Julius Rosenthal Will Make Candy No More

By Nicholas C. Russell

Julius was a candy maker and candy makers rarely encounter evil. On a cold winter day that could very well be his last on Earth. Julius comes face to face with the Nazi war machine that is ravaging his people. This and five other heartfelt and exciting tales are included in this collection of short stories. Take a fictional journey through a crumbling family run circus and run the ramparts of a starship as its crew revolts to bring the truth to light about its hidden cargo. Step into the life of a woodworker as he contemplates the loss of his hobby. Ride along with a police officer in a future dominated by the technology we want so desperately to possess. And finally step past the gates of hell with the gatekeeper.

• Language: English
• Publisher: RW Publishing
• Release date: Apr 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463941966

Nicholas C. Russell

Nicholas Russell, born and raised in central Florida, set out to get a few stories after graduating high school. In the process he has lived in five states, driven cross country and taken a bus cross country. He learned a bit about printing, came to the realization that he is not a good gambler and decided that working retail is not on his bucket list. Though driving a Ferrari through southern Europe is.

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Julius Rosenthal Will Make Candy No More

& Other Short Stories

Nicholas C. Russell

Digital Edition

Copywrite 2011

Nicholas C. Russell

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Julius Rosenthal Will Make Candy No More

Julius was not an extraordinary man. He was quite the opposite. At eleven he was the tallest boy on Rosenthal Lane, but now as he approached his seventy-fifth birthday he was the shortest. Julius though liked to remember that he was still the tallest eleven-year-old. I must apologize for we have just met and I have already told you two lies. The first is that Julius is quite extraordinary because he has no tears left in him. The other is less a lie and more an omission of change. The small road that Julius lives on, that his family had lived on for six generations, was no longer called Rosenthal Lane: it had been renamed in honor of Chancellor Hitler.

Just before dawn, Julius awoke, as he did every morning. It was Thursday and every Thursday Julius would make the trek across town from his tiny candy shop to the asylum delivering fresh caramels and toffees to those who had the misfortune of being trapped inside its walls. He poured himself a cup of coffee and looked out the tiny kitchen window. The yard was covered in a thick blanket of pure white snow. Once full of flowers and a small vegetable garden, the yard was past repair now; the flower beds have long since been overtaken by weeds and grass.

Looking out through Julius didn’t see any of that all he saw was the lovely Juliette running about in the thick wool coat Ava had given her for Hanukkah. Some mornings looking out he saw his Ava running after the girl, but not in the winter: Ava never liked the winter.

He washed the mug and slipped his jacket on. Standing at the front door he looked over the parlor. Julius kept it as clean as he could but Ava had always been the housekeeper. His eyes focused on the family portrait hanging above the fireplace. It seemed like another lifetime, his loving family reduced now to only its patriarch. He turned and left the house, gently closing the door behind him, not knowing he would never see this place again.

The small dirt road leading to Rosenthal’s home had developed a set of ruts from the decades of use. When he first took over the role as head of the family, Julius had tried to fill in the ruts. It had worked for a short while but as it always is with nature she did as she wished and they quickly dipped back down. The walk to work was another reminder of his solitude. Ava’s dislike of winter had been easily pushed aside when Juliette ran about playing as they would walk with her to school. She would run ahead, pulling her legs high in the deep snowdrifts. She would get as far as Ava would allow her to go before stopping looking back and with arms stretched wide falling backward into the snow. Juliette would then swing her arms and legs wildly until Julius was close enough to help her to her feet.

Halfway to his shop, the road turned west, the bend sharp enough that a passing car was not able to see around its corner. Julius stopped. He hadn’t stopped here in years, this place didn’t affect him as it once did. Today for some reason, looking out over the snow, all he could see was gleaming red. The corners of his eyes itched but no tears came. It was soon after that when his beloved Ava passed: the doctor said that tuberculosis weakened her heart but Julius knew the truth.

Julius crossed the road choosing not to step on the ground where she had fallen. A freezing wind filled the air as he passed, and Julius pulled his coat tighter. He moved around the bend as the sun crested the mountains bathing the road in its warm glow.

Only the baker was open earlier than Julius the two had been friends since their youth. The past year had been rough on both businesses. The baker was forced by new laws to lay off three of his workers, all Jewish, and

he had not yet been able to find anyone to replace the men. His wife had helped at first, but she was not used to the laborious work of a baker and was forced to stop. The baker left his back door open, filling the tiny alley between the shops with the warm smell of sweetbreads and his famous cinnamon roll. Julius moved past and stopped at his door. He pulled the shiny key from his pocket and slid it in the lock. For four generations the Rosenthal Candy Company had never found a need for a lock, but these were hard times for all.

Did you eat breakfast, or was it just coffee again? Julius turned to see the baker, his arms were covered in the fine white flour he used for his sweet bread.

Ja, I did. Julius smiled and turned back to his door as he jiggled the lock. Even a new lock didn’t want to work on a cold winter morning. It finally turned and Julius slipped in waving back to his old friend. He turned on the gas lanterns. A salesman from Rheinisch had tried to get Julius to switch to the newer, cleaner electric lights, but Julius had said no: there was something magical about the soft flickering glow.

Julius looked to the storeroom’s shelves: the war had been hard on all shops, but he seemed to fare worse than the rest. The shelves were mostly bare except for a few spare items two oranges and a few cups of sugar. Julius measured out the sugar: it was almost six cups, but not quite. He wondered how many strings of candy that would make. He walked into the front room and retrieved the book. The book was his family recipes; each generation would add one now and again, but they never altered the originals set down by the company’s founder. Julius had been named for this man and carried the weight of that name with him whenever he would make a batch of candies.

For three of the six generations, the book sat on the counter next to the register. A new place was needed after a man passing through town had attempted to grab it from the counter and make a run for it. He had barely gotten to the door before he was tackled by a group of children. His grandfather Tobias loved to tell that story; he said it reminded them of the inherent good in all children. Julius had liked the story because it was always followed by caramel. He pulled the book from below the counter and placed it gently on the glass countertop.

Julius wanted a caramel, now, and looked to the large glass container across the room. From here it looked empty but he crossed the room anyway. Up close Julius could see a single candy in its dull wax wrapper. He pulled the heavy, leaded-glass lid from the jar, took the end of the wrapper between two fingers, and stopped. Julius’ father had been a fickle man in the early years when Julius was not a candy maker, but an apprentice. His father had hammered into him that the candy was for the customers; every little bit was a piece of silver from your pocket. Julius let go and replaced the lid.

Back at the counter he carefully opened the book; a dab of colored paint in the top corner told what each section of the book contained. He flipped past the red dots (soft candies) and the yellows (chocolates) to the blues. Julius had always preferred the blue hard candies stored well and could always be slipped to a sad child to bring out a quick smile. He turned the pages slowly, looking over each page with care; with only a small amount of sugar, he wanted to make something that had a nice sweet flavor. He settled finally on rock candy; it

was a simple recipe, simple enough that school children made it but rock candy was always a favorite. The recipe called for sixty pounds of sugar; Julius did the math reducing it to the amount he had. He had enough sugar to make three only three? Julius did the math again making sure to check each figure before moving to the next.

A deep sadness came over Julius as he closed the book and looked at the near-empty storefront. It had been weeks since a customer entered the shop. He looked out the front window, a view he used to enjoy, that was now blocked by a large gold star painted across the window. He slid the book back into its place below the counter and returned to the back room. Hanging from a hook just inside the door was a tan apron. Julius took it down and slipped it over his head before tying it around his waist.

Besides holding storage, the backroom also held an old stove and oven. Above the stove was a rack holding five pots. The smallest held no more than a cup and was used to make cream fillings. The next size larger was what he needed but he didn’t have a pot in between. He set the pot on the stove and crossed the room to

the sink. Years earlier he had bought multiple measuring cups in what his father would surely have called overindulgence. Julius just liked to have one cup for each ingredient; it kept the flavors from mixing before they should. He filled the glass to the necessary mark and poured it into the pot.

The stove’s knobs were speckled with rust and the labels had worn off long ago; as he turned the knob a blue flame burst out from under the pot. Julius bent down bringing the flame to eye level and