Pallbearing

  Sven said, “Have you had the pleasure of meeting my other niece, Beata, yet?” He nodded to a woman who was bent over a walker that seemed to support her whole torso. Two younger relations held either elbow as she wheeled slowly up one of the aisles. Norm shook his head. “She is, as we like to say in the family, a real bitch.”

  Beata plodded past Hilde without looking at her sister, then turned down one of the rows. Every once in a while she’d stop and point at something, one of her children would hand it to her, and she’d hold it up close to her face, lifting her glasses to inspect it. She worked her way down the aisles while Sven explained to Norm how the sisters didn’t get along — some feud supposedly over a piece of property, but actually over some boy back in high school. But even before that, they’d fought over things like combs and dolls. Beata was a big part of the reason he’d decided to go the auction route, Sven explained. Any time Hilde said she wanted a thing, Beata claimed their dad had said it was hers.

  Norm greeted a few more regulars. Sven just kept on talking.

  Beata walked by them and Sven said, “It’s nice to see you, Beata.”

  She stopped and craned her neck up at them. She said, “Look at what you’ve done. All of our family history, laid out for these vultures.” She looked at Norm. “How do you sleep at night?” The girl who held on to Beata’s right elbow mouthed “Sorry” to Norm. He’d heard worse.

  Norm watched Beata push herself away, her family in tow. Sven clapped Norm on the back. “I don’t envy you today,” he said. “Good luck.”

  All told, there were about two hundred people by the time ten rolled around. A good turnout, and more would trickle in as the day wore on. Norm grabbed the stepladder he used to get above the crowd and carried it down to the end of the first row. He climbed up and banged his gavel on its side to get everyone’s attention. Then he turned on his little headset microphone, and after a blast of feedback, got things started.

  He gave his usual patter about registration and the as-is rules, and then he added, “Now, I know you all love paying that buyer’s premium, but we’re waiving that today.” That got some laughs. Since it had looked to Norm like the family would be bidding each other up, he’d offered Sven a flat fee, rather than his usual ten percent commission; it never felt right making money off a feuding family whose members were liable to drive the bidding up way over value. Which reminded him to add, “And I should also warn you all, this is a family sale. They’re here and they’re going to be bidding, so let me tell you, if you’re bidding against family, you’re not going to win.” Most of the older dealers and regulars would bow out if the family were bidding — the polite ones anyways.

  With his speech done, Norm got right into it. The first lots were the big, worthless things — filing cabinets, office supplies, chairs, boxes of unused paper. Norm started high, fishing, and then dropped the price down to move it along quick: “Do I hear a hundred for this here leather office chair. No? How about ten?” If no one bid, Norm added to the lot until someone was interested. Most of the stuff went to the indifferent junk store dealers; the early part of the auction was more to clear out useless things and give the latecomers a chance to show up than it was to make money.

  He moved on to a table of kitchen supplies. Not the good silverware or anything high-end — the expensive stuff he saved for the end of the day. To start, it was just everyday items: boxes of cutlery, Tupperware, pitchers, plates, bowls, rolling pins, an apple corer. All the odd gadgets and Starfrit solutions that eighty years and three generations could leave behind. One of the antique dealers scooped up most of the lots for a few bucks a piece. After a stack of plates went to the dealer, Norm said, “And another lot to Phil. Trouble with the wife?”

  The crowd laughed and Phil did too. He said, “Son’s moving to the city for school.”

  “A scholar, like his old man,” Norm said. “Maybe you can save us all some time. Twenty dollars for all the rest of the kitchen supplies here? Anyone object?”

  Phil nodded; no one objected. Nancy wrote down the deal on the sheet while Norm climbed down the ladder and moved it toward the next set of lots. The spectators shuffled down the row with him. He climbed back up.

  The next few tables were piled with toys, puzzles, and comics — an auction had to sell some stuff of value within the first hour or the crowd would turn. Norm started with the puzzles and games. All the lots had one good vintage box grouped with three or four new ones; lumping them together was a good way to move things that otherwise wouldn’t sell. Once he got through those, there were the toys, about twenty boxes’ worth, every lot divided up the same way — one or two collectibles mixed in with junk.

  A few of the people Norm assumed were relations bid on some of the toys — a hobby horse, a set of metal cars, or a tin drum remembered from their childhoods — but the two sisters stayed out of things. Beata sat on her walker by the concession, her grown children gathered around her on folding chairs, and Hilde was anchored to the violin by the stage. Sven kept to the edges of the crowd, marking down prices and lot numbers on a sheet of paper. Norm tried not to think about the discussion of “errors” Sven was sure to bring up after the payout.

  Norm worked his way through the tables while he and the crowd shifted down. As they neared the end of the row, one of Beata’s children planted himself by the final table. Hilde’s husband came over too. When Norm got close, Beata herself pushed her way over. Hilde stayed near the violin, but was standing up on the stage where she could see what was going on. Norm wrapped up the table he was selling and climbed down his ladder. The family didn’t budge, and he and the crowd settled around them.

  Sporting goods covered the last table in the row. Norm went through some fishing rods and tackle, and then a few boxes of old hunting magazines, sold by the lot for pennies. He kept an eye on the family, waiting to see what it was they were after. They all leaned in when his helper picked up a box of hunting knives to show the crowd.

  “We better do this box by choice, folks,” he said, figuring he might as well give everyone else a chance to get something. He reminded the crowd of the rules: highest bid gets to pick the item out of the box they want, then everything else goes up for bidding again.

  Norm asked for twenty-five. Beata raised her hand. Hilde’s husband went for fifty. Beata said seventy-five before Norm could ask for it. The crowd realized what was going on and sat back to watch. They went up by increments of twenty-five to two hundred dollars, and then Beata said three hundred. Hilde’s husband looked back; his wife wrung her hands and Norm counted out slowly, going once, twice . . . then Hilde shook her head and Norm called it sold. Beata put the knife in her walker and pushed herself back to the concession.

  Norm finished off the tables along the wall and led the crowd down the next row. One table had Elvis memorabilia, impressive looking, but mostly worthless. Then piles of sports stuff with a lot of Steelers gear. After that came another run of junk: cut glass bowls, “good” dinnerware — the sort that sat in glass cabinets and came out on holidays. It looked fancy but was all worthless. The crowd took the chance to head over to the concession a few at a time while Norm tried to get people interested. “Come on, folks, it’s time you got into the fondue business,” but he knew it was just a lull; there was always a slow stretch in the middle.

  Near the end of the row, Norm announced he’d do the stage next. People trickled back. He climbed up past Hilde and looked out over the crowd. The whole family was there. Beata bent over her walker at the foot of the stage, Hilde on the other side. Sven smiled broadly up at Norm. The old guy couldn’t wait for the showdown.

  Norm sighed and reminded the crowd that the family would be bidding to win, and then he got started. Hilde and Beata got into it right away over a gramophone. Hilde bid first, but Beata won after it got near a thousand — way over what it would have cost at an antique store. Hilde raised her arms up to her neck and wrung her hands. She
looked at her husband, who patted her arm.

  A few lots later, Hilde tried again, this time for an oil lamp. Beata bid, impassively raising her hand after each higher bid until her sister backed down. They did the same thing over an oak table and a dresser and then an armoire — always Hilde acting first, jumping out with a bid, but Beata keeping in until she won. Sven got involved once, over a roll-top desk. He and the sisters went up to a thousand, and then Hilde dropped out. Beata didn’t bid again either.

  Norm realized Hilde was on a budget, not wanting to bid too high on anything so that she’d have enough for what she really wanted. He motioned for one of his helpers to bring the violin over, figuring he might as well give her what she was waiting for. He said, “I don’t know a whole lot about violins, but this here looks like a good one. Do I hear a hundred?”

  Hilde put up her hand; Beata said five hundred. The crowd collectively leaned in; the regulars knew they were about to get a show. Hilde pulled her hands up in front of her and wrung them. She said six hundred. Beata jumped to seven-fifty. After an eight-hundred bid it went to a thousand, then up by a hundred at a time from there. Beata called her bids right after Hilde, almost talking over her sister. Hilde got more frantic as they went up past two thousand, and then her voice seemed to give out. She’d just nod to Norm when he asked if she wanted to go a little higher. Then Beata would raise her arm and say a bigger number.

  When it got up to three thousand, Hilde said to the ground, “You know I can’t afford that,” but kept bidding. At thirty-three hundred she said, “You got everything else. Why can’t you let me have this?” Norm slowed down, gave Hilde a chance to think over her bids. At four thousand, she had tears in her eyes. She said, “Please, Beata, stop.” It went up. Norm politely asked if she wanted to go to forty-five hundred. Hilde said yes and Beata said five thousand. Someone whistled. Hilde struggled, looked like she might go higher, then turned around and disappeared into the crowd. Her husband followed her as far as the ladies’ room. Norm called it sold and Beata’s son grabbed the violin off the stage and handed it to her. She laid it across the handles of her walker.

  After a scene like that Norm knew there was no point competing with the crowd. They’d want a chance to talk it over, swap opinions, and remind each other of the craziest things they’d seen at auctions. Norm said, “Seems as good a time as any to take a break. I don’t know about you, but I could use a coffee. See you all in fifteen minutes.”

  Norm climbed down from the stage and walked through the crowd to the concession. One of his regular dealers, a guy who specialized in musical instruments, followed him and hovered nearby while Norm added sugar to his coffee. He was smiling like he couldn’t wait to be asked what he knew.

  Norm looked around to make sure the family were out of earshot and obliged. “So, you miss out on something good there, Jim?”

  The dealer laughed. “I wouldn’t have given you ten dollars for it.”

  “That bad?”

  “There’s either a hell of a lot of sentimental value, or someone lied to them about what they had. It’s junk, Japanese made, maybe from the early eighties.” The dealer laughed, but Norm just shook his head. He’d seen enough folks lose money on bad information over the years not to find much humour in a scene like that.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Not even five dollars, Norm.”

  And then there was some sort of trouble at the far end of the hall. Hilde was shouting loud enough to be heard at the concession: “ . . . rolling over in his grave. You know Dad wanted me to have it.” Norm walked over. Hilde’s husband was holding on to one of her arms and the family were all crowded between her and Beata, who just stood there, bent over her walker with one hand resting on the violin. Two men Norm assumed were cousins were getting in each other’s faces; Norm’s helpers tried to keep them apart.

  Norm whistled through his fingers; it was loud enough that everyone shut up. All eyes turned to him. “Look here, I’m trying to run a civilized auction. You two will have to sort out your problems on your own time, not in front of all these people.”

  Hilde turned to Norm, either on the verge of tears or just finished with them. She said, “Why wouldn’t you let me have it?”

  “I know it didn’t go the way you wanted, but I just sell the stuff according to the law and the arrangement with the family. If you have a problem with each other, well, there’s a barn out behind the hall you can duke it out in. But not here.”

  That got a laugh from the crowd, which calmed the mood a bit. Hilde’s husband touched her elbow. She fell into herself, deflated, and was guided away. Beata said something that sounded non-­complimentary and pushed herself back to her spot by the concession. As the crowd broke up, Norm saw Sven smiling broadly at him, pleased by the encounter.

  Norm gave everyone a few minutes to calm down, then said to his helpers, “Might as well finish this up.” He got back up on the stage and went through the last of the things there, but had trouble keeping the crowd interested. He had to keep banging his ladder to keep the murmur down, and by the time he got to the last row, the bidding had slowed and the crowd had started to thin out. Scenes like the one over the violin were enough for the looky-loos to leave feeling satisfied, and the dealers weren’t as interested in the final lots. The last row of tables took as long as everything that came before.

  By the time he finished the last table, the hall was almost empty. The family huddled in their groups around the hall; the dealers who had bought larger items were waiting by the loading doors for their turn to move their stuff out. A few regulars shook Norm’s hand and let him know it was a good auction and then Sven was in front of him, grinning, and shaking Norm’s hand. He said, “I’m real sorry about that scene earlier.” He didn’t seem sorry at all.

  “I’ve seen worse.”

  “It’s too bad though,” Sven said. “You know, Hilde never had much money.” Hilde sat on the edge of the empty stage, watching all the furniture being carted away. Beata sat by the concession, still holding the violin across the handles of her walker, watching her children carry out her other winning lots to a rented van.

  Sven launched into more stories while Norm nodded to the folks heading out and shouted instructions at his helpers. Norm caught snippets: Beata had been quite a looker in her day, but had a taste for sweets. He heard again the story of the boy the sisters had fought over in high school. And then the full story of the properties Beata had inherited over her sister. “Because of her first husband, you see,” Sven said, “she could hire a lawyer and hammer away. Hilde couldn’t afford to fight it.”

  “Oh?” Norm asked in spite of himself.

  There had been a cabin up north worth so little there weren’t even taxes on it, but Beata had fought that away from Hilde. And there was a place in Germany that a distant cousin had owned; Beata ended up with that one as well. Then Sven was prattling on, talking about his dead brother and some old country feud that had led half the family to cross the ocean. Norm tuned him out.

  He knew it wasn’t his place to get involved in these sorts of things. It was important he keep it professional. It was no business of his who got what. But then he saw Beata had the violin out of the case and was making a big scene of cleaning some dust off of it right in view of Hilde, who was openly crying. Hilde’s husband took her by the elbow and led her gently out the side door of the hall.

  Sven had stopped talking to watch the scene with Norm. “Like I said earlier,” he told Norm, nodding to Beata, who was putting the violin away, her point made, “a real bitch.” Sven chuckled. “Got it from her mother, God bless, but she was a miserable one too . . .” Norm sighed and left Sven talking.

  Norm went out to the parking and caught up to Hilde and her husband at their car. “Hold up a second,” he said.

  Hilde wiped her eyes and looked like she was trying to find some anger for Norm. Her husband patted her arm and
said to Norm, “What can we do for you?”

  “Can I ask you what’s the story with the violin?”

  Her husband answered, “It was her great-granddad’s. He was a concert performer back in the old county. Apparently, it was made by some great violin maker. Hilde’s dad taught her to play it when she was young.”

  “He wanted me to have it,” Hilde said, barely audible. “Beata can’t even play.”

  Norm was glad to hear that. “Well, I had a violin expert in today, and he seems to disagree with what you’ve been told.”

  Hilde asked, “What do you mean?”

  “Look, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but he said it’s Japanese made. Maybe from the seventies or eighties.”

  “That’s impossible. It’s been in our family since I was young.”

  Norm held out his hands apologetically. “I’m just telling you what he told me. But I know how these things go; I’ve seen things like this happen before. Maybe someone sold it and replaced it without you knowing, or maybe it got broken and replaced. I don’t know. But my guy knows his stuff — it’s not what you thought it was.”

  “A fake?”

  “It seems that way.”

  Hilde slumped forward, quick to accept another defeat. Her husband wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she said, without conviction, that she couldn’t believe it. Norm looked down at the gravel, wondering if he should finish the thought for her. An awkward minute passed before she got there on her own. She stopped crying and looked up at Norm, eyes suddenly very clear. “You’re telling me Beata just paid five thousand dollars for a fake?”

  Norm nodded. “It seems that way.”

  Hilde blinked. “Well,” she said. Then she laughed, a high, musical trill that she cut off almost before it began. She composed herself and said to Norm, “I thank you for letting me know.”