Peaceful Weekend

Weekends on the Rhine experienced their own share of tranquility. Oberheim-des-Vosges sat above the Rhine, a tranquil village with a pharmacy, a bricklayer, and a general goods store, but no horses. Blücher the pharmacist sat behind his counter, feet up, and smoking his pipe. In strolled Jaubert the mailman and together their eyes met for a moment before Jaubert sprinted to the counter. He tapped the counter and unfurled a note from his pocket.
 “I’ve been told by Doctor Gény that I need a tonic mixed with magnesium for my stomach, and a poultice onion too,” Jaubert listed off.
 “And you need those today?” Blücher said, slowly lowering his feet.
 “Yes, otherwise why would I be here and not on Monday or Tuesday?”
 “Hmm, a fair point, I suppose. A fair point,” Blücher trailed off as he looked at the note. “Today, huh? Quite urgent. I see, I see.”
 He took the note and looked for some magnesium in one of his many cabinets of tinctures, topics, tonics, and tablets.
 “Here we go. And a tonic too,” he said while grabbing a bottle.
 He prepared the mixture and resealed the bottle for Jaubert.
 “And the poultice onion?” Jaubert demanded.
 “A poultice onion, huh? I suppose I have one. I suppose. Tell me, Mr. Jaubert, do you have an onion at home?”
 “Yes, a few, but those are for cooking.”
 “Yes, I suppose they are. Cooking. Cooking.”
 Blücher wandered over to a barrel and opened the lid.
 “Would you like a pickle while you’re here?”
 “No, I wouldn’t.”
 “I see. No pickle. No pickle.”
 He wandered some more and took out a basket filled with produce.
 “Tell me, Mr. Jaubert, do you see a poultice onion in here?” Blücher said while holding up the basket for Jaubert. He peered in the basket and pulled out a cooking onion.
 “This one seems adequate,” he stated.
 “Very well, this onion will do. Very well.”
 Blücher put the basket back and tallied the receipt.
 “That’ll be 35 groschen, Mr. Jaubert. 20 for the magnesium, 10 for the tonic, and 5 for the poultice onion. 35 total.”
 Jaubert paid the sum and left as quickly as he had come.
 Weekends in the village of Oberheim-des-Vosges, which sat above the Rhine, are quite serene, Blücher thought, relighting his pipe. Quite serene.