THIRD PLACE
A short story about how a chance encounter with a perfect stranger can change your life.
The idea for that day’s lunch came to Rudolf in a dream. He dreamed of a plate of potatoes with dill sauce, the kind made from scratch, and the vision was stuck in his mind long after he had drunk his morning coffee and eaten his bread and butter for breakfast. When his wife Helena died three years earlier, he had to teach himself how to cook and sauces were now a child’s play for him. Even his two sons complimented his culinary skills when they came to visit and often told him in jest that he should open a restaurant.
After a careful inspection of the pantry and the fridge, he came to the conclusion that the only missing ingredient was fresh dill. Some people would use dried dill from the supermarket, but not Rudolf. He liked to do things the proper way, especially when it came to food. Since the day he retired, his mornings were mostly filled with preparations of his midday meal and this one would be no exception. The trip to the Zelny trh would take at least an hour, possibly more if he loitered around the stands and looked at what everyone was selling.
An excursion to the city center required a fresh shave, a clean shirt and a spritz of cologne, together with a careful combing of his white but still thick hair in front of the mirror. He hated to look unkempt and always took good care of both his appearance and his apartment. He might feel tired and lame sometimes, but he certainly wouldn’t let it show.
It was a fine, sunny day in early June and the streets were full of people hurrying to work. Watching them all walk with a sense of purpose, Rudolf started to reminisce about the days when he, too was a part of the morning race against time. He used to work at the technical department of the Brno Public Transit Company. His job was to ensure that all buses were in working order and brought the passengers where they needed to be without a glitch. His trained ear still listened out for signs of neglect whenever he took a bus – squealing tires, popping or clicking sounds – and his eyebrows shot up menacingly when such sounds could be heard.
Today, he decided to take a tram instead. He got off at Ceska Street, one of the city’s main arteries, and then walked the rest of the way. Despite the early hour, business at the market was at full swing. The vendors had already put their goods on display and the eager customers kept pouring in. There was a wide range of goods on offer – bread, pastries, fruit, vegetables, clothes, arts and crafts. It didn’t take him long to find a stand that sold fresh produce and he was clutching a bunch of freshly cut dill in his hand in no time. The quest had lasted much shorter than Rudolf expected and now that his mission was complete, the sense of purpose had left him. He looked around, past the shoppers and the stands, and saw hundreds of years’ worth of history beckoning to him, inviting him to show admiration and respect. Then the bell of the St. Peter and Paul cathedral struck nine and Rudolf got an idea. He would walk to the top of the Petrov Hill and enjoy the view. Helena loved the place – she used to say that it had an aura of mystery about it, a special kind of energy that she could not pinpoint but was able to sense.
The climb took him longer than usual – it was getting quite hot – but he kept his pace slow and steady and eventually reached the top. Once there, he leant against the low wall for support and watched the city below stretch languidly in the shimmering heat. His eyes found the house where he had been living for over thirty years and together with his wife raised their two boys. He located the schools he attended, the Town Hall where he got married, the various buildings where he used to work. Brno was his home, the place where he belonged.
Rudolf’s musings were interrupted by a sudden movement at his feet. He looked down and saw a little white dog, a Westie, who sniffed his shoes and then stood on its hind legs to scrutinize the dill that he was holding in his hand.
“Hilda!” a woman’s voice called and the dog trotted away obediently to a nearby bench where its owner was sitting. It was a petite white-haired woman dressed in a pale-blue trouser suit.
“I am so sorry, Hilda never does that. I don’t know what got into her! She’s rather shy, in fact,” the woman explained.
“Oh, it’s fine, it’s fine,” Rudolf assured her. “We used to have a dog, too. A dachshund. Her name was Tapka. She lived to be sixteen years old, can you believe it?”
“That’s quite some age,” the woman nodded approvingly. “You must have taken very good care of her.”
Seeing that her owner was now involved in a conversation with Rudolf, Hilda trotted back to him and nudged him gently with her nose, asking to be petted.
“Oh, aren’t you a clever little thing!” Rudolf cooed, bending down to pet her and staggering a little in the process.
“Would you like to sit down?” the woman offered kindly, pointing at the empty space next to her.
“Actually, yes, thank you,” he replied and dropped onto the bench with a sigh of relief. “Do you come here often?” he asked conversationally.
“Yes, every morning,” the woman nodded. “Climbing the hill is a part of my exercise routine. It’s good for the heart, you know.”
“Absolutely,” Rudolf acquiesced, even though he never gave his heart much thought. “I haven’t been here in a long time,” he explained. “I live in Pisarky.”
“Pisarky is very pretty,” the woman remarked. “I used to go there a lot, to the Exhibition Center. I worked as an interpreter.”
“That’s nice. Which language?” he asked, with curiosity.
“German”, she said proudly.
“I used to study German at school, for many years,” Rudolf admitted.
“Also Sie sprechen Deutsch ganz gut, ja?” she beamed.
“Eh…..nein, nicht mehr. Ich habe alles vergessen……”
“Come on, you can’t have forgotten everything! I’m sure it’s all stored in your memory somewhere!”
“Maybe…. But now I am too old to go to a language school. They would all laugh at me, you know.”
“Nonsense!” she cried. “I go to a French class every Wednesday and there are people of all ages and backgrounds. No one laughs at anyone, trust me.”
“It’s nice you have a hobby,” he said thoughtfully, scratching Hilda behind her left ear.
“And what do you do?” the woman asked him kindly.
Rudolf raised his head to look directly at her. She had a dainty, almost child-like face, with a small nose and a pair of bright blue eyes. He told her about his career in the Brno Transit Company, about his retirement and his wife’s sudden death.
“So now I am on my own,” he concluded. “Most of my days are the same – I cook, clean, watch the evening news and then fall asleep in front of the TV.”
She nodded wisely. “Being on your own is hard. I am a widow, too. My daughter lives in Vienna, so I have only Hilda for company. And then there’s my students, of course. I teach private German classes most afternoons, to keep myself busy, you know. Once you stop using your head, everything else goes downhill.”
“You are right,” Rudolf concurred. He had felt that since the day he retired, his mental capacity was slowly deteriorating. He would have to do something about that.
“Are you making dill sauce for lunch?” the woman asked, pointing at the slowly wilting bunch in his hand.
“Ah, yes, that’s why I came to the market, actually, to buy some dill.”
“I like dill sauce, too,” she said. But today we are roasting a chicken, right, Hilda?”
The dog turned her head towards its owner at the sound of her name.
“Well, we better get going, the chicken won’t cook itself.” She stood up to go and the dog immediately ran to her.
“Would you mind if I walked with you for a while?” Rudolf asked.
“Not at all, we’ll be glad to have company,” she assured him. The dog showed her approval by running around both of them excitedly.
They walked down the hill at a leisurely pace, sharing tidbits about their lives. The conversation flowed smoothly and before they knew it, they found themselves at the foot of the hill.
“Well, this is me. I live just around the corner,” the woman said, putting Hilda on a leash.
Rudolf knew this would be the point where they would say their goodbyes and part, but he didn’t want to let her go, at least not for good.
“You know….. About the German classes….. Do you think you could teach someone as old as me?” he blurted out nervously.
“Of course!”, she exclaimed. “Let me just……” She rummaged in her small shoulder bag for a while and then took out a business card. Rudolf didn’t have his reading glasses on him and had to squint in order to read the small letters:
ANNA SCHUMANNOVA
TRANSLATIONS AND INTERPRETING
DE-CZ
Tel. 772 98 19 58
“Anna…. What a beautiful name!” he said with a smile. “My name is Rudolf, by the way,” he added.
They shook hands amiably to seal the introduction.
“I look forward to learning with you, Rudolf,” Anna said.
“And I with you,” he replied, already trying to remember where his old German textbook could be. There was no way he was going to his first class unprepared. “Do you think we could start next week?”
“Of course. Give me a call on Friday evening and we will arrange a time. I am sure Hilda will be happy to see you, too!”
With a final wave of her small hand, Anna turned on her heel and walked briskly away. And just before they both disappeared in the crowd, Hilda turned around and Rudolf could swear that she gave him a little wink.
On the way home, he patted the business card sitting snugly in the breast pocket of his shirt and thought about the chance encounter he had just experienced. A conversation with a perfect stranger made him feel young again – there was a pep in his step and fresh energy rushed through his veins. The future held a promise again, a promise of a new beginning. Miracles really did happen at the most unexpected times and in the most unexpected places, like a Thursday morning on Petrov Hill.
Brno Writers Group 