THE
MAGNIFYING GLASS
563
Where the two elephantine roll-top desks used to be stood an
elegant Sheraton writing table, the wooden fretwork had been tom
from the walls and replaced by arched shelves and niches filled with
a collection of old china mugs, the black horsehair sofa and armchair
were succeeded by a chintz sofa and some "casual" chairs in the
tweedy, woven material well loved by interior decorators. Here, I
thought, inside the old brewery, was the perfect modem "house
beautiful" setting, complete to the last mirrored picture frame-and
my father's worn clumsy furniture was probably huddled anachron–
istically into
his
new quarters in the streamlined, air-conditioned,
fluorescent-lighted, sound-proofed "extension."
Again, I felt an unreasonable wave of resentment at the change,
accompanied by a feeling of loss that was close to sadness. Why?
What was the matter with me? Where was the clue to my unac–
countable mood?
Then, I noticed the magnifying glass lying on top of the Shera–
ton desk. I remembered it well-the thick myopic lens, slightly
nicked at the rim, the silver frame, the carved ivory handle-I had
last seen it long ago, on the table in my grandfather's living room,
when I went to visit him on Sunday mornings.
My grandfather, Carl Kupermann, died at the age of ninety-one,
when I was ten, so I can only remember him as a very old. man. .
But his years became him, he was vigorous to the end and his lon–
gevity was more of a legend than a liability. To me, his favorite and
youngest grandchild, he appeared to
be
the archetype of Santa Claus.
I would find him on Sunday mornings, always in the same arm–
chair with the immaculate lace antimacassars. He had abundant
white hair, a mustache and a full beard, almost reaching his chest,
that prickled like wire when he kissed me. His mouth was hidden
except for the lower lip, which was full and rosy, as were his un–
wrinkled cheeks. His eyes were the shallow ice-blue of winter ponds.
He was built squarely, and like the original, he had "a little round
belly," across which he wore a red-gold watch chain with an onyx
fob. In spite of his age, he was still proud of his muscles, and used
to flex his arm for me to test them. "Feel how hard they are," he
used to say. "I got those long ago, when I was seventeen, and my
father had me apprenticed to a cooper."
I would sit on a low stool at his feet, feeling important and ap-
