by Dora Heldt
He was probably about to ask her if she had ever tried. Luckily he didn’t, instead turning his concentration back to the fish. He seemed more relaxed now; maybe they could avoid the conversation for a bit.
“Johann, would you like to go to List tomorrow? It’s one of my absolute favorite places. They have sauna huts right on the beach where you can work up a sweat, and then you can race into the sea to cool off!”
“Sure.” His voice sounded calmer. Then he cleared his throat, looked hesitant, and said, “Could the reason you’re so upset about this thing with your aunt be that she’s doing something—and at her age too—that you would never dare to?”
Christine swallowed a tiny bone, coughed, and had to gulp down two glasses of water, one after the other.
“Don’t be silly. And besides, we don’t even know what’s going on with her. Maybe she’ll return to Dortmund next week and take Uncle Walter back a present as a peace offering.”
“That’s what you hope.” Johann had that calm, patronizing tone again. Christine couldn’t stand it when someone spoke to her like that. As if she wasn’t in her right mind. Because of that, her answer was more snappish than she meant it to be.
“Why would I hope that?”
“Because, my darling, you have a whole load of problems on your plate at the moment. Your job, the two of us, and didn’t you say that the building you live in is going to be sold? I’m guessing there’ll be all kinds of renovation once it is, and that means noise, dirt, and probably an increase in your rent too.”
Christine nodded, anxious. She had been trying for weeks now not to think about her apartment. That was another thing she would have to deal with soon.
“You see? And you say that you won’t be able to get a job, that you don’t want to leave Hamburg…that everything’s difficult. And that our relationship has to be put on hold as a result. And then your aunt Inge comes along, sixty-four years old, a woman who’s never complained about anything, and suddenly she changes her life. Just like that. That must be like a punch in the gut to you. She can, but you can’t. And that’s why you’re hoping it’s just some temporary madness and that everything stays the way it used to be.”
Christine’s leg had gone to sleep. She stretched it out. By now the rest of the tea had gone cold, and dawn had broken. She had no idea what time it was. She’d been sitting here over an hour for sure, and there was still no sign of movement from inside the house.
It was only thanks to Johann that the evening hadn’t ended in an argument. She had felt hurt by his quick psychoanalysis of her, of course. But she had to admit he had been right on a few points. Not everything though. And there was no way things were as simple as he made out.
On their way back he had said to her in a conciliatory tone that he didn’t mind whether it was him or Aunt Inge who gave her the nudge she needed—as long as she made a move. Christine hadn’t said a word.
Inside the house, the telephone rang. Hearing it, Christine gave a start. Phone calls at such an early hour normally meant bad news. She stood up, then sat straight back down again as she heard her father answer. The window was ajar, but Heinz was talking fairly loudly anyway; his hearing wasn’t too good anymore.
“Oh, Walter, it’s you. It’s still very early…Oh, yes, I know what you mean. The older I get, the earlier I wake up, too, and the birds are so terribly loud. What?…The weather’s lovely. It was seventy-seven degrees yesterday…Yes, just think, and it’s only May…The water? No, that was about sixty degrees…It’s not warm, no, but I’ve already been in for a dip…Yes.”
Christine shook her head. When would Walter stop beating around the bush?
“Yes, it’s still hanging in there. I just had it inspected…Yes…What was that? Two hundred fifty-six euros…Well that’s Sylt for you…Really? Twenty euros less? Yes, but then I can’t drive it to your garage in Dortmund, not with the horrendous gas prices…Sure, but then you never know…Yes, I saw it…Yes, especially the last goal. He should have saved that one. It was heading straight for his head…Exactly, yes…”
Christine had to bite on her knuckles to stop herself from storming into the house and tearing the phone away from her father. As if Uncle Walter would seriously be interested in car inspections, the sea temperatures, and Bundesliga right now.
“Inge?”
Finally. She only hoped that her father didn’t say, “Inge who?”
“No, she was here yesterday, for coffee…Rhubarb crumble…Yes, no, I don’t get indigestion from that. Only if there’s too much cream on it.”
Christine felt her self-control dwindling again.
“No, she’s fine.” Now Heinz switched to a casual tone. “Hey, so when are you coming over next? Inge said you have too much work on…But then I guess you enjoy it, don’t you? Aha…You don’t say?…No, otherwise there’s nothing particular to report here…And with you two? Um, I mean, with you? Do you want me to pass on any message to Inge for you?…Oh, so you’ve spoken to her? That’s good. And what did she say?…Oh, no, I was just wondering…Was there anything else?…Okay, sure, then thanks for calling and see you soon. ’Bye, Walter.”
She heard Heinz hang up the receiver, and a few moments later her father opened the back door and came toward her down the path. She leaned forward and peered at her father, who was walking slowly with his head hung low.
“Don’t let me scare you.”
Heinz almost fell over. “Heavens, are you trying to kill me? What are you doing up so early?”
“I couldn’t sleep. Do you want some tea?”
Christine shifted to the side. He sat down next to her and peered into her cup.
“It’s empty.”
“Yes, but I can make some more.”
“No, it’s fine. You’ll just end up waking the whole house.”
“If they didn’t wake up when you were on the phone, then the kettle won’t make any difference.” Christine was just about to get up, but Heinz grabbed her arm.
“Did you hear?”
“Of course, I was right here. And the window’s open. So what did Uncle Walter want?”
“Well”—Heinz scratched his knee—“he probably just wanted to talk. He isn’t sleeping well, and he said he’s having problems with his back. He is sixty-five after all. It’s all downhill from then on in.”
“Dad! So did he say anything about Aunt Inge? Did they argue?”
“He just asked if she was here yet.”
“And?”
“And what kind of cake we had. I told him, rhubarb.”
Christine pulled her leg toward her; it was starting to fall asleep again. “Did he say anything about Aunt Inge leaving him?”
Her father jumped up indignantly. “She hasn’t left him. He said she spoke with him on the phone and that everything sounded perfectly normal.” He sighed. “Never mind, everything will sort itself out in good time. She’s just a little strange at the moment. It’s happened before.”
“When?”
“When Fiffidied. She said she never wanted another pet again, but six months later she brought Henri home from the animal shelter.”
“Dad, she was twelve.”
“So what? Right, that’s enough now. Let’s talk about something else. You’re acting strange at the moment too.”
Taken aback by the sudden change of subject, Christine sat up straight. “Me? Why do you say that?”
Her father picked an invisible piece of fluff from her leg.
“Well, considering that you’re in love and on vacation and the weather couldn’t be better, you don’t look particularly happy.”
“I’m worried about Aunt Inge.”
“I don’t believe you. There’s something else going on.” He said it in a tone that showed he wouldn’t be argued with. “I’m your father—I notice these things. So? What is it?”
Whether it was due to the early hour or the morning light, Christine didn’t know, but in any case she suddenly started to talk about everything that was on her
mind: the job, the apartment, Johann wanting to change things, the fact that she got backaches sleeping in strange beds in her midforties, everything.
But once she’d finished, and saw her father’s face, she felt guilty.
He stared at her in dismay, opened his mouth, closed it again, then uttered a soft “Oh!” After a short pause, he cleared his throat. “You really do have a lot going on. How can I help you with all that? Maybe you should just wait and see what happens.”
Like father, like daughter. Christine couldn’t help but laugh, giving his arm a comforting pat.
“Exactly. That’s all I can do. But it’s not all bad. Johann is really great—so calm and easygoing—so maybe I’m just getting a bit too worked up about the job thing, and the apartment building isn’t even sold yet…I’m sure it will all turn out fine.”
“You see, that’s what I think too.” His relief was palpable. “You’ve gotten through much worse. Be sure you make the most of your time here. After all, Johann is only familiar with Norderney. He has no idea about all the things you can do on Sylt.”
“We’re going to the beach sauna later.”
Heinz nodded contentedly. “There you go. There isn’t a beach sauna on Norderney.”
“Yes there is.” Christine tried to be fair. “They have one too.”
“But ours is nicer. Right, I’m going to see if Mom is awake yet.”
Christine watched him go; he had more of a spring in his step now—as if taking on his daughter’s burdens had lightened his own. Yet, she was a little annoyed at herself for telling him everything. Hopefully he wouldn’t preoccupy himself with figuring out how to solve her problems now too. That would only make things more complicated.
Chapter 15
* * *
“Great. Okay, then. I’ll see you tomorrow morning at eight…Yes, me too. ’Bye now.”
Smiling, Inge put her cell phone back down on the table and took a deep breath.
Now she just had to figure out what she should wear. Mark had said they would be going out for a particularly nice dinner. Her new mauve dress would be just right for the occasion. She hung it up on the closet door so it didn’t get any wrinkles—after all, she had enough of her own. Inge giggled. As if that bothered her when there were more important things now: courage, curiosity, a lust for life. Hadn’t these even been Mark’s words? Or had she said that? It didn’t matter either way, but it was true. She felt younger and more alive than ever. It was just a shame that she couldn’t talk to anyone about it. She would have loved to shout it out from the rooftops for the whole world to hear. But Mark was right about that too. She had to be patient and wait until things were more established before telling anyone—even Renate.
When she had arrived at the Ulenhof Hotel the previous evening, Renate had been standing at the reception desk talking to the manager. It had seemed there was some problem with the hand towels and the bed. Inge had been surprised by Renate’s tone and the owner’s patience with her. In the end, he had given Renate a different room. She had pulled Inge out to the terrace triumphantly, loudly demanding two glasses of champagne on her way out.
“The bed was in the wrong position. It’s very important to always sleep facing west. It seems they aren’t aware of that here, but you have to set people straight, remind them who the guest is.” As she leaned over, her large Creole earrings glistened in the sun. “And I hate colored hand towels. I only ever use white ones. But apart from that it’s not that bad here. So tell me, what’s been happening?”
Inge dodged the question, “Oh, well, I decided I finally want to change my life, but you know that already—after all, it was you who strengthened my resolve in Bad Oeynhausen.”
Renate didn’t even glance at the young woman who placed two glasses down in front of them. “You wrote in your letter to me about meeting some nice man. So? What’s his name?”
Inge turned to the young waitress and thanked her, a courtesy Renate ignored.
“Well?”
“Sorry, remind me what I said in the letter again?”
“Oh, Inge.” Shaking her head, Renate reached for her glass. “That you met up with a very nice man in a bar on the Westerland Promenade, and that you would tell me the details when you saw me. Did you place a personal ad? Or just ask him out? Or did he ask you out?”
“Um, no, I mean, we just met by chance.”
She was a bad liar, but Mark had advised her to keep things secret for the time being; there was still the possibility that things wouldn’t work out the way she had imagined. But she was sure there wasn’t any harm in revealing a few minor details.
“His name is Mark. And compared to Walter, he’s a peacock. He wears bright, colorful shirts.”
Inge shrugged her shoulders. Renate looked at her, baffled.
“And?”
“And nothing.” Inge picked up her glass and took a sip. Was it real champagne? She couldn’t really tell the difference. Maybe it was just sparkling wine after all. “We had a spectacular meal together, I’m seeing him tomorrow evening, and Mark is a very cultured and charming man.”
“Is he affluent?”
Inge shrugged again. “No idea. I didn’t ask him.”
The young woman came back and asked if they needed anything else. Renate looked at her watch and asked for the bill, which she charged to her room. As she signed the check, Inge peeked at the amount. It certainly was real champagne. She finished her glass slowly, relishing the wonderful taste.
“Unfortunately, I have to make a move.” Renate put her glass back down with a flourish. “I have an appointment with the beautician. I booked it before I got here—you have to treat yourself now and then, right? After that I’m off to the hairdresser, and then we can go out for something to eat. I was thinking of Rauchfang on Stroen-Wai.”
She was referring to the most expensive street in Kampen, which had one fancy restaurant after the other, along with luxury boutiques and smug clientele. Inge flinched.
“That’s quite an expensive restaurant, and I just…”
“Oh, nonsense.” Renate waved her hand. “It’s my treat. Let’s meet there around eight. See you there.”
She threw her scarf nonchalantly over her shoulder and sashayed off without even waiting for an answer.
The meal was delicious. Renate, though, had become increasingly impatient during the course of the evening over the fact that Inge, despite persistent probing, still hadn’t spilled the beans. Then Renate had commented that the clientele weren’t up to her expectations. She had stared at everyone in the restaurant, her meticulously tousled updo already coming loose as she swiveled her head around to inspect the diners. Then Renate grabbed Inge by the arm and whispered excitedly, “Don’t turn around now. Oh God, oh God, there’s Fernando Porto! Oh, he’s so devastatingly handsome! What a fine specimen of a man…Don’t turn round, Inge, he’s looking right at us. Oh, I’m getting all flushed!”
“Who’s Fernando Porto?” Inge had never heard of him.
Renate’s complexion went pale, then red, and back again.
“You really are clueless, aren’t you? He played the lead role in Against the Storm last year, as this amazing South American vintner taking on the whole world. He looks even better in real life than he does on TV. A real Latin Lover.”
Inge turned around discreetly. A dark-haired man in a white suit was standing by the bar. He looked like any normal guy.
“The one in the white suit?”
Renate nodded, entranced. “Isn’t he wonderful?”
“Eh, I’m not sure…” Inge sucked at the straw in her alcohol-free cocktail. “If you say so.”
Renate was getting up. “I’m going over to him. I read in Bunte that his wife left him. This is my chance.”
Inge gave her a horrified look. “Renate, you can’t!”
But Renate could. She paced briskly over to him. “Herr Porto, I’ve always wanted to tell you, I thought you were fabulous in Against the Storm! You’re the best. Oh, forgive
me, I haven’t even introduced myself, Renate von Graf. It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you.”
The object of her desire looked at her, his expression friendly at first, then uncertain, and finally confused. “My dear lady, I think there must have been some kind of misunderstanding. I—”
But Renate, undeterred, moved closer toward him. “And before I forget, I’m so sorry about what happened with your wife, but I’m sure it’s for the best…”
At that moment, a blonde woman on crutches hobbled over to them. She had heard Renate’s last sentence and gave her a pained smile. “Thank you, but I’m feeling much better again already. It was a clean break, and luckily there were no complications. It’s just that the cast is a pain, of course. I’m sorry, but I have no idea who…”
Renate stared at her, speechless. The Latin Lover stretched his hand out. “Günther Koller, Koller Sausage and Meat Production from Bremen. And this is my wife, Gisela. I’m afraid you must have me mixed up with somebody else.”
“It seems so.” Renate waved her hand casually. “Oh well, no harm done. Get well soon.”
With her head held high, she came back to the table, where Inge hurriedly pulled her hand from her mouth. She had been biting her knuckles to stop herself from laughing.
“He’s not as good-looking as Fernando up close,” said Renate, reaching for her glass. “He only looks like him from a distance. Shame. But there aren’t really that many interesting prospects around here. The men are a bunch of bourgeois bores. And half of them are young enough to be my son. I came here once years ago, and Kampen had more style back then.”
You were younger then too, added Inge in her mind, and probably with your ex-husband. She tried to muster some patience for her demanding friend.
“Oh, Renate, so much can change in a few years…but to come back to what we were talking about before. I’ll tell you everything in the next few days, but the thing is, I’m a little superstitious about jinxing it. And afterward it won’t matter. You’ll be the first person to hear everything, I promise.”
