I heard his snores rising from the chair, a contented smile on his face, the empty glass hanging lazily from his hand.