Listen to the story things tell around you - and enyoy the little treasures

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Sunday morning. I opened the front door, as I do every day, to bring in the fresh milk for breakfast. This time was a handbill stuck under the glass bottle with writing on it: Household liquidation. I read the note quickly, while I was brewing coffee for breakfast. After coffee, I got dressed, and headed out. When I arrived at the address, a slight shiver ran through me. The household liquidation was at a neighbor's house close to me. I knew the old lady by sight. The lady was known to everyone as 'Mrs. Lucy'. She was very popular in the neighborhood. Always very polite, and at the holidays she gave away sweets to neighbors. She was one of those old English ladies whose hair was tied up. Her style reminded me of the Salvation Army, black leather bag Maggie Thatcher style and the heavy leather shoes with a small massive heel. For as long as anyone could remember, Mrs. Lucy lived in our street. They told, that she used to work as a teacher of English literature. She embodied the good old English days, when manners still existed, and children still saluted their parents. The time of dancing teas and dinner parties were part of the good manners of society. Now her household was dissolved. I sat down on the small staircase in front of the house and lit a cigarette. After smoking, I rang the bell. Sunday silence. Church bells. A woman, with a pale, serious face in black, opened the door for me. Good day, please. I was led into it. It was dead quiet in the apartment. Over the upholstered furniture lay white large sheets. The mirrors on the walls were also covered. My condolences, I pressed from my lips. A mantel clock ticked softly in the leaden silence. Nodding . I'm sure you come for the clearance. Have a look around. You can take what you want. It would be a shame if all the beautiful things just ended up in the trash. A deep sigh. The woman cut her nose in a white handkerchief. I'm Mrs. George. I'm dissolving Lucy's household. Short silence. I'm sorry to hear that. I lit, lost in thought, a cigarette standing in the hallway. Would you like to have tea with me in the kitchen? You can smoke there, too. Oh, sorry, of course, I stuttered. I followed her down the hallway into the kitchen. She put the kettle on the gas flame, opened a kitchen cupboard and took out an old silver teapot. Then she opened another cupboard and took out tea cups, saucers and a creamer. The teapot immediately caught my eye. It was shining bright silver in the daylight. I could see, that the silver was finely crafted and in good condition. Mrs. George seemed to be concentrating on her activities, until the typical soft whistle of the kettle was heard. Everything was mechanical, lost in thought. I sat at the kitchen table and smoked, and looked at the tea set. The tea cups were old, bone china, with delicate Chinese decor, dancing red dragons, and gold rim. My mind drifted to the past. Had Mrs. Lucy handed these cups to her guests at a soirée? Or poetry reading?

Tea, with milk and sugar? The question brought me back to the present.

Yes, please. Silence, as we sipped our tea. Mrs. George was silent company. Sipping tea and silence. Lucy died peacefully, a week ago. With her white handkerchief, she rubbed her nose. She sipped her tea again.

We were good friends. I taught at the same school. So we developed a very long friendship. No children, no husband. Good company was more important to her than marriage. Mrs. George stopped talking. I lit another cigarette, and inhaled deeply. Mrs. George stood up and picked up a silver ashtray.

Renewed tears rolled, which she dabbed away with her handkerchief. My gaze lingered on the old teapot that stood in front of me on the table. The teapot had a beautiful Victorian-style body and the spout was slightly curved. The handle was made of dark wood and beautifully shaped. The decoration was discreetly set in thin lines toward the lid and near the bottom. I turned the pot. On the back, I discovered an engraving: 30.3.18

Do you know what this engraving is?

This engraving is from the wedding of Lucy`s parents. The pot is almost 100 years old. A James Deakin teapot. Turn of the century. Handmade. Sterling silver. It belonged to Lucy´s mother. It was a gift from her father. Her mother bequeathed it to Lucy after her father died. She smiled slightly, and for a brief moment the sadness was forgotten. Sundays, she took the pot out and made tea. Take the pot, you have a good eye for beautiful things, I'll clean the pot quickly. I'll also wrap the beautiful bone china cups, they fit perfect. And don't forget the ashtray. Also, a special piece. She smiled. I got up and looked around. The doorbell rang. More visitors from the neighborhood came. I opened old cupboards, and searched the small library of classics. Did I know what I was looking for? I discovered some old books, with beautiful cover’s. It was a strange feeling, rummaging through the things of someone who was no longer there. Miss George gave me an old basket from the garden, which I filled with more and more things. When I left the house, there were gaps in the rooms. At home, I unpacked my new treasures. As I flipped through the books again, an old postcard fell out. It was a Greek print in black and white of women dancing and celebrating. On the back was written in ink: Have you already made the preparations for the ball? I put the postcard on a board. I lit a new cigarette, and took my new silver ashtray out of the basket that I had also taken with me. At that moment, a light breeze passed through the kitchen. For a brief moment I thought I saw a smiling face in the silver teapot. I shook my head slightly, and put the pot into the kitchen board. Then I noticed that in the air was a delicate smell of lily of the valley.

By Sugar de Santo

From: Germany

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