Three Old Women Went to Market

Corporal Langenscheidt strode through Hammelburg with a purpose. He had his first weekend pass in months, and he was determined to make the most of it. It was a bright, beautiful Saturday morning, and his first stop would be the market. His mother would be waiting for him, and he would use his wages to bring her something fresh to make their dinner. Already his mind drifted away from the meagre, unappetizing mess hall provisions of Stalag 13, and onto potato pancakes and bratwurst.

He entered the market and headed towards a stall at the back that he knew sold his favourite bratwurst that his mother always bought. The market was busy today, filled with mainly women of all ages doing their weekly shopping, but the occasional soldier like himself, searching for a treat to supplement the disappointing military rations. He had to squeeze himself past a group of elderly ladies who were crowded around one of the produce stalls, locked in what appeared to be a heated argument over which cabbage to purchase, though they were carrying it at such a low volume he did not hear a word.

When he reached his destination just a few stalls away, he was surprised to see a man he recognized standing with his back to the stall. Oscar Schnitzer was a regular visitor to Stalag 13 - he cared for the dogs that guarded the camp and therefore was well known to Langenscheidt, who had a soft spot for the dogs though they never seemed to reciprocate the feeling.

Langenscheidt nodded to Oscar in greeting, but the man did not appear to notice him. He was staring past him, focused on something over his shoulder. Langenscheidt turned, but the only thing he saw was that two of the old women appeared to now be fighting over the cabbage they had selected, each pulling on it in either direction, while the third shook her head in frustration.

Apparently this was what was drawing Oscar's attention as well, for before Langenscheidt could turn back around, Oscar was now brushing past him to intervene with what was becoming an increasingly aggressive argument.

Langenscheidt watched with some interest as Oscar pulled the two apart, wrenching the cabbage from both their hands as he did so. The veterinarian put the cabbage back in the crate in front of the stall, and pulled a different, larger cabbage from another crate and placed it in the hands of the third woman who accepted it gratefully. The other two glared at each other for another moment, and to Langenscheidt's embarrassment they both looked up to see him staring at them. He ducked his head, trying to look as though he had not been staring, but when he glanced up again he found that all three women were now glaring at him. Oscar had disappeared into the rest of the market crowd.

Langenscheidt blushed, but a politeness ingrained in him from childhood would not let him simply turn and leave now he'd been discovered. He stepped closer, intending to apologise, when he met the gaze of the shorter woman.

"Excuse me Gnadige Frau," he asked, "I did not mean to stare, but do I know you from somewhere? You seem familiar to me."

To his horror, the woman's face curled into a coy smile, and she reached out a hand as though she were going to pinch his bottom.

"Perhaps," she said in a sultry voice that did not match her matronly attire, "You would like to become more familiar, hey handsome?"

Langenscheidt leaped out of arm's reach and fled the market at speed, all thought of bratwurst forgotten. He was a bit of a mother's boy, that he knew. But he certainly had no intention of becoming that grandmother's boy.

"LeBeau, the next time you want to practise your old lady flattery, could you try it on someone who doesn't know what you look like outside that dress please?"

"I did not see you coming up with any brilliant ideas to get us out of there?"

"You didn't see me starting World War Three in the market because I couldn't pick the right cabbage either, so let's not start arguing over intelligence, mate."

"It is not my fault this imbecile cannot tell the difference between Savoy cabbage and plain green cabbage!"

"Well that's just rude. I still don't see why that cabbage is any more savvy than the other one."

"Savoy, not savvy. You Americans know nothing about food."

"I know we're not doing a message drop in a bloody vegetable patch again after this."

"Good riddance. Cabbage is peasant food anyway."

"You'd probably rather serve potato pancakes for your handsome soldier, right LeBeau?"

"... Shut up Carter."