by Dora Heldt
“Aunt Inge said that?”
“Not exactly. She said ‘shymptom.’ And ‘compulshive cleaning.’ But you could still get her drift.”
Christine sank down onto the edge of the bath. “Oh God. And then what?”
“Then Aunt Inge pressed a glass of champagne into your mother’s hand and clinked hers against it so hard that both the glasses smashed.”
Those must have been the good glasses. It was risky to ask any further questions, but Christine had to find out. “Anything else?” she asked, inwardly wincing. Now Johann had undressed completely and was climbing into the shower. Normally that would have distracted her, but not right now. “Did anything else happen?”
“Your mother said enough was enough and wanted to call a taxi for Inge. But Heinz was worried that someone might take advantage of his sister’s delicate condition. He wanted to drive her to Kampen himself. This was followed by a brief debate, which he won. When he left, I went upstairs.”
“Johann, do you think Aunt Inge might have a drinking problem?”
“What?” The rushing of the shower water was too loud.
“I said, do you think Inge’s an alcoholic?”
Christine’s question echoed loudly through the sudden silence in the bathroom. Johann had turned off the shower to soap himself up.
“Don’t shout like that. What do I know? She certainly had a good drink yesterday.” He laughed softly. “So did you. And a lot more than Inge, by the way.”
“She never used to drink alcohol at all.”
Instead of an answer, the water started rushing again. Christine wondered how you could tell if someone had an alcohol problem. Aunt Inge had asked her what a glass of champagne like that would probably cost in a bar, and she had told her something about a Finnish barkeeper who had invented a small green drink that was supposed to be very healthy. Anika had explained, laughing, what Inge meant. None of that suggested Aunt Inge was drinking regularly. In the bus she had looked around her in amazement, then put her hand in front of her mouth, giggling, and whispered, “Oh, it’s still light outside! And we’ve already had one too many.” Then she had started singing. It was pretty obvious she wasn’t drinking on a regular basis.
The water finally stopped. The shower door opened, and Johann reached for the towel.
“My father thinks she’s having a midlife crisis, and he’s worried she has an alcohol problem,” said Christine. “But that’s ridiculous, right?”
His answer sounded muted as he rubbed the towel over his head. “Ach, Heinz and his imagination. Just come straight out and ask her.”
“Johann, she wants to leave her husband. After almost half a century. I’d say that probably amounts to a midlife crisis.”
He wrapped the towel around his hips and looked at her in amazement. “Christine, she has left her husband. You just don’t know why yet. That’s what bothers you.”
“She wants to change her life,” was her quick reply. “But she didn’t say when and why. Maybe she’s only left him temporarily.”
Johann pulled his jeans on, shaking his head. “I’d be distraught if you left me temporarily. That doesn’t make it any better.”
“Oh, you can’t make comparisons like that. Our situation is completely different.” Was that true? “After all, Inge isn’t that young anymore.”
“That makes no difference. I would just talk to her if I were you. And while you’re at it, you can ask her what kind of apartment she found for Anika.”
He started to lather on shaving cream. Christine had the feeling she’d missed something.
“What apartment? And why for Anika?”
Johann painted swirling circles on his face with the brush. “You should ask your aunt that. Anika told me yesterday about how she and Inge first got talking. I guess you didn’t stop to wonder why the waitress from Badezeit ended up driving around with your aunt.”
He was right. She hadn’t given it any thought. But then, her aunt’s condition had been enough of a surprise by itself.
“Are you going to tell me?”
The shaving blade glided across his dimple. Christine wondered why she hadn’t even noticed that this man had been deep in conversation with the beautiful waitress. She quickly suppressed the unwelcome thoughts rising up inside her. After all, she’d been there the whole evening, and tall, lithe Anika was much too young for him, thirty at the most.
“Sorry?” She was so busy brooding that she hadn’t even heard what Johann had just said.
Johann held the razor under the running water and looked at her in the mirror. “You’re looking at me funny. What’s up?”
“Nothing. What’s this about an apartment?”
“Anika has to move out of her apartment because her rental contract isn’t being extended. And apparently it’s difficult to find an affordable apartment to rent on Sylt because everything is either a vacation rental or for sale. But her son is only eight, so she doesn’t really want to have to move him away from the island. Somehow she and your aunt got onto the topic.”
“In Badezeit?”
Another searching look met her gaze in the mirror. “Yes, well…I guess so. Anika had finished for the day, and then it seemed Till came to join them—that’s her son. They got to talking and then went to have lunch together.”
“I thought there were some potent green drinks involved.”
“Only for your aunt. Anyway, she listened to Anika’s problem and suddenly said that Anika didn’t need to worry, that she might have a suitable apartment for her.”
Christine was completely lost. “How would Inge have an apartment for her?” An idea shot through her head. “Don’t say she means our apartment here. That can’t be true! My mother will flip if Inge sets someone up here. She wouldn’t dare, would she?”
Johann buttoned his shirt up. “Go to Kampen, go for a walk with your aunt, and just ask her. Then you won’t have to drive yourself mad wondering about it.”
The beep of a text message arriving interrupted their conversation. Johann pointed at Christine’s jacket, which was hung over a chair.
“Your jacket beeped.”
The text message said:
ITHINKIHAVEALCOHOLPOISONINGINGE.
Christine snapped her phone shut and looked at Johann. “I’m going to drive to the drug store, pick up some aspirin and vitamin C, and then show Aunt Inge where the space button is and how not to shout in texts. Do you want to come?”
He shook his head in horror. “No, nooooo. I’ll go for a walk and then start my new crime novel. I’d only be getting in the way of the girl talk.”
Hesitant, Christine stopped at the door. “We really wanted to spend this time together.”
There was a trace of impatience in Johann’s voice. “Take care of your aunt first. You’re preoccupied with the whole thing anyway. And this evening we’ll go for dinner at the other end of the island.”
“Why? What’s there?”
“Christine.” He ran his hand through his hair, agitated. “It’s what isn’t there that’s important. I don’t care where we go, just as long as your family isn’t joining us. Okay?”
Feeling guilty, she went back and kissed him. “Everything okay?”
“Yes. Now go.” He pushed her gently toward the door and forced a smile. “See you later.”
As Christine walked out to her car, she wondered if she’d missed more than she thought at yesterday’s festivities.
Chapter 10
* * *
Inge lay out on a chaise longue in the shady part of Petra’s backyard, a wet washcloth on her face. Her arms were crossed over her stomach, and her bare feet flopped outward.
Christine walked over and stared down at her aunt from above. Inge was wearing shorts with a rose pattern, a pink T-shirt, and her hair was blow-dried. Only the washcloth signaled that something was wrong.
Petra had crept up beside Christine unnoticed. “She’s been lying there like that for an hour already,” she whispered. “But she’s s
till breathing. I’ve checked on her every ten minutes.”
Christine took a step forward. She heard a gentle snore. “She’s sleeping, for sure.”
Petra grinned and twirled a tendril of her dark curly hair around her finger. “That must have been some wild party. You’re up early, considering. Whose birthday was it?”
Aunt Inge spluttered for air, then her breathing regulated again. Christine pulled Petra to the side a little.
“Maybe we could have a coffee?”
A few minutes later, they put their coffee cups on a small iron table and sat down on some lawn chairs with Aunt Inge safely within their sights.
“So”—Petra hadn’t forgotten her question—“what were you celebrating?”
“Nothing really.” Christine stirred milk into her coffee. “They were just spontaneous early evening drinks. As you have done. My dad dropped Inge back here, right?”
“Yes, and that was a to-do. He gave me a real lecture.”
Christine looked up with astonishment. “You? But why? You weren’t even there.”
Petra laughed. “Exactly. He said I was responsible for looking out for Inge. That I should have called him when she had stayed out late. He said I was irresponsible.”
“Really? I’ve been meaning to ask, why is Inge staying with you anyway?”
“Well, why not?” she asked, surprised. “I assumed your parents didn’t have room for her. You had so many visitors that time when Heinz celebrated his seventieth, and Inge stayed here then too.”
“And how long has she booked for?”
With a glance at Aunt Inge, who hadn’t moved an inch, Petra replied, “Two weeks initially. Depending on how long she needs for the whole thing.”
Startled, Christine looked at her and wondered how many people her aunt had been talking to. Perhaps the whole island was already talking about Inge’s divorce. That would be awful. She repeated Petra’s words: “The whole thing? I guess you could call it that.”
“Well”—Petra shrugged her shoulders—“she doesn’t know how much there still is to arrange.”
“Arrange?” Christine’s voice got louder, and Inge shifted a little on her chaise. “What does she need to arrange?”
“Well, the thing with Frau Nissen.” Petra looked at her in astonishment. “Her old teacher. She died in March, and Inge was at the funeral. That’s why she’s here now.”
Frau Nissen had been Inge’s first teacher on the island. Inge was always her favorite pupil, and later she had become a kind of replacement daughter for her. A lifelong friendship had developed. The two of them had gone on little breaks together every year, wrote letters, and spoke on the phone. So the old lady had died.
Petra looked over in Inge’s direction hesitantly. Christine stood up abruptly.
“Right then,” she said decisively. “I’m going to the bathroom, and after that I’m shouting at her until she wakes up, and I’m not giving her aspirin until she talks. Petra, I’ll explain everything to you later.”
Was that her niece’s voice? Inge opened her eyes for a second and lifted the damp washcloth to see what was going on. Christine was just disappearing into the house, while Petra was settling back down on a lounge chair. Reassured, Inge let her heavy eyelids close again. She felt like her brain was sloshing around inside her skull on a big wave of champagne, hitting against the sides again and again. From now on she would never even look at little green drinks and pink champagne, not ever again.
She had been forced to promise her brother something along those lines the night before. My goodness, what a fuss he had made. It had been a mistake, of course, to tell him that she was dizzy and had been having circulation problems for a while now. How could she have known that he would take her right to the Nordsee Clinic? Inge groaned as the memories flooded back. She had found the whole thing very funny at the time, suggesting to the doctor on duty that they do a blood transfusion. “Do you know,” she had trilled to him, “there’s so much expensive stuff in it, in my blood, that you could crystallize it and then reliquefy it at your Christmas party.” What made her think of crystallization? The nice doctor had laughed. Her brother hadn’t. Not in the slightest. He had silently driven her to Petra’s and then had made that huge fuss. He had told her that she should buy a bunch of flowers the next day, drive to the hospital, and apologize to the ER staff. And to Charlotte too. So, two bunches of flowers then. He’d also said that she would end up driving him mad, that she was always trouble. And that instead of being happy that she wasn’t an only child, she’d treated him like a hamster! Inge hadn’t understood the comparison, not even now that she was sober. She used to have a hamster as a child; he was called Herr Knapke, and he had even been allowed to sleep in her bed sometimes. He had had a good life. Inge resolved to ask Heinz what he had meant. In any case, they had agreed not to talk about the spontaneous clinic visit ever again. Not with anyone!
And yet it had been Heinz who had gotten so drunk at her college graduation ball that he had stumbled into the champagne bar. He had destroyed almost all the glasses and had ruined the dean’s wife’s ball gown by bleeding on it. He was thrown out. Inge had to go, too, of course, and she had never forgiven him; she had had a great chance of winning the dance competition with Hans. Heinz had forgotten the story, or at least that’s what he had said. Because of that, she had recounted it to him four times yesterday. At least. Sure, it was years ago now, but it still annoyed her.
She was abruptly pulled from her thoughts when someone tore the washcloth off her face and bounced down onto the foot of the chaise so that the whole top of her body plunged forward, as if she were on the wrong end of a seesaw.
“Aunt Inge, are you awake?”
If I wasn’t, I am now, Inge thought and managed to keep her eyes closed, thinking about how her niece had the tendency to throw herself around with all the elegance of an elephant. She had always been a klutz, and Inge could still remember how Christine was always falling over or running smack-dab into something. There had been some improvement, of course, because she didn’t seem to fall over nowadays. Although…hadn’t something happened on the bus yesterday?
“Aunt Inge!”
Christine’s voice got even louder as she looked at her aunt. The wet cloth had left a small waffle pattern on her face, but apart from that Inge looked completely normal. No trace of yesterday’s excesses.
“Inge! Hell-oooo!”
A steep fold appeared over the bridge of Inge’s nose. Then she opened her eyes.
“What is it? Why are you shouting like that? Aren’t you tired?”
“No.” Christine picked a few small leaves off Inge’s leg. “I went to bed early, remember? How’s your alcohol poisoning coming along?”
Her aunt sat up slowly. “Oh, that’s right, the text message. I didn’t even mean to send it. I was just practicing my texting.”
“Why do you need to practice?”
Inge looked at her niece. “Well, everyone’s doing it now. I think all this texting business is very practical.”
Christine stared at her aunt, wrinkling her forehead. Were Inge and the silver fox exchanging secret texts? She had never even seen her aunt use a cell phone.
They both broke the silence simultaneously.
“Did you…?” Inge started in, while Christine blurted, “Tell me, what’s…” before they were both interrupted by Aunt Inge heaving her legs off the chaise and holding her head in her hands. “Ow, do you know how long hangovers like this last?”
“I’ve brought you some aspirin and vitamin C. I find that taking two of each really helps.”
Christine rummaged around in her handbag as Inge picked up the bottle of water from the lawn and unscrewed the cap. “Here’s my drink. Was there something you wanted to ask me?”
“Yes.” Her niece popped the tablets in the water and watched as it started to foam. “What’s going on with Frau Nissen?”
“She died. She was eighty-three.” Inge swirled the bottle. “Why?”
Inge had listened to her niece’s outburst without any visible emotion. She picked up her water and slowly drank it all down. Once she had set it aside, she looked at Christine.
“You sometimes have a very strident tone. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Aunt Inge. Please.” Christine made an effort to sound sensitive.
“First,” Inge continued, “I’m very sad that Anna Nissen died. Second, I don’t know what I need to organize. Anna Nissen lived by herself, so there’s no one else to look after things. And third, I haven’t been telling you any ‘cock-and-bull stories.’ Do people of your age really expect us older people to just sit quietly in a chair until we kick the bucket? Do you really believe that we’re done with everything? No, my dear, we’re not anywhere near done. There are still so many things that I want to do before I go. And I’ll do them all. And if I have to do it alone, then so be it. So don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. I still have a few years in front of me, and I want them to be wonderful. So there!”
She waited, intrigued, for her niece’s response. Had she revealed too much? Christine was scratching her knee, absently; it was starting to bleed in the place where the scab was coming off.
“Make sure you don’t get that on the lounger. It’s impossible to wash out blood, you know.”
“Oh.” Christine wiped it away with spit. “Sorry, I didn’t even notice.”
