by Dora Heldt
“Yes?”
“Didn’t we agree that it has nothing to do with you? And didn’t your aunt ask for people to leave her in peace?”
“Yes.”
Johann leaned back on the seat and patted her arm. “Then keep to it.”
“I know, you’re right.” Christine stood up. “I’ll call the bar to ask if there are any tickets left.”
As she cleaned the dough-covered telephone with a cloth in the den, she saw her father coming out of the shed in the backyard. He went past Johann, giving him a pat on the shoulder. Christine had already seen that facial expression before, last summer on Norderney. If he’d been in the shed the whole time, then he would have heard everything. She sighed; either way, she wasn’t going to get involved anymore. Instead, she dialed the number of the bar and absentmindedly licked the rest of the dough from her fingers.
Chapter 21
* * *
The next morning, Inge went for a stroll along Normannenweg, looking at the rhododendrons blooming in the front yards. There were flowers in every color of the rainbow and on every corner. They were one of the things Inge had always missed in Dortmund. In recent years, she had planted them in her own yard, and there was now a proper bush of them down one side, but she was the only one on the street to have done so. On Sylt, they bloomed in front of practically every house, along with the small Sylt roses, the blue-and-white lilacs, and the vibrant hollyhocks. Inge sighed. She would never be able to export the Sylt flowers to her yard in Dortmund, especially since Walter was so keen on mowing the lawn.
“Inge, it really helps me to think—but only when I go in straight lines. Mowing in curves around the flowerbeds, that’s not my thing.”
She had ignored him at first, putting in small round flowerbeds. But Walter had mown right-angled edges into them, so later she had restricted herself to the front yard and the herbaceous border by the house. She always felt sorry for the flowers when she saw their mown-off blooms. Only grass and shrubs grew in their backyard now.
And now Inge was longing for one of these Sylt gardens again. She looked up and realized she had already reached the Ulenhof Hotel. She looked at the clock. It was a quarter to eleven, and she was due to meet Renate in fifteen minutes’ time. There was always a chance she might be ready early. At the desk, she was greeted by the friendly receptionist.
“Good morning, you must be here to pick up Frau von Graf. Shall I call her for you?”
“No, no.” Inge was impressed that the young woman had recognized her. “I’m early. I’ll just sit down in the garden if I may.”
“Of course. Would you like a cup of coffee perhaps?”
“I’d love one, thank you.”
Inge went out to sit down at a table that was already in the sun. She had decided to spend more time with Renate. They had gotten along so well at the spa, and Renate had come out here especially to support her. Even though it wasn’t really necessary. It was a caring gesture, and one that Inge couldn’t ignore. So she had reached for the telephone this morning and called her at the hotel.
“Hello, Renate. What are your plans for today?”
Renate’s voice had sounded a little peeved. “Why?”
Inge hadn’t heard her being curt like this before.
“I thought we could maybe go for a walk along the beach, Wenningstedt to Westerland. That lasts a good hour. And after that we could go for a bite to eat, have a bit of a stroll, and then come back. What do you think?”
“How come you suddenly have time for me?”
She didn’t sound peeved anymore, just hurt.
“I’m sorry, Renate, everything’s just been a bit hectic. So, what do you say?”
“Didn’t you have plans to go on a little trip to the mainland?”
Inge hesitated. “That’s dealt with for now. I mean, I have to have a follow-up doctor’s appointment, for my head, so I’m postponing it.”
It was only a little white lie. Dr. Keller had merely said that if she felt unwell over the next few days, she should pop by.
“Aha.” Renate was thinking. “Okay then. Will you pick me up? I haven’t filled up the Porsche.”
And I don’t have a car at all, thought Inge, but she answered, “Sure. I’ll get there for you around eleven. It’ll be low tide and good for walking.”
After all, she had said she was going to make an effort.
Renate came around the corner, her heels clattering. “There you are, Inge! Have you been waiting for long?”
Inge looked at her watch, which showed half past eleven. She shook her head. “Just a few minutes. And I had a coffee.”
It was actually a bad habit of hers, always arriving early everywhere. Walter had always done it with such enthusiasm that it was starting to rub off on Inge too. “I like getting the best seat,” he would say when they arrived at a dinner party too early and were greeted by their hostess still in her bathrobe, or when they stood in the rain in front of the still-locked doors of the theater. “You’ll be grateful to me later, Inge, you’ll see.”
Why was she thinking about Walter so much today?
“Inge?” Renate was standing right in front of her. “What’s up? Are we going, or do you want to sit there daydreaming?”
“No.” Inge stood up at once. “We can go.” She noticed what Renate was wearing. “Do you have some other shoes with you?”
“Why?” Renate stretched her leg out and looked at her black-and-white patterned pumps admiringly. “They’re gorgeous.” The pattern matched her voluminous top, which she was wearing with white Bermuda jeans.
Very chic, thought Inge, before saying, “Well, can you walk in the sand in four-inch heels?”
“What sand?”
“You know, sand. The stuff the beach is made of. I said we were going for a walk along the beach to Westerland.”
“I know, I know.” Renate looked at Inge’s comfortable trainers. “Listen, if the sand starts to ruin my shoes, I’ll just take them off and go barefoot. I don’t understand how you can feel good in those old clodhoppers anyway. I mean, beautiful shoes have a sensuous quality to them. Yours look like they probably have orthotics.”
“They do.” Inge bounced on the tips of her toes. “I don’t get backaches anymore since I started using them. And besides, I’m ten years older than you, so just you wait and see whether you can walk in heels like that in a few years’ time.”
“You can bet your life on it!” Renate resolutely pulled on a white visor. “Even if I have to take painkillers first, I’m not wearing shoes like those.” She put her sunglasses on, and they set off.
By the time they got to the steps that led to the beach, Renate was already wobbling. Inge grasped her elbow before she lost her balance completely.
“God, these wooden steps are very slippery.” Renate looked around, wanting to make sure that no one had seen her stumble. “You can let me go, Inge. I’m not some old woman. Hopefully this railing isn’t rotten at least.”
With her hand on the rail, she teetered awkwardly down to the beach. The wind blew up her white blouse, revealing an elaborate lacy bra. Inge was impressed, thinking of the old T-shirt she was wearing under her pullover instead of a proper bra. She should buy herself some nice lingerie from time to time too. Enough of practical, boring, machine-washable garments. There was a lingerie shop along the promenade. Maybe they could go there later.
Arriving at the bottom, Renate took a deep breath of the bracing sea air and looked around. “Which way, right or left?”
“Left.” Inge pointed. “The Westerland Promenade is over there. Can you walk okay?”
Renate was already standing at an angle with her heels slowly sinking into the sand. She took a cautious step, then another, but her shoe stayed where it was. Quickly making a decision, she took the shoes off, lined them up sole-to-sole, and stuffed them into her oversized handbag. Her toenails were painted black.
“Walking barefoot is good for you anyway. Come on, let’s go.”
For ten minutes, they
walked along the water in silence. Then Renate took a deep breath.
“Wasn’t there something you wanted to tell me?”
“What was that?”
“Well, about your romantic getaway. I take it that the roses had something to do with him…” She nudged Inge, giving her a conspiratorial smile. “You have to give it to him, he’s certainly no Scrooge. That bouquet must have cost a pretty penny.”
“My trip has been postponed for now, like I said, and I have no idea when I’ll be going. I might go by myself.” Inge bit her tongue; she hadn’t wanted to say that much.
“You’re going on a romantic minibreak alone?” Renate had stopped in her tracks. “Why on earth would you do that?”
“You were the one always referring to it as a romantic minibreak. I never called it that. It’s more of a…business trip. And nothing that exciting really.”
“Yes, but…it is a potential lover. You met with him, and you looked so excited when you were talking about him.”
Inge went red.
“You see, you’re blushing. I know you, my dear, and about still waters. You can say whatever you want, but no woman ever goes to a divorce lawyer without a new man waiting in the wings, unless she’s completely crazy that is. And you did go to see a lawyer, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but…” Inge tried to lead Renate’s interpretation in another direction without lying. “Mark is…how can I explain it? It’s like this…”
Smiling, Renate linked arms with Inge. “Sweetheart, listen to me, I’m an experienced woman, and I know what life is about. If you don’t want to go into detail yet because it’s still early days, then that’s fine. You know, when I first saw you in Bad Oeynhausen that time, I thought to myself, What an uncertain soul. Married for over forty years and still just a little old housewife…” Inge wanted to retort indignantly, but Renate didn’t give her the chance. “But I saw something in your eyes. Yes, I thought to myself, Inge isn’t done with life yet. There’s still something coming. And? Was I right?”
She looked at Inge triumphantly. Inge held her gaze. “Yes, you were right. But I was never just Walter’s little old…”
“No, no.” Renate stroked her arm. “Of course not. But you’re having a pretty good time without him, too, right?”
Suddenly, a little black-and-white dog shot between them from behind, gave a short bark, and then ran away again. Renate screamed and teetered, and Inge just managed to grasp her elbow at the last moment. Renate stopped and looked around, her eyes wide and hand pressed against her heart.
“Who does that goddamned mutt belong to? I almost had a heart attack,” she screamed.
Inge was still holding her arm. “Calm down, it was only a little dog. Look, he even matched your shoes.”
“Just a dog! They should have that rat on a leash. It’s dangerous.”
“Yes, yes.” Inge urged Renate on a little impatiently. “No harm done. Come on, people are staring at us.”
“So what?” Renate pulled her arm away and looked around. “Look! Over there, the old woman with the two kids. The little rat belongs to them.” She hurried her pace and marched over to the group. Inge tried to keep up with her.
“Does this mutt belong to you?”
A young girl, around twelve years old, looked up. “Yes, it’s Grandma Margret’s dog. Why?”
“It attacked me.”
“Renate, please.” Inge smiled at the woman, who was sitting under a parasol and reading a book. They were around the same age. “Excuse me, but my friend had a bit of a fright when he ran up from behind.”
Margret looked at Renate, then the dog, and started to laugh.
“Attacked you?” she asked. “Well, I never. He’s never managed anything like that before. I’m sorry. Girls, you were supposed to be looking after Raisin.”
Renate gave the group an angry glare, then turned around, mumbling, “What kind of a name is that for a dog? They should snap the little rodent’s neck.” She stormed off in a huff.
“She doesn’t mean it,” said Inge, embarrassed. “It was just the shock.”
“Don’t worry.” Margret was tickling the dog’s stomach as it lay on its back in the sand. “I can’t really stand the yappy little thing either, but he was a stray who took a liking to my house, and the girls are really attached to him now.”
“Are those your granddaughters?”
“No.” She looked at them both. “I don’t even have children. We just live in the same building. They come to me for dinner sometimes when their parents are working. I’m a kind of stand-in grandmother.”
Inge looked at the two blonde girls. “Oh, that sounds so cozy. I’d love to have children around the house again. Otherwise, you just end up feeling so old. That’s what I think sometimes, anyway.”
“Ingeee!” Renate was standing by the water again, her voice like a foghorn. “Come on!”
Several people turned around to look at her.
Inge waved at her and said regretfully, “I have to go. Have a nice day.”
“You too. ’Bye.”
“Grandmas looking after children and dogs can never end well.” Renate looked around one last time once Inge had caught up with her. “They just can’t handle it.”
“It wasn’t their grandma. And you’re implying that she’s an old woman, but she’s no older than I am.” Inge waited, intrigued, for the response. It came quickly.
“Please! She looked much older. There’s no comparison. And how do you know she isn’t a grandma?”
“I asked her. She just looks after them now and again. They’re her neighbors’ children.”
“Well, I’m glad I don’t have to do that.” Renate snorted. “Looking after someone else’s brats, no thank you.”
“It’s nice, especially if you don’t have any of your own. I’d love to have grandchildren, but Pia isn’t even thinking about children. She recently left her boyfriend for being too boring and settled, but he was a really nice guy.”
Renate stopped abruptly and looked at her in amazement. “Inge! What are you talking about? It’s bad enough that you took so long to come to your senses, but now you want your daughter to repeat her mother’s mistakes?”
“I haven’t made that many mistakes. All in all, my life has been pretty good so far.” Inge returned Renate’s gaze calmly. “No, really, I’ve always thought that.”
“So what was all that in Bad Oeynhausen? We talked about it for nights on end. You told me that I had opened your eyes, and that you couldn’t wait to make a fresh start. I didn’t dream all that, you know!”
“Yes, I know.” Inge pulled gently at Renate’s arm to keep her walking. “That’s right. But I never said that everything I’d done until now was a mistake. I just said that I wasn’t happy with the way my life is now. That something felt wrong, and that I needed to think things through. I have nothing against children. And I certainly don’t have anything against grandchildren.”
“Well, I do! Werner has a daughter from his first marriage, and she brought a little brat into the world about seven years ago. And what happened? We were invited to a birthday party, a very elegant, chic affair, and I was wearing a silver lamé dress by Jil Sander. So Josi, that’s Werner’s daughter, comes over to me. ‘Sweetheart, go to Grandma,’ she says, dumping this fat kid on my lap, and everyone’s suddenly looking at me. ‘Grandma!’ I wasn’t even fifty. And then to top it all off, the little fatty goes and pukes all over my dress. No, thank you. I know very well why I don’t have children.”
Inge stayed silent. She couldn’t help thinking of Till. The little boy’s eyes looked so grown-up sometimes. It couldn’t be easy for Anika as a single mother. There were certainly no Jil Sander dresses for her. And there wasn’t very much for her little son either. Yet there were so many older people with time on their hands. It didn’t seem fair.
“Inge?” Renate had stopped again. “Daydreaming again? I thought we might chat a bit today, and instead you’re just marching behind me silently wit
h a solemn look on your face. This is turning out to be a pretty boring walk, you know.”
“What do you mean, solemn? I’m not. I was just thinking about something. I’m sorry.”
“Well, I won’t even bother asking what you were thinking about. But don’t think you can infect me with your bad mood. And my feet are cold. This sand is really clammy, and I’m running around barefoot in it. It’s horrible.”
“Renate, I’m not in a bad mood. And I can’t do anything about your cold feet. Maybe we should walk more quickly.”
Renate studied her toes and buried them in the sand. “They’ve gone completely white already, like all the circulation’s gone out of them. I’ll catch my death here.”
“Hey, Renate.” Inge looked at the little mounds that Renate’s toes had imprinted in the sand. “Have you ever read about these multigenerational houses?”
“What?”
“Places where several generations live together in the same apartment building. I read an article about them, and it sounds like a really good idea. You can all help each other out. Think of the two little girls we saw just then, for example. Maybe their parents are busy with work and don’t have much time, so a stand-in grandma can pitch in now and then. And there also comes a time when certain things get more difficult for the older ones among us—shopping, yard work, repairs around the house—so then the younger ones can return the favor. Everyone helps each other out. It’s an old-fashioned practice but perfect for today’s circumstances, don’t you think?”
Renate looked at Inge as though she wasn’t all there. “The ideas you have! It’s not lovely, it’s frightful. We had my demented grandmother living with us for years. She had the biggest bedroom and everyone wrapped around her little finger. I always wondered why my father didn’t just bump her off. She was a hundred and one years old by the time she walked in front of a bus. We lived in East Germany back then, and even the Soviet soldiers were afraid of her.”
“But I’m sure it was nice for your grandmother. I mean, she got to live with young people instead of in an old people’s home.”
