by D. W. Goates
Elke was quite close to suggesting that she and Sascha live together under one roof. No longer did she appreciate any adult distinction that they should maintain separate residences. She saw it now for what it was: merely another socialized ideal, not unlike the one she had fallen prey to in recommending her school. Just as it made no sense for him to attend a school with nothing to teach him, as far as living arrangements were concerned, the truly adult thing to do would be to face facts and act sensibly in light of them. They should live together—nothing more, nothing less—and in so doing feel free to ignore any ridiculous societal rules to the contrary, such as that she should pursue adoption of the boy, or that she, an unmarried woman, had no business spending so much time with a twelve-year-old. They were doing nothing untoward, and, as far as adoption was concerned, Elke believed it utterly impossible for any soul under heaven to adopt such an emancipated young man as Sascha.
During this time, with her mind still in turmoil, Elke finally received her response from Munich.
It was certainly official-looking—fine paper with the Seal of the Bavarian State Police. But it was thin, this epistle, no more than a single folded page. Although how much paper would it take to relay that the Bürgermeister and others responsible had been arrested and convicted?
Ah, but they hadn’t been. The single line from the investigator read only that they were still “looking into the matter.” That was all: no arrests, no convictions, no imprisonment, and no executions. Months after an irrefutable massacre, the best this man could do was offer a patronizing platitude . . . Looking into the matter?
That evening, Elke hurried to share the news with Sascha. He was as revolted as she to hear it, but not nearly as surprised. Seeing her unhinged, and doubtless wishing to calm her, he promptly proffered an idea.
“Fräulein, do you like it here—in Bremen?”
“No, I hate the school and its benumbing methodology. I grow tired of Frau Krüger and her rules. My childhood friends have all married or moved away. And you’re the only family that I care about, and who cares about me and not what I should or should not become.”
“What if we were to go somewhere?”
“Where?” she asked.
“I don’t know. You just don’t seem happy here. Where would you like to go?”
Her brow relaxed. “I’ve never seen the sea . . .”
“You live in Bremen, and you’ve never been to the sea?”
“Well, have you?” she replied, her sad face twisting into a wry smile.
“No.”
“Well, all right, then. What are you making fun of me for?”
Sascha started laughing. Elke began poking the boy and he in turn poked her back. They soon worked themselves into a monstrous gigglement.
She stayed home that evening rather than return to Frau Krüger’s. There was plenty of room for her in the large townhouse. Before they went to sleep it was decided: on the morrow they would head to the harbor where Elke felt sure she could hire them a boat.
The next morning Elke slept in while Carl was sent to the school with her letter of resignation. She had penned the brief missive before bed the night before. In it she said only that her resignation was effective immediately, and that the balance of her pay be contributed to the school’s library fund.
Elke was certain her departure—though sudden—would leave none in a lurch. Despite her abilities and education, she had been entrusted with little responsibility as a mere teacher’s assistant and so felt quite confident they would have little trouble getting back to their business without her. In point of fact, the duties that they had assigned to her could have been performed by anyone that they might have snatched from the street.
It was almost noon when the ex-teacher and her young friend arrived at her favorite restaurant down by the river. She knew that the place was frequented by sea captains and hoped today to find such a man. They were early, however, and seeing thus few candidates, decided to order something to eat.
As they waited for their meal, the two adventurers began to solidify their plan, only to realize that they hadn’t much of one. To leave town by boat was more idea than plan. Before, such an amorphous arrangement would have irritated Elke, who prided herself on her preparatory prowess, but no longer. No more did such things bother her. The young woman had reached a turning point in her life and, far from being concerned about it, she was invigorated.
They made good use of the time. Their roast chicken arrived to find the following adjunct stipulations added to their boat trip:
As in the case of his predecessors, Carl would be endowed then dismissed and, unique among them, he would receive a letter of recommendation, which Elke would pen. The quiet man would close out the rental of the house, allowed to stay there for the remainder of the paid month. Likewise, Elke would conclude her arrangements with Frau Krüger and sell or donate any possessions that would not fit within her great, monolithic travel trunk. They would also need to secure papers for their journey, and to improve upon Sascha’s well-worn travel story; it needed more specifics and a role now for Elke as his companion. His absent aristocratic father was given a name—Sascha was to be the young Baron von Schonungen, sent out to see the world as part of his education. Fräulein Elke Schreiber was the young lord’s governess, fully empowered by the elder baron to see to this purpose. The freehold they chose at random from a map Sascha pulled from his pouch—some place in Franconia that both doubted anyone had ever even heard of.
Their real goal beyond seeing the sights was to find a more permanent place to live. Elke would miss Bremen, but not so much her small family or those people from the school. It was a chance for them to start anew in a place of their choosing, not one chosen for them by circumstance.
As they worked their chicken to the bone, Elke kept careful watch on the door. The restaurant was less busy than usual. She was beginning to wonder if they would have to come back later—or perhaps even try their luck on the Schlachte itself—when, finally, in came a man she knew.
He was a tall, strong-looking man with a peaked cap, craggy face, and dark, well-groomed beard. Moving to his usual table alone by the window, he sat there smoking his burled wood pipe until the woman working behind the counter brought him his beer. Like Elke, this waitress knew him as a regular customer. It was from her that Elke knew this man to be a captain. That was how she always referred to him, “captain,” though of what sort of ship Elke could only guess.
Elke was prepared to address anyone who looked to her like a captain and so was relieved to see this familiar man show up. She knew that he was German by his accent, and probably a local. Her English was about as good as her Dutch and her Danish, id est poor. Her proposition was unusual, and for this reason she was glad to be making it in her native tongue and not to some foreigner.
After telling Sascha to stay put, Elke went to greet this captain. “Excuse me, sir . . .”
“Yes?” he replied, pulling his pipe from his mouth and turning to her. A curl of fragrant smoke slowly drifted to the darkened ceiling.
“You are a sea captain, are you not?”
“I am.”
“Would it be possible for me and . . . um, my charge to book passage with you?”
“I carry freight, not people, fräulein.”
“But is it not possible . . . or, I had heard, that freighters carry passengers on occasion?”
“It is true. But do you even know where it is that I am going?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said confidently.
His eyes narrowed. The captain began coldly examining her as if she were in some trouble with the law.
Elke found his abrupt change of expression somewhat startling until it dawned on her that she’d best explain herself. “Oh, no! It’s just that we are something of a special circumstance . . . Do you see that boy there in the fine clothes?” She was grateful now
for Sascha’s story, and that he was so well-dressed. “He is the son of a baron, and I am his governess. His father has asked me to ensure that he see something of the world. It’s educational!”
“Baron? What baron?”
“Why, Herr Baron von Schonungen, of course.”
“Never heard of him,” replied the captain dismissively.
“So you won’t help us?”
“I didn’t say that . . . but it will cost you.”
“We have money,” replied Elke, naïve, unaccustomed to such bargaining.
“You’ll understand that I offer no indemnities on the life of the little fellow.”
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“You’re booking passage on a freight ship, girl—not some passenger line. Sea travel can be dangerous. I won’t be responsible to his father, or to anyone else, if something happens to the boy.”
“Oh,” she said, “I understand.”
“Meet me at the harbor—the Schlachte—in two days’ time. Eight o’clock sharp. Don’t be late. What baggage do you have?”
“Just two trunks.”
“That’s fine.”
“Thank you. We’ll be there. Thank you, again.” Elke turned back to Sascha until it occurred to her that she had forgotten something. Spinning back around, she again addressed the captain. “I almost forgot . . . To where do we sail?”
“Copenhagen.”
“Tak,” replied the pleased governess. She had never been there before. In fact, her single word of thanks represented an all-too-significant portion of her repertoire in the Danish language—something she and Sascha could now begin to improve upon.
At dawn the following morning, the townhouse was already buzzing with excitement. Elke had awoken earlier than usual and, in her eagerness, rousted Sascha out of bed. They were already half-packed before breakfast and by noon were done with most of their remaining preparations.
Expelling a sigh, Elke collapsed on her trunk. Apparently Sascha heard this, for soon afterward he appeared in her doorway.
“What’s the matter?” asked the boy with concern.
She wore a pensive frown, her entire aspect bespeaking apprehension. “Oh, nothing . . .”
“Do you not want to go?”
“It’s not that. I just remember how excited I was to be going to Waldheim . . .”
“Well, you’re not going to Waldheim,” he countered cheerfully.
With her head still hung she glanced up at him and smiled. “And let’s thank God for that! I just seem to find disaster crouching beneath every good fortune.”
“And good fortune perching above every disaster . . .”
Impressed, Elke raised her head and, in her slump, tried to find her backbone.
Still shining at her, Sascha asked, “We’re almost done, right?”
“Yes?” replied Elke.
“Then we have plenty of time to go to the book shop, to see what they have on Denmark.”
Elke stood up, her tiresome enthusiasm fully restored. “Let’s go!”
XII
It was a sublime late spring morning, and the two eager travelers were right on time. Their foresight in arranging for a carriage the previous day had afforded them enough time to pick up breakfast from a bakery along the way, and the still-warm pastries had scarcely been consumed when their open barouche arrived quayside.
“That’s him there,” said Sascha, indicating their captain.
“It can’t be,” Elke replied. “Where is his ship?” She directed their driver over to the man; he was busy barking orders to stevedores as they loaded crates onto a broad flat boat. “Good morning, captain,” said Elke, as their carriage came to a stop alongside him.
“So you’ve come after all,” said the captain, apparently to himself, before greeting the new arrivals. “Morning, fräulein.”
“Is that it?” she asked, curling her lip in disappointment and gesturing to the boat behind him.
Her reaction was such that he felt compelled to turn around; calmly looking back to her, he responded, “Jawohl,” then added a wry smile.
Elke was nonplussed. The thing didn’t look much like a ship; it lacked the rigging, masts, and cabins of the finer-looking vessels docked nearby. Sheer size was all it seemed to have going for it. Nevertheless, she kept her thoughts to herself and asked the driver to assist in their disembarkation.
She and the captain worked out a price for their one-way passage to Copenhagen. Though less than either she or Sascha had guessed, neither of them knew anything by way of comparison. The captain told them that there would be a layover in the Danish capital for a few days and that, if they so chose, they could arrange with him to go further. They found this agreeable. Apparently this man had much experience in plying the Baltic and trading at its ports—a thorough, modern Hanseatic was he.
Shortly thereafter they were underway, sailing peacefully down the Weser. Elke and Sascha would, by lunchtime, be laying their eyes upon the sea from the new port of Bremerhaven. But, until then, the two friends sat quietly on a crate at the bow of the boat, enjoying the view and the cool morning air tickling at their faces.
At Bremerhaven, Elke realized her earlier mistake and was glad to have held her tongue. Their boat pulled up alongside an immense, three-masted ship at least twice the size of those other sailing ships she had seen docked in Bremen. This great oceangoing craft was dark and stained and wore its experience with a certain ancient pride—as if it had once called upon Poseidon himself, or perhaps knew the best ways to skirt the edge of the world without falling off. Seehexe, an apt name, was scrawled upon its bow.
Now more comfortable asking questions, Elke learned from one of the men that they had been on but a riverboat. The draft of the mighty Sea Witch—which they referred to as a barque—was such that it could not navigate the shallows of the Weser. Furthermore, they had traded only a portion of their cargo in Bremen; the rest was intended for ports yet to come.
A flurry of activity ensued as goods were transferred from their boat to the ship. In the fair weather, Elke and Sascha decided to eat their lunch dockside and watch as the men, like ants, crawled all about the area making ready for departure. Pesky gulls invaded to spoil the picnic, but were driven back, forced to settle for intermittent tribute. Afterward when Elke set off to briefly explore the bustling new port, Sascha chose to remain, fascinated by the sailors’ business. Upon her return, she found him right where she had left him.
It was dusk before the mighty ship set sail into the vast North Sea. The two landlubbers were awestruck—churning water for as far as their eyes could see. The lamps had been lit, stars were out, and hours had passed before the two new passengers saw fit to review their accommodations.
Their quarters consisted of a single narrow room, its only door inset with a shaded, oval-shaped window. Inside, they found adequate furnishings: a two-bunk bed, small table and chair, and a three-drawer dresser. They were apparently putting out the first mate—now re-quartered with the captain—who did not seem to mind; they’d heard he was taking share in their payment for passage. Under the circumstances, the modest cabin seemed rather lavish, much better than either had expected of a freighter.
Sascha immediately claimed the bottom bunk.
“Oh, no you don’t!” Elke complained. “You’ll be sleeping up there!”
To this the little baron said nothing, but sat for a moment, squeezing the bedding and making a showy pout.
“I won’t be climbing that thing every night,” she said, gesticulating at the wooden ladder on the foot of the bed.
As she did, the boy jumped up and scrambled to the top bunk. Replacing him on the bottom, the governess checked it herself, finding in its well-worn softness evidence of preference from the cabin’s usual inhabitant.
“No fair! Yours has a horsehair mattress!” exclaimed Sascha,
writhing in discomfort above her.
“Exactly. Mine has a horsehair mattress,” Elke smirked, casting her eyes upwards.
Sascha eventually bestilled himself, and Elke followed suit, lying down to relax.
“This isn’t half bad,” he said, piping up after having stared at the ceiling for a while.
“See, you’re young. I knew you’d get used to it,” she replied.
“No!” he said, elongating the word in exaggeration. “I was talking about this ship.”
“Yeah,” she replied wistfully. “You know, I was afraid we were going to sea in that barge back there, but I had to figure the captain knew what he was doing.”
The two friends became quiet for a while, each listening to the soothing creaks of the gently rocking ship.
Sascha broke the silence. “I wonder what it’s like to be a sailor.”
“I suspect you’ll soon find out,” replied Elke.
The Witch’s novel swaying worked its magic and, before long, the two travelers were fast asleep. Two fitful hours passed before Elke—a side-sleeper—managed to roll over and gouge herself with her corset. This immediate discomfort became then universal upon her rude awakening, with petticoat, shoe, and the whole kit making a nuisance of itself. In no time the young woman was on the boy, rousting him.
“Sascha! Hey! Wake up!”
“What?” he said sleepily.
“You’ve got to go out. I’ve got to get dressed for bed. You’ve got to go out.”
“What? Then why did you wake me up?”
Elke offered a deadpan shrug, which she felt sure the boy missed in the dim light of their single lamp so she reinforced it with a painful poke at his ribs. “Raus,” she said, dragging the word to an annoying effect. “I won’t be long.”
And she wasn’t. But it was just enough on the cold, cloudless night to put the boy to shivering. “It’s freezing out there!” he complained upon re-entering the cabin.
