Week One

I showered up and put on my nicest clothes – a pair of khaki slacks and a polo shirt – spritzed a little cologne and was heading up the stairs ten minutes early for my 19:00 date to meet Ute. I passed Tomash on the way up, who teased me about being a tart and I laughed, perhaps a bit self-consciously.

I reached the next floor, walked cautiously down the dark hallway, fumbled around getting the key in the lock, and pulled the door open. Ute was already there, leaning against her car with her arms folded. She was wearing a light floral print dress with a short jacket and a stylish straw hat. My heart rate shot up as I froze in place taking in her playful beauty and the faux look of scorn as she checked her watch.

"You're late," she chided.

I looked at my watch. "It's not even 7 yet!" I protested.

"I need to teach you to be German," she laughed and held her arms open. I floated down the steps and across the sidewalk and into her arms. She kissed me deeply, throwing her arms around my neck. I pressed against her firm and curvaceous body, pushing her against the side of the car. My brain fogged from her sweet perfume and the taste of her warm, full lips.

After a moment, she pulled back slightly and stared into my eyes. "Hungry?" she asked.

"Oh yes," I managed, with more than one meaning.

Ute laughed and pushed me back. She ran around to the driver's side and climbed behind the wheel. I quickly climbed in the passenger side and she jammed the car into gear and took off before I had even closed the door. We sailed across town, talking about our respective day. She was suitably impressed with the task I had been assigned.

At last, we arrived at a restaurant tucked inside a copse of trees. The building was designed like a textbook photo of a southern German house, complete with geraniums in window boxes. Over the door was a small sign in traditional German script that read "SWISS CHALET". I was starting to worry whether I had brought enough money.

After a brief interaction with the maitre'd, Ute grabbed my hand and we followed a waiter through the restaurant. It was plush with leather-covered seats and wood panelling, and hundreds of animal heads mounted in every conceivable spot on the walls. Even with my best outfit on, I was beginning to feel underdressed for the occasion.

We emerged onto a rear deck jutting out over a sharp drop off down to a large lake. The sun was just beginning to set and we were escorted to an intimate table at the far end against the rail. I felt like I was in a travel brochure.

I pulled out a chair for Ute, then took my seat. All of the furniture was heavy carved wood. If it wasn't over a century old, then someone did a remarkable job faking it. The waiter laid menus in front of us and handed me a wine list, but Ute quickly ordered a Reisling, which I had never heard of.

The waiter hurried off and I looked at the menu. No prices. I was definitely in trouble – if you have to ask how much it is, you can't afford it. Before I could even begin reading the menu, Ute interrupted.

"Do you trust me?" she asked playfully.

"Of course," I said, feeling a bit apprehensive at a question like that.

"Just relax and enjoy," she smiled. Ute stood and moved her seat close me mine so that we both had a direct view of the sunset.

The last golden rays split a canvas of reds, oranges and yellows, which were reflected in the glass-smooth lake. On both sides of the view, dark pines framed the vista, making the rest of the world disappear. We kissed and gazed into each other's eyes with looks of longing and lust.

The waiter appeared with an assistant and discretely set up a stand with a bucket of ice and a wine bottle stuck in it. He pulled the cork with practiced expertise and poured a small amount in my glass. Calling upon all my training in wine appreciation, I carefully examined the color, inhaled the fumes, swirled the glass, and poured the contents in my mouth and savored the complex flavors. It was a dry white wine with woody overtones. I had never tasted anything quite like it before, but I nodded my approval to the waiter, who poured half a glass for Ute, then one for me. He replaced the bottle in the ice bucket, wrapped it with a heavy linen napkin, then faded away again.

Ute picked up her glass and held it toward me. "I never figured you for a wine expert," she grinned.

"Well, I don't know about expert," I blushed, "but I used to work in a wine shop and at home, we always had wine with dinner, even when I was a kid."

Ute tipped her glass to meet mine and the crystal rang like bells. She took a sip, then put her arm around my neck and pulled me to her. She kissed me and shared the wine with her tongue. She pulled back and smiled, and we turned as if on cue, to watch the light fade over the lake.

The dinner was extraordinary – a salad of mixed wild greens and dandelion blooms in raspberry vinaigrette, pate du fois gras on water crackers, potatoes au gratin, medallions of pork on apple slices, asparagus in Bernais sauce, and for desert, a chocolate cake unlike anything I've ever tasted before or since.

For the desert course, Ute had ordered a bottle of Liebfraumilch – yet another wine I had never heard of. It was light and sweet, and I felt my cares fade with every sip.

We kissed and nuzzled and didn't say much at all – just treasured the moment, the fine meal and the sheer joy of being together. It was nearly 22:00 when Ute quietly, almost regretfully suggested we get going. I didn't want the moment to end, but I had a full day, even a full week ahead.

We left and got into the car. As Ute pulled onto the road I said, "I really should pay for the meal, but I never saw the bill."

Ute laughed, "Don't worry. I hand out cards to tourists and the owner gives me free meals on occasion."

"Wow, what a great deal," I marvelled.

We eventually pulled to the rear entrance and Ute killed the engine. She took my hand and looked deep into my soul.

"I want you," she said.

I was at a complete loss for words. "I feel the same," I said, wishing I had something more romantic to say.

"Do you have plans for the weekend?" she asked.

"I am free from Friday evening to Monday morning, as far as I know."

"I'll meet you here at 07:00 Saturday morning. Wear your hiking clothes," she said.

"So I won't see you until then?" I asked.

"You focus on your work, that's very important," she whispered with a kiss. "And be ready for me Saturday morning."

We parted reluctantly and I watched as her car sped off into the night. I let myself in and went down to my room. I saw the light under Tomash's door, but I didn't disturb him.

I was asleep as fast as I laid down, and dreamed of dancing on a lake with Ute.

CHIRP! CHIRP! CHIRP!

I was already beginning to hate my new watch. It was 05:30 and I wanted to sleep another hour, but I hadn't figured out the snooze function on my watch. I sat up and gathered my thoughts on the edge of the bed. My head hurt from all the wine and I reached over and drank a good bit of water.

I grabbed my towel and headed for the shower. When I got back to my room I felt better, but took an aspirin anyway to help clear my brain. I dressed and looked at my watch. It was just 07:00, so I pulled out my book as I heard Tomash heading to the shower. I read for 30 minutes, then headed up to the shop.

Max was already at his desk and there was a tea cart with incredible smelling cinnamon rolls, small sausages and black coffee.

"How was your rest?" Max asked. I wasn't sure if he knew I had gone out or not.

"Very nice," I said. "Ready to go." I took a cinnamon roll and a couple of sausages on a saucer and filled a cup with coffee.

"So what's your plan for the turntables," he asked, getting right down to business.

I explained what Tomash and I had decided in attacking the project. We would start down stage and work up, attaching the plywood deck except were the turntables were set. We'd trace out the circles and cut them in place before framing them out.

"Good," he said. "Before you cut the circles, you might want to make a circle jig to get a smooth cut."

"I've never done that before," I confessed.

"When you're ready, let me know and I'll walk you through it," he said. "The trick is to check your math carefully."

At this point, most of the other carps had arrived, including Tomash. I went over what Max had told me, and he said it wouldn't be a problem, he had made circle jigs before. At 08:00 sharp, Max blew his whistle and we were off for the day. Tomash and I grabbed our cut list for the deck frame and double checked all our measurements. Then we went to the lumber rack and selected the boards we needed and stacked them by the arm saw. Tomash set the jig and we proceeded to start cutting.

At one point, Tomash and I stacked our first pile of cut lumber on a wagon and started to roll over to the stage.

"Hey!" Max bellowed. "Back paint that lumber before you take it out."

We hadn't planned on that delay, but we had little choice. We stopped in the paint shop and filled a couple of sprayers from the back paint supply barrel and set to painting all the lumber. By the time we finished, everything was dark gray and most of it was already dry. We restacked the boards on the cart and headed for the stage.

When we got there, Bruno was just finishing spiking the stage. He walked us through the lay-out, double checking all the measurements. At his request, we detailed the work flow again, and he approved.

Tomash and I started laying the boards out on the floor according to the drawings, mostly to make sure we had all the pieces. When we had finished, we went back to the shop and repeated the entire process with the next batch.

It took us two days just to cut all the lumber. It was made much more complex by the fact that the deck was raked from 89mm down stage, to 140mm up stage. Every board had to be bevelled at a precise angle to match the grade, and many of the pieces joined at an angle, as well. My head was swimming with formulas and calculations. Almost none of the boards had the same dimensions, so we had come up with a labelling system to be sure we had everything cut properly. Max's rule was any recuts that used up lumber came out of our pay, so Tomash and I were extremely careful to check everything multiple times before cutting.

By Wednesday evening when Max blew the whistle, it looked as if we had all the pieces cut and in place. To celebrate, we went out that night in search of a pub.

We found a fun little place about five blocks away. It was small, cozy and had almost no ventilation, so the smoke hung low and heavy. There was a table in the corner full of old men with substantial beards that we found out sat there every night, telling jokes, snorting snuff and drinking copious amounts of beer.

We found a table and ordered a fried pig knuckle and two liters of dark beer. The waitress, a substantial woman in her mid-50s, said they had just tapped the last keg of Maibock, which was a special spring brew found all over Germany, with every brewery putting out their own special recipe. Tomash and I looked at each other then changed our order.

Within a minute, our beer arrived, followed shortly by a massive pig knuckle. We laid into the feast and washed it down with Maibock and soon realized the beer was quite a bit stronger than usual. Music played and the table of old men would roar with laugher every few minutes.

We finished up and paid, and stumbled back to the theatre. Neither of us had been prepared for the alcohol content of the beer, and the food had done little to help.

CHIRP! CHIRP! CHIRP!

It was official – I hated my watch. I sat up and my head felt like a block of cement hanging off my neck. I showered and sat trying to read, but my brain wouldn't focus. I was desperately trying to clear my thoughts to be ready for the work ahead.

By the time I got to the shop, Max was there, of course. I was beginning to suspect he lived at his desk, since I never saw him leave or arrive. I helped myself to kolaches – sausages rolled in bread – and a cup of strong black coffee.

"Are you guys ready to assemble?" Max asked. Tomash walked jus then with two other carps.

"Yes," I affirmed. "We will start down stage and work up, double checking the angles and dimensions as we go."

"Good," Max said. "So, the frame should be finished by Friday, yes?"

Tomash spoke up. "I think we will have it assembled just after lunch," he said. I was a bit more realistic, thinking it would be finished by quitting time, but I didn't say anything.

At 08:00, Max blew his whistle and we went to the tool cage and loaded a grocery cart with screw guns, glue and screws. We rolled past the other projects in various states of assembly, and I stopped at a particularly complex one – a practical tower that had to hold four actors at a time – and noted the construction.

We rolled out on stage and Bruno was there checking our work. The deck was 20 meters wide and 16 meters deep, one of the biggest pieces I had ever worked on. We joined the two down stage corners, then proceeded to scab the facing boards together until we had assembled the entire front frame.

The next two days were spent assembling the frame. It was a giant polygon with three large openings, two at mid-stage on either side, and one upstage center. By around 15:00 on Friday, we were putting the final pieces together. The sound door opened and a fork lift entered with a stack of plywood…and then another…and then another.

Bruno called us over and told us to take a sheet over and lay it on the frame at downstage center. We did and Bruno took out a spirit level and a protractor and checked the angle. He told us to move it upstage and he repeated the check. We spent the last hour and a half that day moving the sheet of plywood around, and Bruno came behind us and measured.

"Not bad," Bruno finally said as Tomash and I stood there panting. "Not bad at all." He nodded to us and left. Tomash and I high-fived, though not with much enthusiasm. Our arms felt like dead weights and we were both exhausted.

It was finally the end of the week. We gathered up our gear in the grocery cart, which we had nicknamed "OH BABY", and rolled back to the shop just in time for Max to blow the whistle.

"Clean it up and gather around my desk," he yelled out.

Tomash rolled OH BABY to the tool cage and I went to Max's desk.

"Bruno says you guys did good work on the frame," he said matter-of-factly. Tomash joined us. "I'm happy with your work. Very diligent and efficient." We nodded and thanked him.

The other carps gathered around and Max reached under his desk and took out a box with several brown envelopes. He lifted each one, read the name out and handed it to the appropriate person.

Payday!

I got my packet, which was stuffed with cash. I didn't open it, since no one else did. Max thanked us all for a good week, wished us a safe weekend and released us.

The carps broke up into groups making plans for a night out. Several of them settled on a disco not too far away, but that was the last thing I wanted to do. Tomash was joining them, so I let him hit the shower first. I was more in the mood for a quiet dinner and sleep.

I was meeting Ute in the morning.