The Coffee Legacy

Wiener Blut

By Katharina Bordet

Published by Katharina Bordet at Smashwords.

Copyright 2010-2013 Katharina Bordet

License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to your eBook seller of choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

© Copyright 2010-2013 Katharina Bordet

More from Katharina: www.maimer.net

To my husband.

You autocomplete me.

Chapter 01 - Melange

French: blend, mixture

One Espresso

Frothed milk

Coffee?

The first word out of Isabelle’s mouth in the morning was usually the most important one. Her best friend and business partner Karin had just entered the café, looking out of breath and slightly dishevelled, her blonde hair sticking in all directions when she removed her woollen cap. In with her came a whiff of cold November air — the signs of winter approaching were becoming more apparent.

I am sorry, I’m late. But yes, coffee would be great.

The blonde woman shuffled around busily, trying to make up for the thirty minutes late she had arrived. She was the manager of the café that Isabelle owned, if anyone in charge of a small city café could really be described as a manager, and therefore not really bound to fixed hours, but the two women tried to arrange it so that at least one of them was present at all time. Of the two, Isabelle was the early riser, which didn’t mean she was talking much in the morning, but she got up early and was fully functioning and working hard for a few hours before Karin arrived at around eleven o’clock. They had arranged that Karin would be in around ten, which Isabelle had picked intentionally, knowing very well that she then could count on her at least being in before noon. After twenty years of being friends, nothing could surprise the other one anymore. Not only in their sleeping habits did they complement each other so well, they also had opposite phases in which they were motivated. For some, that would’ve been annoying, but they found it to be a positive thing when working on a common project, with at least one alert enough to keep nudging the other one on and driving them to continue the tasks in hand. It had worked well so far, with both being able to take sufficient time-off to not end up getting on each other’s nerves.

Karin walked into the back room of the café, taking off her winter coat and rearranging her ponytail. Since they had known each other, Isabelle couldn’t think of a time where her friend hadn’t worn her hair in a ponytail. This was one of the things that made her almost tomboyish along with the fact that she rarely-to-never wore dresses or skirts, much to the continued dislike of her mother. Both she and Isabelle wouldn’t even bet on Karin wearing a wedding dress if she ever married her long-time boyfriend Andreas. Jeans, a white blouse and a thin pullover, comprised her outfit of choice and she was wearing exactly that on this cold November morning. Isabelle was still standing in front of the coffee machine, with two mugs of coffee in front of her — the larger one was two-thirds full with hot, frothed milk — the smaller one was still empty.

You realise that if you were the one having to make the coffee for all our guests we’d be ruined by the end of the month? With your coffee ceremony you’d only be able to serve five people and still have to hope four of them just want a glass of water.

The wide grin on Karin’s face made Isabelle smile as well.

I need my coffee like this and you know it, said Isabelle, handing the other woman a large black coffee.

Oh absolutely. You need your coffee ceremony as much as I need my sleep, with a wink she sat down at the table closest to the counter.

It was perfectly normal for both of them to have their coffee there. Neither woman was really properly functional before they had their morning coffee and, even though both usually had their first shots of caffeine in their own homes, they thoroughly enjoyed the atmosphere of their café to really and properly wake up. Isabelle usually did so before she even opened the café, sitting alone in the semi-darkness. Karin, on the other hand, sat quiet in the buzz surrounding her, but had her last coffee of the day after closing the café in the evening. Like that, each of them had the chance to enjoy the atmosphere of the café alone and in silence.

Their regular guests were used to the two women being around a lot in the café, and because they had enough employees, Isabelle and Karin were able to spend time with the guests and relax in their own café as well. Isabelle’s husband often joked that the café was her second living room for her second family — Karin and the guests — and commented that Isabelle always considered them to be guests, rather than customers. There were moments when Isabelle wasn’t sure if it was just a joke. After all, it is said that most jokes have a core of truth. Which, consequentially, would make his comment also slightly cynical as well as bordering on an accusation. As owner of the café, it was natural for Isabelle to spend a lot of time there, often far in excess of forty hours a week. She had always known she would inherit the café from her aunt and, even though she had no personal experience in either making coffee or waitressing, she had decided to go to business school and get Karin on board, as she had a good deal of familiarity with the profession. As far as her husband Dominik was concerned, after being married for 12 years, she went with the joke side of this comment. He didn’t spend a lot of time in the café, working full time as an accountant in the city centre. Even though the Alt Wien was only a ten minute detour on foot for him on his way to work, most of the coffee he consumed was to go, which simply was not available in the Café Alt Wien. Being an old, Viennese café, the whole concept of coffee shops and coffee-to-go didn’t fit in with its traditions. Dominik spent the odd weekend afternoon there with their kids, or even brought in business partners or colleges, he never really understood the idea of spending a day in a café, doing nothing else than watching people and reading all the daily newspapers. He often told Isabelle stories about what it was like growing up in Wien, but he was never really interested in the culture and traditions of the city around him, whereas Isabelle loved the old stories and legends. The biggest involvement that he had with the café was the fact that he was doing their books and taxes, which admittedly, he did very well.

The Alt Wien was getting rather full with guests. There was a constant buzz of talk and laughter, with soft music in the background. On weekends, people usually came in later, and enjoyed a late breakfast coffee with some cake. Karin made the cakes herself, most of the time one a day. She wasn’t a trained pastry chef, at least not by traditional means. Nevertheless, she had learned all she knew about cakes from her mother, who made — as far as Isabelle was concerned — the best cakes ever. They never had fancy, over-styled cakes that no one dared to cut into, but still, the people who tried their wonderfully luscious and tasty cakes were convinced that they were the best they have ever tasted. In the café there was no display with ten different kinds of cakes either; there was only one type of cake or Apple Strudel. Behind the counter was a large, slightly battered, old-looking blackboard where the cake of the day was displayed. Sometimes Isabelle was motivated to make some pastries herself — she loved to cook and enjoyed the kitchen in the back of the café. It was much better equipped for sweets than her own; so each time she wanted to try out something new and sweet she did it in the café. If then it turned out to be good, she wrote it on the blackboard and let her guests try it. There were regulars who ordered cakes from Karin for birthday parties or even came for coffee and cake to the Alt Wien after having a birthday meal.

Isabelle sat down on the comfy chair next to Karin; they had been adamant in furnishing the café as comfortable as possible. The pillows of the chairs and couches were thick and soft, inviting whoever sat in them to cuddle in and relax. Maybe even hide from the world a little bit in a comfortable, safe cave. At the moment, Isabelle looked as though she needed exactly that. Letting out a big sigh, she placed her large mug of coffee in front of her. Karin looked at her friend, who seemed worried; there wasn’t much Isabelle could hide from her. Putting one leg over the other, Isabelle took her coffee, leant back into the chair and closed her eyes ever so slightly.

Is Dominik going to come in today for the monthly accounts? she asked cautiously, knowing very well that he always came in on the last Saturday of each month to crunch the numbers.

Yes, I figure he will. He was still asleep when I left the flat this morning, so I haven’t heard otherwise. It is a bit late for him, though.

Isabelle... are you all right?

Of course, why wouldn’t I be?

Karin frowned, her forehead forming deep wrinkles, but didn’t say a word. She knew her friend would tell her soon enough if something was wrong — she didn’t want to pry or inquire further — it would only lead in Isabelle clamping up and going into full denial mode. It was one of the traits of her friend; she needed time to tell what it was that worried her, always needed to sort it out in her own head first. In this case, she wasn’t really sure what it was. There hadn’t been any sort of actual outburst, but the way she talked about her husband had definitely changed over the years. Karin could remember times when Isabelle was heartbroken, or cheated on, or just in a bad place in a relationship with her previous exes. Back then, she couldn’t hide her feelings, no matter how hard she tried. Something seemed different this time — she knew how much the two of them were in love, and was also certain that neither of them had cheated on the other one. Maybe something was wrong with the boys, she thought.

***

Mama.... Can we have a bedtime story?

Sebastian looked at his mother with big round eyes, his older brother lying in his bed on the other side of the room appearing disinterested.

Aren’t you a bit old for a bedtime story?

Tilting her head to one side, Isabelle looked at her eight-year-old son sitting straight up in his bed, with an expectant glee on his face that made him look so much like his mother.

One is never too old for a good story, Mama! he said with a serious expression on his face, his fists in his sides. Isabelle had to laugh out loud — it still fascinated her how much like looking into a mirror it was watching him grow up. He had her big dark brown eyes and her thick, brown and slightly curly hair. His mother sat down on the bed next to him, looking over to Maximilian, who seemed to be intently reading a magazine about computer games.

What about you, Maximilian? Would you like to hear a story too?

Yeah, why not, he grunted, but put his magazine away and turned around to look at his mother. She wondered how someone at the age of ten could already be such a quiet and grumpy teenager. Then again, being the image of his father like Sebastian was hers, being silent wasn’t completely surprising. Maximilian was a slender, tall boy, his eyes green and hair a much lighter brown than his brother’s. With only two years apart, they got on remarkably well, with Sebastian usually dragging his older brother with him to whatever new and exciting adventure he was up to that day.

Today, that had been quite a lot. Instead of coming with their dad to the Alt Wien, so that he could do the finances for the café, Sebastian insisted that he needed a new blue pencil. His old one had been used and sharpened too often, that it was even too small for his delicate hands and, since he had carried it around everywhere and drawn with it every chance he got, he needed a new one. There was no way he would have come and sat in the café for two hours without his pencil. The only problem was that he got the pencil he used to have on a trip to Salzburg. Dominik had texted his wife that he would stop to get a pencil for the wee one on his way there, after being convinced by the child it was absolutely necessary. That they wouldn’t be able to find the exact same blue pencil in three stores and that it would take two more for Sebastian to find an appropriate replacement, he couldn’t have expected. He had taken the extra hour delay with a deep sigh and stoic attitude, as did Maximilian. The older brother had sat on the floor in a corner of the stationer’s, reading his magazine while his father and brother were discussing the numerous requirements for a blue pencil. Even though he was older than his brother, he didn’t really understand how there could be such differences in blue pencils and he didn’t really care either. He loved his brother and was happy enough to be able to read and look at pictures of computer games; he didn’t usually take part in Sebastian’s ideas and plans and adventures. The few times he did, it was usually to look out for his younger brother or because Sebastian had asked him about twenty times and Maximilian knew very well that his sibling wouldn’t cease pestering him until he gave in.

Do you want to start on Harry Potter again? Isabelle asked her two sons.

No, can’t you tell as a story? A new story, something we don’t know yet? Sebastian inquired.

What about a story about coffee? His quiet voice came from the other side of the room. Maximilian smiled.

All right, about coffee. Have I ever told you the story how coffee came to Wien?

The question was superfluous, since both Sebastian and Maximilian were already looking at their mother with big eyes, hanging onto her every word.

***

In 1683, the Turks were laying siege to Wien for a second time. They were outside the city’s gates, unable to get in, though the people of Wien had a tough time defending their city. It became harder and harder for the Viennese army to withstand the pressure from outside. They soon needed help from the Emperor’s army. The only problem was that a messenger was needed to deliver the news to them that their assistance was required in defending Wien. They were close, but no one dared to leave the city’s gates to get to the army.

Only a Mr Kolschitzky came forward to take on this task. He had been trading with goods from the orient and therefore spent much time in Turkey and knew their language and customs very well. Soon after he left the city with his faithful servant, he was grabbed by the Turkish army. Because of his language skills and knowledge, he was able to convince them he was a tradesman from Belgrade, trying to sell his goods to the Army. With plenty of good advice, he was sent on his way again.

This is how the message got delivered to the imperial army who were just in time able to save Wien from the Turks’ invasion. The people of Wien were celebrating being free and the Turks had left behind many treasures when they fled from the gates of the city, so the city benefitted from the remnants of the abandoned Turkish camps.

Kolschitzky was a hero and, as such, was asked to name his price. He said that he did it all for the people of Wien, the only thing he would ask for were the bags full with foreign green beans that had been found. Bitter and inedible, the army already wanted to sink the bags of coffee beans in the river Danube so, of course, he got to have all of them.

The man then went ahead to grind and brew the beans the way he had seen in Turkey: black and pure and bitter. This didn’t go well with the people of Wien, who disliked the drink. Until one day, a lump of sugar fell into the coffee. Kolschitzky then experimented further, and in the end, added hot milk to it.

Legend has it, that this is the story of how the Melange was born.

***

With both boys safe asleep, Isabelle turned out the lights and silently closed their door. It didn’t take them long to pass out after the story. They had never requested a new story before, usually just wanted one of their books read. Isabelle wondered if she should tell them a proper fairy tale next time. A real legend. She decided to wait and see what the boys would ask for next time. The hallway in the flat was dark and silent. The only light came from underneath the bedroom door. Dominik must be still awake, most likely reading, she thought. Hesitating for a moment before entering the bedroom, she sorted out her night gown and draped it on her shoulders more loosely, then opened the door and walked in.

Are the boys asleep? Dominik asked, without looking up. He was reading a thick hard-covered thriller and was almost halfway through, apparently very taken in by the story.

Yes, why? Did you forget to kiss them good night?

No, I did that before you went in.

Ah, good, she said, slipping under the duvet.

Dominik budged slightly when his wife got in bed. Slowly, Isabelle slipped her arm underneath his, and placed it on his chest, caressing him slowly. When