Mr Braun

My sister was standing at the sink attacking our mountain of dirty dishes when she suddenly burst out laughing. "What? What?" I said.

"Do you remember that old fabric shop back home that mum used to drag us to?"

I remembered it well. A dark, dingy little shop that always smelt faintly of cigarettes and Pine-O-Clean. It was run by this little German guy who always wore the same suit. Well, he was a tailor, so I imagine he had a cupboard full of them. All pale blue, short waisted, Chairman Mao-ish. He was pushing 80 and was a good half foot shorter than me, even back then. He'd wrap up your purchase in brown paper and string, ringing it up on one of those ancient cash registers where the numbers popped up and actually went ka-ching!

"Mr. Braun!" I said, "His name was Mr Braun!"

"Yeah," my sister grinned. "I think I was about 8 and you were 10 and we were in the shop. You took me aside behind the school uniform fabrics and told me very seriously that Mr Braun was Hitler's brother in law, coz he was -"

"Eva Braun's sister!" I cracked up laughing. "What made you remember that all of a sudden?"

"I dunno, but I believed you. You were so mean. I was terrified of him for years!"

Hehehe.