The old woman collapsed just as Edward was leaving Aldi. Her two wicker baskets fell on their sides. Wurst, cheese, biscuits and bottles spilled onto the pavement. Brown liquid fizzed into the gutter.
Edward was carrying a plastic bag clanking with three bottles of cheap red wine. Also a new leather briefcase stuffed with eggs, frankfurters and peanuts. He deposited these by a lamp-post and bent down. He’d been a boy scout. It was his duty to help old ladies across roads — or in this case scrape one off a pavement. Other passers-by were, well, simply passing by.
The woman was stout and, Edward noticed, rather whiskery. Heavy coat, flat shoes, thick stockings. Frizzy grey hair under a grey felt hat. She looked not unlike his Grandma, who couldn’t understand him moving to West Germany for six months before university. ("I'd be afraid of being murdered in my bed.")
"Kann ich helfen?" Edward stammered, setting the baskets upright. Could he help? He’d arrived only two weeks ago, and his German was far from fluent.
The woman allowed Edward to heave her to her feet, then looked him up and down. His mother had taken him to Marks & Spencer to buy a new suit, shirt and tie, together with smart black shoes. These were being deployed at a bank near Stuttgart where he’d just started an internship.
Edward saw he passed muster. The old lady repeated her thanks. But might der junge Herr be so kind as to help her home? She lived close by. She would give him some money.
“Natürlich!” he replied – of course! But she didn’t need to pay him.
"You have very nice eyes," she said, taking one of his over-loaded arms. "I can see you are spiritual. Do you play the piano?"
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