Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them...Continued.

4: No One Likes Canned Food

JACOB
Jacob's life hadn't been great lately. The canning factory was killing him. Mildred left him. Mr. Bingley didn't give him a loan because he had no collateral. But then he bumped into some guy and dropped his case, only to pick it up to find that it was filled with silver pieces and a note.
Mr. Kowalsi,
Please accept these occamy shells as collateral for your bakery.
Sincerly,
A well wisher.
What in the actual what did that mean? Who was that man who switched his case out? Why did he do it? Jacob hadn't done any favors lately. At least, no favors that deserved a briefcase full of pure silver. But he couldn't very well find him again, and why let the silver go to waste? After all, Blue Coat Man (as Jacob had decided to call him) was wishing him well, and if Jacob had given someone a case of silver, he would expect them to use it.
So here he was, in his only suit, walking to the bank again. Mr. Bingley would have to accpet the silver. It was pure, legal, and expensive. Anyway, if there wasn't a default, Jacob would just keep the silver and pay his loan off the good old fashioned way; through hard work and determination.
Jacob sat on the bench in the bank, trying to remember his last time here. His memory was very dim over the last few days...he barely remembered going into the bank at all. He forgot that Mildred left him. He forgot...a lot of things. But when he went home, he found her fairwell letter on the kitchen counter, where he had left it, and it came rushing back. He remembered that he couldn't get a loan, so she left. Not that he blamed her.
Then, when he was trying (yet again) to get a loan from (yet another) bank, he remembered sitting on the bench, and speaking with someone. Their face was fuzzy, their voice was fuzzy; he didn't even remember if it was a man or a woman. Then, he had gone into the office of Mr. Bingley, who didn't give him his loan. He walked out, and suddenly, through a thick layer of haze, he found himself in the middle of downtown without his case, very confused with his arms held out as if to hold someone. But when he went home, his case was just in the same place it always was, so he went to bed and tried not to think about banks.
"Mr. Kowlaski, Mr. Bingley will see you now," said a woman from a nearby doorway. Suddenly, a memory came back, hitting his mind like a bat to a baseball.
A man sat across from him, distracted, wearing a blue coat (Blue Coat Man!). Jacob asked why he was there, and he said,
"Same as you....."
"You're here to get a loan to open up a bakery?" Jacob asked.
"Yes."
"What are the odds of that?" He asked, momentarily forgetting his nerves. Then they came back. "Well, may the best man win, I guess."
Blue Coat Man left him hanging, running off like he was chasing something. But something fell out of his pocket; a silver egg. It was huge, and weird. Jacob picked it up, examining it.
"Hey, mister....Hey, mister!" He called, looking around. Finally, he spotted the Blue Coat. "Hey, fella!" He yelled.
"Mr. Kowalski, Mr. Bingley will see you now," the woman repeated, louder, snapping Jacob's mind away from the memory.
"All right," he said to himself. "Thank you, ma'am." And Jacob entered Mr. Bingley's office.
Mr. Bingley sat at his heavy wooden desk, looking powerful and forbidding. His back was straight as he leaned on his elbows, his fingertips all pressed together as if he were about to adress the room at large on the matter at hand or something.
"Would you like a seat?" he said, which was more of a command and less of a polite offer with the tone he used.
"Yes, thank you, sir," Jacob said, taking a seat.
"Talk," Bingley commanded, as though to a dog.
"Yes," Jacob cleared his throat. "I have collateral. You wanted it, and I have it. Here-" he plopped the case down on the desk, making things rattle.
"What do you mean, you have collateral now? How could you get so much so quickly?" Bingley scoffed."Canning factory start canning caviar or--"
"No, sir," Jacob cut him off. Though his tone was still polite, he wanted to whack this guy like he had Gnarlak. Wait, who was Gnarlak? Jacob decided it didn't matter just then. "A friend lent it to me," he said, which was perfectly true. Anyone who gave Jacob a suitcase of silver was someone he would call friend. "They said they wish me luck in my bakery."
"Mm. Let me see," Bingley said. Hey eyed the suitcase suspiciously, as if suspecting more psstries. Jacob opened it and Bingley's eyes widened. "Why is it in peices?" He asked in wonder.
"I don't know, sir. He didn't tell me. He's a bit mysterious, my friend...more like a benefactor, really. But the silver is real, I swear!" He added hastily, for Mr. Bingley looked at him suspiciously.
"Hm," Bingley muttered under his breath as he examined a piece under a magnifying glass, and bit it. "Yes, it's real. I suppose I have no choice but to accept. 10% interest, Mr. Kowalski." He wrote a check and handed it to Jacob.
Jacob smiled, extending his hand. Mr. Bingley shook, though it looked like the last thing on earth he wanted to do.
"Pleasure doing business with you," Jacob said. Bingley grinned (or grimaced, it was hard to tell) and Jacob left the office with a triumphant smile on his face.
<><><><><><>
The next morning, Jacob took the check and cashed it. It was time to go shopping.
He already had a spot for lease, and he had sent a letter that morning. With luck, he'd be given the keys the following day. Now, he needed ingredients.
A whole day's shopping brought him milk, cream, butter, flour, sugar, eggs, fruits and spices. Jacob was sure his kitchen had never been this full; he could barely walk through it. He looked through the kitchen to his bedroom, at the photo of his grandmother on the wall.
"Pozwala gotować," he said. Let's cook, in Polish. Grandma always used to say it before baking with him.
"My miłość, watch how the dough rises in the oven. It fluffs up, getting yummier with ever minute of miłość used to cook it. Never cook without miłość," she said one day.
Jacob remembered that, and as he took out his ingredients to make the first batch of paczkis, he promised he'd never cook without miłość. Love.