Feeling weak at the knees, Clara opened the door of the first pharmacy. As the door swung open, a shrill doorbell jingled, but it was several moments before the pharmacist appeared from behind a dark-brown curtain.
“How can I help you?” He looked at her disinterestedly.
“I’m looking for work as a pharmacist’s assistant,” said Clara nervously. He doesn’t seem to recognize me from the newspaper, at least, she thought, her eyes roaming around the dim interior. The pharmacy looked old and worn out, like the proprietor himself. “My parents used to run a pharmacy, so I’m very familiar with all the procedures. I can make soap, and I’ve mastered the mixing of creams and pastes as well.” She had composed these sentences carefully, and had even practiced them aloud with Josephine. She wanted to sound confident but not overly pushy.
“Why don’t you work in your parents’ pharmacy if that’s where you learned?”
Clara gulped. “Well, I’ve never done an actual apprenticeship, you see. But—”
“And does your husband happen to know that you’re here asking about work?” The pharmacist nodded bluntly in the direction of her wedding ring. Clara’s hand flew instinctively to her ring. Blast it . . . Her fingers had been swollen the night before, so she hadn’t been able to get the ring off. And that morning, she had simply forgotten about it.
The man frowned at her unpleasantly. “Madam, you are wasting my time.” He shooed her out of his pharmacy.
Clara stalked off, angry at herself. She certainly had not carried that off very well. But it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t have wanted to work there at the best of times! As she walked, she yanked the wedding ring from her finger. She would have loved to toss it into the gutter, but she could not afford a gesture as daring or defiant as that. The gold ring would certainly be worth a few marks. She pushed it deep inside her bag instead.
“Out of the way! Are you blind?”
“Sorry.” Taken by surprise, Clara jumped to one side. In the bright sunlight, she had not seen the cyclist coming at all. An accident now—that was all she needed.
Looking left and right, she cautiously crossed Alexanderplatz, picking a path through the tangle of carriages, bicycles, and automobiles. Red-and-white striped awnings were extended over the large windows of the new Tietz department store to protect the goods on display from the sun. Clara found some relief in the shade they offered and looked around, orienting herself. To the right of the department store she saw the Corner Pharmacy, the second on her list. This time, she would handle herself better. “Good morning. My name is Clara Berg, and I—”
The pharmacist interrupted her with an extravagant wave of one hand, like a conductor stopping his orchestra from playing. Then he leaned so far forward over the counter that its edge pressed into his fat belly. “Don’t say another word, young lady! I need no more than a single glance to know what it is you need . . .” His eyes glinted lecherously as he looked Clara over from head to toe. After a long moment, he nodded with satisfaction. “You need something to calm your nerves, am I right? Or perhaps to help you sleep? Something for the circulation? Or is it more a . . . woman thing?” Spittle collected in the corner of his mouth as he watched her expectantly.
Clara’s brow furrowed. “None of that. I—” But she broke off, and seconds later was standing outside again. The man was crazy!
“No certificate? Not even a reference? Then I’m sorry . . .”
“We don’t hire women.”
“Work in a pharmacy? Without an apprenticeship? Unheard of!”
“Nothing open, I’m afraid.”
Clara’s confidence faded with every refusal. She had known all along that it would not be easy, but she had not counted on it being this difficult.
Around midday, her feet hurt so much in her new shoes that she decided to take a break. To try and assuage her guilty conscience as she sat with a cup of coffee and a piece of crumb cake, she reminded herself that most of the pharmacies were probably closed for lunch. But she certainly had not earned such luxury! While she picked dispiritedly at the too-dry cake, she looked at the women sitting at the tables around her. They were in the best of moods, laughing and chatting away. Were these the saleswomen from the Tietz department store, taking their midday break? Or businesswomen from the smaller shops? Or were they just the wives of well-off husbands, there to enjoy themselves? To simply sit in a café . . . it was something that Clara would not have dared do six months earlier—Gerhard would have skinned her alive! But now she sat among all those industrious-looking women. Oh, her feet hurt, to be sure, and her self-confidence had taken a battering, but still, there she was. And it felt good to realize that, in the anonymity offered by the big city, no one recognized her.
With renewed courage, Clara set off again. Just around the corner from the café, she discovered another pharmacy. The sign above the door read “Römer’s Pharmaceuticals” in black letters against a white background. Is this the seventh or eighth today? Clara wondered. She smoothed her skirt, put on her smile, and turned the door handle.
Inside, it smelled as it once had inside her father’s pharmacy, of camphor and lavender, disinfectant and chamomile. How lovely to once again be surrounded by that unique perfume. She felt her strained smile soften.
The pharmacist behind the counter smiled back at her pleasantly. “A wonderful summer’s day, isn’t it? How may I help you?”
Clara politely put forward her request.
“Well, that is fortuitous,” said the man. “I am, in fact, looking for someone to help me in the laboratory in back. I’ve just been thinking about an advertisement for the position.” He looked at Clara as if sizing her up. Then he went on: “My former assistant had an accident and will be out of commission for quite a while.”
Clara could hardly believe her ears. This was her opportunity.
“My specialty is making medicinal soaps,” the pharmacist said. “It’s a very time-consuming affair, and when I’m tied up with that, someone has to stand in for me here in the shop.”
“Or the other way around,” said Clara. “You could take care of the customers while someone else makes the soap. When I was a little girl, I was already helping my father make his soap. I know every step in the process, beginning to end. Soaps for all kinds of skin conditions, and soaps with lavender and rose perfumes. And abrasive soap, too, and of course simple hand-washing soaps. I know all the different kinds. We used to buy our base soap from the Scheu & Müller soap factory, although I don’t know if that still exists.”
“It most certainly does. Scheu & Müller is my supplier, too,” said the pharmacist happily. His expression was a mix of friendliness and interest. “It looks like I may be able to save myself an expensive newspaper ad. Why don’t I take a look at your papers right away?”
Clara swallowed. “When I was helping my parents in their pharmacy, I was still a young girl, and at that time the law did not allow an apprenticeship for women as a pharmacist’s assistant. Later, it was no longer possible for me to obtain such an official apprenticeship, so I have no certificates to show you,” she said. “But I would gladly work with you on a trial basis so that you can see my technical qualifications for yourself—for free, of course,” she added, to be on the safe side.
The man stroked his beard thoughtfully between his thumb and index finger. “I might be worth a try—”
“Karlheinz?” The woman who called out had a voice as shrill as an untuned instrument. The door behind the counter swung open, and a spindly woman with a high forehead and receding chin appeared. “You won’t believe it, but that impossible man next door, yet again, has—” She broke off when she saw Clara standing at the counter. “Oh, you have a customer. Excuse me.” The woman fell silent, her lips pressed together morosely.
“Hilde, you’ve come at just the right time,” said the pharmacist. He gestured to the woman, who must have been at least ten years older than him, to join him. “Let me introduce Hilde Römer, my wife. This is Clara Berg, and she ha
s just applied for a position as a pharmacist’s assistant. Isn’t that an amazing coincidence?”
The woman squinted at Clara, making her feel like an insect beneath a magnifying glass.
“Clara Berg . . . I know that name,” Hilde Römer murmured to herself. Her high forehead creased.
Clara froze.
“You already know each other?” asked Karlheinz Römer cheerfully.
His wife turned and glared at him, her face stony. “Do you think I’d know someone like her? I don’t associate with riffraff like that. There was a big article about her in the newspaper. With a photograph! She’s the adulteress whose divorce just went through the court. If you read anything but the sports pages, you’d know that!”
“Karlheinz Römer was the only one to show even the slightest interest in me. And then along came his wife and ruined it all.”
“That horrible article in the paper!” Josephine said, her voice a mixture of fury and despair. “Someone should be able to ban those hacks from writing about private matters!”
“You wouldn’t be happy around people as small-minded as that, anyway,” said Adrian, Josephine’s husband. “You know that you can come to work for us any time you want. As a secretary in the office. And we need someone else in dispatch, too. The spare parts department has been extremely busy. We can always use hardworking women, isn’t that right, Jo?”
Josephine nodded.
“That’s nice of you, really, but when it comes to writing letters and invoices, I really don’t have any experience to speak of,” said Clara, putting down her knife and fork. She had lost her appetite completely, even though Josephine’s cook had outdone herself with the roast veal. “What if I’m chasing some sort of vain illusion? Maybe my dream of working in a pharmacy has already expired.”
Josephine frowned. “Don’t even think it. Today was your first day. You probably just met the wrong people.”
“Berlin is big,” Adrian agreed. “You’ll find the right place soon enough.”
“After a start like I had today, I’m not so sure anymore,” said Clara flatly. The cook tried to give Clara some dessert, but Clara smiled and shook her head.
“Keep your chin up, Clara,” Adrian said. “Today it’s you in the headlines, and tomorrow it will be someone else. As soon as that article’s forgotten, the world will look like a different place, I’m sure.”
The next day, Clara rode the tram to the Spandau district. A new quarter, new luck! But the world looked no different at all in northwest Berlin. Most of the pharmacists said they didn’t need anyone, while others said they didn’t want to take on a woman. And then there were those who had read about Clara’s divorce in the paper.
The following weeks turned into an endless test of Clara’s nerves and patience. Whether at the Molkenmarkt or in Dorotheenstadt, in Stralauer Vorstadt or Marienviertel, the doors of Berlin’s pharmacies seemed to be nailed shut for Clara.
With every passing day, with every humiliation she had to swallow, she grew moodier, more peevish. She lost weight and twice had to take in the waistline of her dresses. But after a day without success, it was as if her throat had been squeezed closed, and she could not think about food. Her skin took on a gray, unhealthy pallor. This came as no surprise to her: the air in the city was sometimes thick enough to wring out. As dismal as you look, I wouldn’t give you a job, either, she thought, depressed by her reflection in the mirror.
Plus she missed her children so much that it hurt. Whenever she rang the doorbell at her old home, the nanny turned her away at the door. “Sophie is at her flute lesson.” “Matthias is at riding.” “They are on an outing with their father.” And so on. She was left with no choice but to meet furtively with Sophie in the schoolyard for a few minutes, as often as she could. “Why don’t you come home again?” the little girl asked every time. She and her little cat would be so happy if Clara could just do that! But after those stolen minutes, Clara was left weeping and despondent. It can’t go on like this, she thought, and she decided to send her ex-husband a letter.
Dear Gerhard,
As you know, by the decision of the court I could have taken Sophie with me. For our daughter’s sake, I have temporarily relinquished that right. In consideration of this great concession on my part, it would be only fair if you were to grant me visitation rights. I miss both children very much. As to the whens and hows, I am sure we can come to an arrangement. You know where you can reach me.
Sincerely,
Clara
The sun was blazing, and the heat and dust were making people irritable. The black smoke that rose from the chimneys of the surrounding factories hung in the suffocating summer air, robbing Berlin’s residents of the last bit of air to breathe. A little bump in a tram was all it took to start a shouting match. The coachmen drove their horses through the sweltering streets with no thought for pedestrians, cyclists, or children playing. Clara was almost run down twice because a carriage shot out of a side street without warning. No apology, no friendly word—both drivers simply ignored her frightened shriek.
The market traders and the street vendors sat lazily at their stands and could only watch as their produce spoiled faster than they could sell it. A simple question about the price of this or that often earned a loud curse.
Why does it have to be so hot? Clara wondered, setting off on her search yet again. Her feet were heavy, and not only because of the heat. There was still no sign of work. And no reply from Gerhard to her request. The waiting and uncertainty was putting her more and more on edge.
“I am looking for work as a pharmacist’s assistant. Do you have an open position?” Was this the fiftieth place she’d asked?
“That all depends,” said the next pharmacist, who appeared to be a respectable-looking older gentleman until he stared brazenly at Clara’s breasts.
“It depends?” asked Clara tentatively.
The pharmacist sighed. “My dear, you know quite well what I’m talking about. A certain . . . reputation precedes you. If I were to employ you, Mrs. Gropius, I would be ruining things with your husband. He would tell his colleagues not to send so much as a single patient here to buy their medications. I might, in certain circumstances, be willing to accept such a loss. You would only have to be a little nice to me.” Before Clara knew it, he came around from behind the counter and placed one hand on her breast. At the same time, he grasped her left hand and pressed it against his crotch. “They say you are an open-minded, experienced woman . . .” Shocked, Clara jerked free. Her first reflex was to run away, but instead she swung back her right hand and slapped the man hard on his ear.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she snapped at him. “How dare you hold my reputation against me? What shape do you think your reputation will be in when I tell the women who come here that they risk being assaulted by you? Or should I talk to your wife first?” The pharmacist went pale, which gave Clara some satisfaction. “You are repulsive! I would never work for you, not if you ran the only pharmacy in the empire!”
Still seething, Clara walked along the bank of the Spree and thought over all that had happened in the previous weeks. She had done the best she could. Despite the hostility she faced, she had never lost her courage or her manners. But no one had given her a chance. She did not have the slightest idea what to do next. She could not go on living at Josephine’s much longer. Nor did she want to! She still had the money from the sale of some of her mother’s jewelry—she had had the forethought to give the jewelry to Josephine for safekeeping after her parents’ death—but that would not last forever. The chances of the judge returning the house and the pharmacy to her in a second hearing—if she were to appeal the original judgment—were slim, Adrian had told her the evening before. He had made some inquiries with his own lawyer. That meant that she had to earn her own money, and soon. It was the only way that she would be able to afford an apartment of her own. But who would rent her a place was as much a mystery as who would hire her.
A
s a divorced woman, she had become a leper in the eyes of society. But did that mean she had to accept every vile thing that came her way? Hadn’t she been humiliated by Gerhard long enough?
The sun had just sunk below the horizon in a glorious sea of orange and red when Clara made up her mind: though her situation was far from good, from that day on she would never degrade herself again. She would lead her life with her head held high, and take issue with anyone who deserved it!
Chapter Six
With a cup of coffee in her hand, Josephine settled comfortably onto a chair on the cast-iron balcony of their home in the city. It had been a long day, and it was not over yet. Later, after dinner, there was a small reception with the mayor, focused on the arrangements for an important bicycle race the following year. Although it had not been stated explicitly yet, Josephine assumed that the mayor wanted Adrian on his side as both sponsor and fellow campaigner. Josephine had already put out what she wanted to wear, and, without time to see the hairdresser, she would style her hair herself. But first she had to catch her breath. Her daughter, Amelie, was playing in her room, Adrian was still at work, and the cook was preparing dinner. No one wanted anything from her just then, and she could put her feet up for a bit before dedicating herself to the day’s mail.
Josephine closed her eyes, enjoying the moment. When she opened them again, the first thing she saw was the Brandenburg Gate, shining golden in the light of the setting sun. Josephine had to smile. The monumental construction held a very special meaning for her: she and Isabelle had ridden beneath it so many times as a landmark on the secret cycling tours they had taken every morning—before dawn, while the world was still asleep—when they were younger.
Today, cycling had become normal. But not twenty years earlier, women who devoted themselves to the sport were met with antagonism and were even pelted with stones! She herself had ended up in prison because of her love of cycling. But it made no difference. Josephine did not regret a single day of her earlier life. She had so much to thank cycling for. Her friendships with Isabelle and Clara. Adrian, the love of her life. Their successful bicycle business. And, last but not least, her old friend Lilo, through whom she had first discovered cycling.
The Queen of Beauty (The Century Trilogy Book 3) Page 4
