Night Guided Tour with Bedroom in the Starring Role

"You're tired, Mr. Meiden" announced David, who took no more than a minute to change into a more worn-out T-shirt, work jeans and worn-out tennis shoes, "so I'll only show you the main part. You will see the rest tomorrow. Is that convenient for you?"

"Perfect," he agreed and reached into his pocket. From it he took out some kind of plastic card. "Proof of my identity" he handed it to the elderly Krosny.

The gardener hesitated, but took it in his hand. He didn't understand much of it, since it was drawn up in Norwegian, but it looked like everything was in order. He handed the ID back to him.

"David, hand over the keys to Mr. Meiden."

The blushing boy held out a bundle of larger and smaller keys to him. The one with the ID check he came up with on his own. The father had not for a moment intended to do so.

"Thank you very much," Maiden stood up. "Can we go now?"

"We can," agreed David.

The Norwegian said goodbye to his hosts and left. Following him, David took a sweatshirt from the hallway. He expected to return on foot, and it was already getting chilly.

As if to confirm this just outside the door the cold night air enveloped him. He quickly threw on his sweatshirt. Meiden walked ahead of him, as if this slightly lower temperature made no impression on him. It probably was so, David thought. After all, he was Norwegian. Meiden wordlessly got into the car. David did the same. The second time getting into this wonderful sports car he felt no less excitement than the first time. Before they knew it they were already pulling up to the main gate again.

"Maybe I'll open it," offered Dawid. "It will be faster."

The man wordlessly handed him the keys.

He's a small-talker, thought David while untying the chain. I wonder if this is a national trait or just his?

The car stopped as soon as it passed the gate. David was about to close it when he heard.

"Leave it!"

"But you'd better close gates for the night!"

"I'll drive you back first."

"It's okay, I'll come back by foot..."

"I said, leave it!"

Oy, oy, how nervous. Since starting an argument in the middle of the night wouldn't do anything, and the Norwegian looked like the kind of person who likes to stand his ground, David gave up. Besides, he wasn't one of the argumentative people in general. He assumed that sometimes it was better to shut up. The problem usually resolved itself anyway, to his liking.

So he returned to the car.

The drive to the site was not long. The car drove well on the pavement they laid. It took them some time and they didn't do it themselves, but it was the uncle's company that handled both the design of the pattern and the execution.

Finally they arrived at the palace itself. Its white walls shone in the spotlight, revealing a grand, two-story palace in the classicist style of the Enlightenment era. The massive front door crowning the wide staircase looked grand, distinguishing itself from the light background with its dark color. David took a quick glance around and found that everything looked good. He heard the slam of the trunk closing.

Meiden handed him a travel bag.

David took it without a word of complaint. The guy probably had a lot of luggage and it was natural to help him carry it inside. That's why he was surprised when he saw that he himself was carrying only a laptop bag. Although he was calm by nature, something boiled inside him. Had he become a baggage handler?

It's nothing, it's nothing. It's just today. The visitor came from another country, another culture and has no clue about the customs here or the fact that David is not his servant. He probably thinks that servants come in a package with the house, but everything will become clear, tomorrow.

"Which key?" Meiden asked at the top of the stairs.

David pointed him to the right one. The door gave way.

"The light switch is on the right by the door," David explained. The Norwegian pressed it and the entire interior lit up with candelabras showing walls covered with green, ornate wallpaper. In a modern house this deliciously old-fashioned design would have looked less than ideal, but here they were dealing with an historical interior, the owner of which wished to reflect as closely as possible the spirit of the times in which it was built.

Meiden, however, did not seem impressed. He looked around, not admiring the craftsmanship of the decor, but checking the layout of the rooms. David, who, along with his entire family (even his mother helped them lay wallpaper) had put all his heart into the renovation, felt irritated by the owner's indifference.

Not good, thought David. This guy is really starting to get on my nerves.

David didn't let offended pride get the better of him. This whole Meiden may have been an indifferent to everything, underestimating the work of others, but he was his principal, not his friend. The most important thing was that he pay them the rest of the money and hire them for the future. He didn't need to pay them compliments.

I'm a professional too. David stated in his mind and continued.

"The second light switch is at the top of the stairs," he explained matter-of-factly. "To the right is a kitchen stocked with modern appliances, but they are not yet plugged in. I can turn on the refrigerator...."

"It's not necessary."

No means no. His choice.

"Do you want to see it, Mr. Meiden?"

"Why do you call me mister?"

David twitched surprised by the question.

"Excuse me?"

"Earlier you said 'on you'[1]."

"..."

David was reminded of their exchange of words when he had his face stuck in the grass.

"E, earlier I thought I was talking to a criminal," he explained. "This was no time for politeness. Now I know who you are, Mr. Meiden."

"Isn't it more convenient to call me by my first name?"

"A little, but my mother would rip off my ears if she found out."

"Compromise. You can address me as Mr. Gustav. If you leave Mr., nothing will happen either. Does it bother you that I call you informally?"

"No."

"Fine. Continue."

Continue what, pondered David, because he had lost the thread through this conversation. Oh, yes, the guided tour.

"Your bedroom is upstairs," they started towards the stairs with a heavy, dark brown wooden handrail. The Norwegian climbed them rather slowly, holding the laptop bag he had slung over his shoulder. David noticed that he was walking not in the middle of the stairs, but on their right side. As they traversed the gallery, he similarly clung to the wall.

This seemed strange to the boy, but he was far from drawing any conclusions.

"The bedroom is here," David pointed to the first door on the right. "Of course, you can choose any room you want. We just thought we would prepare something close to the exit and the kitchen to start with. The bathroom is opposite."

Norwegian opened the door to the bedroom, which was already decorated without the Enlightened age splendor. It was a fairly simple room with a wooden floor, wooden panels on the wall and a rather plain oak closet. Only the bed looked unusual, larger than the marriage bed, truly regal in size, with four turned pillars and a canopy.

It caught Meiden's attention, who raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

"Without curtains?" He asked.

David scowled. Is the guy asking seriously or is he joking?

Remember that you are a professional and you don't judge people, he admonished himself. You simply present the work done to the customer.

"This is one of the two original beds left. Of course, the mattresses have been replaced. It's maybe a little big..."

"It's perfect. It just needs curtains."

For David, who was a child of the 21st century, a bed with a canopy was not only an anachronism, but an outright abomination. For several days he fought with his father not to put it in this bedroom and replace it with some comfortable, modern furniture. However, his father was adamant. He stated that someone who packs so much money to renovate a crumbling hovel and give it an original character would surely appreciate this carpentry work of art. Never in my life, thought David at the time. Now he stood surprised as he watched Meiden walk up to the bed and touch its carved columns.

Well, it is said that tastes are not discussed. However, if David were to discuss, he would definitely start to suspect Gustav Meiden of liking bed perversions.

But that was totally none of his business.

[1] In Polish, as in many other languages, there are two forms of addressing someone, the polite form where you say 'pan/pani' (Mr./Mrs.) to someone and the 'na ty' ('on you') form typical of English. Mr./Mrs. is said to people with whom we do not have a close relationship, for example, people we meet on the street, salesmen in a store, etc. At work, the person's first name, not last name, is often added to the word 'Mr./Mrs.' This is an established linguistic custom. 'On you' is said to colleagues. In some companies, it is a custom adopted from English to speak this way to superiors as well. At this point, the relationship between Gustav and David is on the level of employer and employee, hence the completely natural form of 'Mr. Meiden' that David addresses Gustav.