The Black Spider Read Free Page A

didn’t like getting up early either, that was why she was so late; if it had been left to her, she would have been here long ago. Thick cream was poured into the coffee, and although the godmother protested and said she did not like it, the wife threw a lump of sugar in all the same. For a long time the godmother would not have it that the Bernese cake should be cut for her, but then she had to let a good-sized piece be placed in front of her and to eat it. She didn’t want any cheese, she said; she didn’t need it a bit. The wife said she believed it was made from skimmed milk and did not think much to it on that account, and the godmother had to give in. But she didn’t want any fritters, she said; she just wouldn’t know where to find room for them. It was only that she believed they were not clean and she was used to better quality, was the answer she finally received. What else could she do except eat fritters? While she was being pressed to eat in all kinds of ways, she had drunk her first cup of coffee in short measured sips, and now a real dispute started. The godmother turned the cup upside down and claimed that she had no more room for any further good things, saying people should leave her in peace, or else, what is more, she would have to refuse in even stronger language. Then the wife said she was really sorry that she didn’t like the coffee, she had ordered the midwife most emphatically to make it as good as possible, it really wasn’t her fault that it was so bad that nobody wanted to drink it, and there surely couldn’t be anything wrong with the cream either, she had taken it off the milk in a way she certainly didn’t every day. What was the poor godmother to do except to let them pour her another cup?
    For some time now the midwife had been hovering around impatiently, and at last she could restrain herself no longer, but said, “If there’s anything you’d like me to do for you, just tell me, I’ve got time for it!”
    “Oh, don’t be rushing us!” the wife said.
    The poor godmother, however, who was steaming like a kettle, took the hint, dispatched the hot coffee as quickly as possible, and said, during the pauses forced on her by the burning drink, “I should have been ready long ago, if I hadn’t had to take more than I can get down me, but I’m coming now.”
    She got up, unpacked her bags, handed over the Bernese cake, the infant’s garment and the godmother’s own present – a shining neuthaler coin, wrapped up in a beautifully painted piece of paper which had a christening text on it – and made many an apology because everything was not as good as it might be. But the mother interrupted with many an exclamation that that really wasn’t the way to go about it, putting yourself to so much expense that they almost felt they couldn’t accept it; and if they’d known it, they wouldn’t have thought of asking her to be godmother in the first place.
    Now the girl too set to work, assisted by the midwife and the lady of the house, and did her utmost to be a beautiful godmother, from shoes and stockings up to the little wreath on top of the precious lace cap. The business took its time in spite of the midwife’s impatience, and the godmother kept on finding something that was not as it should be, now one thing, and now another was not in the right place. Then the grandmother came in and said, “But I want to come in as well and see how lovely our godmother is.” At the same time she let out that the church bells were ringing for the second time, and that both godfathers were in the outer room.
    Indeed the two godfathers, an older man and a young man, were sitting outside, scorning the newfangled coffee, which they could have any day, in favour of the steaming mulled wine, this old-fashioned but good Bernese soup, consisting of wine, toasted bread, eggs, sugar, cinnamon and saffron, that equally old-fashioned spice which has to be present at a christening feast in the soup, in