Free Cafe Babanussa by Karen Hill Page B

despite the wrinkles that now crisscrossed her face. She dressed stylishly and she seemed friendly; however, suspicious whether a young Canadian could keep up with German expectations of cleanliness, she gave Ruby specific orders and closely monitored her work. Windows were to be cleaned with rags soaked in vinegar and water and dried with newspaper and then again with soft leather cloths so no streaks marred the ingress of sunshine.
    Ruby loved the winter garden. She had never seen anything quite so big. The room was wide and very long and on three sides it was glassed in, ceiling to floor. Plants of all species, sizes and colours covered much of the floor, with two pathways dividing the room. There were philodendrons, jades, crotons, ficus, pineapples and all manner of ferns, with their gentle tendrils swirling every which way. The different shades and hues of green held her fascination. But most of allshe loved the flowering plants—bougainvillea, hibiscus, azalea, amaryllis and wonderful orchids galore. It was basically a greenhouse within a house—it reminded her of watching her mother’s svelte body bend and swivel in her garden back home, and she felt happy in there as she washed the cool ceramic floors and the windows. The air felt humid and lush. She hummed her mother’s favourite songs and sang to the plants as she dusted their leaves and spritzed them and checked the soil. One time she was singing “The Surrey with the Fringe on Top,” her voice growing louder and louder without her noticing. Suddenly Frau Herzog stood in front of her, arms crossed.
    â€œRuby, what are you doing?”
    â€œOh! Oh, I’m sorry, Frau Herzog, I just got carried away.”
    â€œMy dear, you have a fine voice, but we’re not in the theatre and I didn’t hire you to sing for me. There’s no need to bellow. Please, just pay attention to your work.”
    â€œYes, of course,” Ruby mumbled.
    She had gotten off lightly that time.
    Week after week, Ruby mopped floors, cleared and dusted attics and picked cherries from atop unsteady ladders. Then one day, Frau Herzog ordered her to climb out the window of a third-floor sitting room onto the roof and scoop the leaves from the eavestroughs.
    â€œHere, we’ll just tie some rope around your waist and attach the other end to the tree trunk over there. Don’t worry, I know my knots,” she said, smiling at the dismay that crossed Ruby’s face.
    Despite the trunk’s apparent sturdiness, Ruby had visions of crashing through the window, flattened like a coyote in a Road Runner cartoon. Nonetheless, out the window she went, and she inched around the roof’s edge, trying not to peek at the ground far below, grabbing and bagging leaves and cursing her inability to speak up for herself. She needed the money, and as an illegal worker she felt she had no rights.
    The following week, Frau Herzog insisted she clean the living room windows from the outside. She tied Ruby to a chair in the dining room, from which she was to climb out onto a ledge that overlooked the driveway two storeys below. But the chair was not anchored to anything, and again it seemed she was placing her life in the hands of Frau Herzog.
    When Ruby told Werner about her day at work, he exploded.
    â€œHow could you let yourself be treated that way? You have absolutely no insurance, nothing to protect you if anything happens. You’re such a fool!”
    â€œMaybe so, but she can be like a Nazi sometimes . . . Is that it? Are all older Germans former Nazis?”
    â€œWell, many were at least part of Hitler’s machinery. But you know, many Germans did not want to fight a war, but they felt there was no choice. People did fight against the Nazis, in the resistance. Still, in the end many became enmeshed in the regime.”
    Listening to Werner, she thought of her own parents, and what they would think of her job. Her father would say of her time in