My head nearly hit the roof beams. A little boy in pajamas, holding a threadbare, one-eyed teddy in his arms, materialized right behind me. Where on earth did he come from? And why hadn´t I heard him?
“Am I a what?”
“A burger! I thought p´raps you were burgering the house. Then I would have to wake up my daddy, wouldn´t I, and he would be SO cross!”
“Course I´m not a burglar. I´m … Well, I am working here.”
“Doing what?” He cocked his head and scrutinized me from head to foot while searching for something up his nose.
“Eh, that´s not so easy to explain.” I fiddled with the silverware and picked a few items which I put into my bag. If that boy had a proper mother she would surely see to it that he went to bed at night and stayed there!
Apparently he didn´t know when his company was unwanted. He climbed onto a chair so it was easier for him to see what I was doing in the top drawer of his parents´ antique bureau. “What are you going to do with them?”
“Oh, won´t you just shut up?”
”Why?” He didn´t look the least offended, just genuinely curious.
”Oh, because … well, because you´ll wake up your daddy, and he will be cross, won´t he?” A brilliant idea I had there. As you may have guessed, children are not really my thing. What did one do with them? Should I tie and gag him, or could I bump him on the head? Run off? Give up the whole blasted business for tonight?
He was quiet for a few moments, then he began whispering with his teddy. “Teddy says he thinks you are a teorist.”
“Of course I am not a terrorist, silly. What on earth makes you say that?” A drop of nervous sweat slowly trickled its way down my spine.
“Teddy says! Teddy says terrarists wear gloves and those tight things over their heads.” He held Teddy up in front of him as if trying to hide behind the ugly thing.
“Oh come off it. Where is my bomb if I am a terrorist?” I was quite impressed by my own logic in a tight spot. Perhaps I could still worm my way out of this fix.
To be continued on Saturday – my computer permitting.