Sea Air (4 page)

As quickly as his thin legs could carry him, Mathis ran up the steps after the other children. At the top, he had trouble standing. The wind was so strong it momentarily took his breath away. Then he saw it: the sea! He stood and looked at it, speechless. A lump came to his throat.
“This is my home,”
he told himself, and he knew it was true. He was taken by all of it: the roar of the waves, the spray, the fresh sea air, even the screeching seagulls. The scene in his father’s photos had been so still and quiet. But at the real North Sea, everything was alive. Mathis looked around to see if Uwe felt the same and saw Harm silently watching him, a knowing smile on his weather-beaten face. Uwe lay still in Harm’s arms and looked into the distance. Tears bathed his cheeks. “Always happens to me, too,” Harm told the boy. “The strong wind’s ta’ blame!”

“Have I put you to sleep already?”

Mathis’s words made me jump. “Not at all. I was totally caught up in your story. No one’s ever told me one so beautiful.”

“It
is
quite beautiful around here.” Mathis rubbed his belly and smiled at me. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

My stomach had been growling for some time, but I wouldn’t have interrupted his story for anything. Mathis ordered the fish-and-potato stew; I opted for the fish platter called Fiete. Its taste was pure heaven. We washed it all down with cold beer. While we ate, we steered away from Mathis’s story and instead talked about inconsequential things. We sat at our table for almost three hours, but nothing could have dragged me back to my rental. I felt more and more comfortable with him as the day wore on. Mathis had a pleasant, calm way about him that made me want to lean against his broad shoulder as I listened to more of his memories, but of course, I knew that wasn’t appropriate.

He pushed his plate back. “I’m stuffed. You want some coffee?”

“I’d love it. Maybe even a little cognac. It’s so cozy here.”

After he’d ordered for us, he leaned back and stretched his long legs so far they reached the other end of the table. “Where did I leave off?”

“Mathis was standing on the dike for the first time.”

“That’s right.”

He cleared his throat, and I listened as his calm, deep voice took me back to the past. I loved hearing how a little boy discovered his love of the sea.

Little Mathis didn’t notice much else on the rest of the carriage ride. He was too absorbed by memories of his first encounter with the sea. He’d never known a place could be so beautiful.

Beauty was not something he knew well. He was a child of the war. When Mathis’s father returned home after several years as a prisoner of war, he’d found his youngest son, Uwe, critically ill. Even though he was, himself, still recovering from his injuries, he searched for clinics that dispensed the penicillin Uwe needed. He finally found a clinic that could help Uwe, and he landed a job in finance in the same city. The family loaded their possessions onto their ancient tractor and drove it, over the course of many freezing days, to their new city, which they found in ruins. The damage was complete; no part of the town was untouched. When his children asked him what had happened, he answered quietly, “Bombs.” The word made Mathis’s whole body shake, and Anna started to cry.

The tractor stopped in front of a two-story house, the only one left standing on the street.

One child after another jumped off the tractor.

“This is just a stop, right? We’ll keep going?” Mathis’s older brother, Jürgen, pleaded with desperate eyes. Seeing the children’s anxious faces, their father raised his hand, as if he was about to say something, then lowered it again. He looked to his wife for help. “This is our new home,” she told them quietly as Anna wiped her tear-soaked face, but Mathis found himself struggling to breathe. “This isn’t a home!” he shouted. “I won’t stay here!” He let himself fall on the cold, hard ground, which he pounded with his fists. His mother took him gently into her arms, trying to comfort him. “They will rebuild the city. You’ll see. It will be beautiful.” She lifted him up and pushed him toward the front door. Anna and Jürgen silently followed, the color drained from their faces.

At the children’s home, the kids were shown to their dormitories. Eighteen beds stood side by side in two rows, separated only by small bedside tables. Mathis’s heart sank. The trip to the sea had started so beautifully, but now this! At home, he shared a room with Jürgen and Uwe. But so many boys in one room—how could that work?

“Mathis Hagena?” Mathis hesitated, then turned around at the sound of a woman’s voice.

“Are you one of the Hagena boys?”

He nodded. “Yes. I’m Mathis. My brother is—”

“Follow me, please!”

He followed the woman up a flight of stairs, down a short hall, and through an open door into another bedroom. This one had only two beds. A table and two chairs stood beneath the window.

“This is your new bedroom. Your doctor ordered peace and quiet for your brother, so Mr. Voss kept this room for you. Someone will bring up your bags soon. Now be a good boy and wash your hands. The bathroom is one floor down. Supper will be served in the dining room. Uwe is saving you a place.” She stopped at the door and said, “Have a pleasant stay and enjoy your holiday.” She smiled at him, and then he was alone. On an impulse, he jumped up and down and cheered, “I’m at the sea, at the sea, at the sea!” Then he hurried off to supper, because he suddenly felt famished.

After the meal, Harm Voss carried Uwe upstairs and settled him on his bed. Mathis followed. The setting sun cast light into their room and he felt it on his nose as he entered. He ran to the window and climbed on one of the chairs. Could he see the ocean from here? He pulled aside the curtain. Yes!

“Uwe, look, it’s the North Sea! You can see it! And all the way back there, a tall tower in the middle of the sea! Can people climb on it, Harm?”

Harm carried Uwe in his arms to the window. Uwe pointed at the table. “Can I sit here?” he asked, and Harm carefully set him down.

“That’s the Neuwerk Lighthouse,” Harm explained.

“A real lighthouse?” Mathis was thrilled. Beacons guided ships in the harbor, his father had told him that much. He knew that the light turned in all directions, so that people could see it from anywhere, and so ships would not run aground and their passengers would not drown.

“Does somebody live there?” Uwe looked at Harm.

“The lighthouse keeper lives there.”

“I wish I was a lighthouse keeper!” Uwe rubbed his nose the way he always did when he was considering something. “How does he get food to eat? Does he catch fish?”

Harm laughed. “No, laddie, he doesn’t catch fish. At low tide, someone with a carriage or tractor brings food to him and to the other people who live at Neuwerk.”

“Do they all live in the lighthouse?”

“No. Neuwerk is an island. There are houses there, and people live in those, too.”

“An island. Can we go there sometime?”

“Maybe.”

The boys had millions of questions for Harm about the world of the sea. But Harm insisted that they go to bed. He assured them that there was plenty of time to get to know the area. He tucked the children in, wished them a good night, and left them alone.

“Uwe,” Mathis said, “I think Momma was right. We’re going to have fun here.”

Uwe didn’t answer. Mathis looked over at him. Uwe had already fallen asleep. “I will never go to sleep here,” swore Mathis. Then his eyes closed.

Mathis’s hearty yawn shook me free of my dream world.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Story-telling makes me tired.” He took a gulp of beer. “And thirsty!” He folded his hands over his none-too-slim stomach and looked over at me. “Well?”

The urge to yawn washed over me, and I covered my mouth with my hands. We both started laughing.

“All right, all right,” he said. “Message received. We’d better start walking home. Onno would like to go home sometime soon.” I followed his look to the cashier. The owner stood with arms crossed, grinning at us.

“We’re the last ones!” I said in surprise. It appeared that all the other customers had left.

“I believe you’re right.” Mathis looked at his watch. “It’s twelve thirty.”

“Twelve thirty?”
I was shocked.

“Why, is someone waiting for you?” Mathis spoke quietly, but I saw his body tense up.

“No. I’m here alone.”

An awkward pause was finally, mercifully, broken by a cough from behind the counter.

“Where are you staying? Come on, I’ll take you home.” Mathis paid as we left. Onno said, “Good-bye.
Moin,
” and then closed the door behind us.

Outside, the world was quiet. The rain was past and the wind had subsided. I was terribly cold, but the fresh air felt good and I drew it deep into my lungs. In the distance was the roar of the sea. We walked side by side in silence, each of us engrossed in our own thoughts. When we reached my apartment, Mathis took my hands in his and looked deeply into my eyes. Feeling confused, I averted them and immediately regretted it.

“What ended up happening with Mathis and Uwe?”

“Are you really interested?”

I looked at him without saying a word.

“Meet me for breakfast tomorrow at The Starfish. Ten a.m.”

“I thought you’d never ask. Sleep well.”

“You do the same. Thank you for the beautiful evening.” And Mathis disappeared into the night.

I
woke up just as it turned light outside and tried unsuccessfully to go back to sleep. Finally, I got up, took a chocolate bar out of the fridge and nibbled at it while lying in bed. That sometimes did the trick, but not this time. Maybe some TV? I clicked past dozens of programs but they all looked boring. Finally, I gave up and turned it off, turning my thoughts to one thing that didn’t bore me.

Mathis Hagena. It had been a long time since I’d gone on a date—not since I’d left Steffen and abruptly found myself standing on the street with my purse and bags, in fact. I’d found a nice apartment on the outskirts of town for Paula and me, one where she had the bedroom of her own she’d wanted for so long. “And a bunk bed . . . with a slide, Grandpa!” she proudly told my father. “Just like Conni in the picture book!” He’d responded by buying her a huge teddy bear. “This is Balthazar,” my father told Paula when he gave it to her. “He’s perfect for you. He’ll make sure you don’t fall all the way from the top!” Ever since, Balthazar has been enthroned on her top bunk, guarding Paula while she sleeps.

Just the day before, a sailor named Mathis had appeared, just like that. At the thought of the previous evening, my heart began to beat faster.
“Don’t be silly!”
I told myself.
“You’ve known this guy
.
 
.
 
. for what? A few hours? Snap out of it. You aren’t letting a man mess up your life ever again, remember?”

But my mind seemed to be a few steps behind my rapidly beating heart: all words and no action. “All right, sailor, it’s time for a shower,” I joked aloud. “A little cooling down is in order, at least for one of us.”

After my shower, I wrapped myself in my bathrobe. One glance out the window told me that it would be a beautiful day. It was still slightly foggy—a good sign on the coast, at least that’s what Sandra had said. I considered what to wear.
This is the perfect weather for a short skirt!
Sandra’s voice whispered in my head. Sure, if I was Sandra! But I didn’t feel comfortable in such tiny clothes; my legs weren’t long enough, and they weren’t the right size. Not only that, they were still white as snow. I finally settled on airy, sand-colored, calf-length cotton cargo pants and a simple, dark-blue T-shirt. Yes, that felt good.

It was now nine a.m. One more hour to wait. I figured I could count sixty times to sixty or make use of my time. I decided on the latter. I bought a newspaper at a corner kiosk, figuring a little local gossip would provide a welcome distraction. I curled up on my sofa, scanning the headings. One headline caught my attention: “Dead Fisherman Recovered from Wheelhouse, Boat Sunk on the Open Sea.” The article said that a shrimp boat had been hit by a tanker the day before, early in the morning, despite clear weather and good visibility at sea. The ship had immediately broken in two, and the crew jumped overboard. All were rescued except for the captain, of whom they found no trace. Without being asked, the fishermen had returned to the wreck themselves and found their drowned colleague in the wheelhouse. The article said that they had retrieved his body and brought him back to land. Later, his entire village stood at the town’s home pier to honor the drowned fisherman, and all fishing boats in the area would fly their flags at half-mast that day.

How strong they are, and how they stick together
, I thought.
And what a beautiful way to honor their friend.
I found myself wiping away tears. Why hadn’t the captain been rescued, like the others? He hadn’t left the wheelhouse. I wondered if this was an issue of sailor’s honor. I would have to ask Mathis if he could explain it to me. Already I needed Mathis again, I realized. I wondered if he really was a sailor, or if I’d just assumed it. He hadn’t confirmed or denied my words. He certainly looked like a sailor, or at least he looked the way I always assumed one would look. But he said he lived in the middle of Germany, and what would a sailor be doing in the middle of Germany? He loved the sea, but loving the sea didn’t make him a sailor. Well, I could ask him soon.

It was a quarter to ten. My heart started to beat faster. I ignored it and headed out the door. The fog had cleared, and the sun shone from an azure sky. The day was already nicely warm. This was the perfect weather for a day trip, I thought. I wondered if Mathis would accompany me. “Cool it, Nele,” I told myself. “You’re acting like a teenage girl.” But my heart continued to race, stubbornly disregarding my real age.

When I walked into The Starfish, I saw him right away. He was wearing jeans and a blue shirt and he stood at the buffet table, talking with a waitress who was pointing him to a table back in the corner of the inn. He turned and looked right at me.

“Hi!” He came toward me.

“Good morning! How’d you sleep?”

“Like a baby. It’s the sea air.”

“I see. Where shall we sit?”

“I asked the waitress to reserve the corner table for us and to bring two glasses of champagne. A little something to wake us up.”

As we seated ourselves, I asked, “Do you always sit at corner tables?”

“Whenever they’re available. They always offer the best view—unless some idiot steps in front of you.” He grinned.

The waitress came to our table. “Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee, please,” we said almost simultaneously.

“Looks like you’re in agreement! I’ll bring the champagne once you’ve served yourself at the buffet so it doesn’t get too warm.”

We thanked her and walked to the buffet, which was stocked with a wide variety of beautifully cooked, artfully arranged foods from which to choose.

“I’m going for the granola first.” Mathis headed for the opposite side of the table.

I started with fish and scrambled eggs. Once our plates were filled, we each looked up at the same time. He smiled as our eyes met across the buffet. Those eyes! Feeling embarrassed, I turned away and made my way back to the table. The waitress had just come out with the champagne.

“To your health!” Mathis picked up his glass and toasted me.

“Uh . . . to health!” I took a long gulp of liquid courage.

“Now, it’s your turn to tell me something about yourself. What are you doing here all alone at the North Sea?”

“I guess I’m just letting everything wash over me. The sea, the calm, the air . . .”

“And the search.”

“The search. Well, maybe. But I can’t tell you what I’m searching for.”

“Why not?”

“Because I honestly don’t know.” I thought about the promise I’d made to myself as a child, and I realized that what I told Mathis wasn’t entirely the truth. But how could I say, “I want to know what’s beyond the horizon”?

He nodded. “Maybe none of us really knows what we’re looking for. What do you do when you aren’t searching for something on the North Sea?”

“I look for ideas.”

“And where is your home?”

I told him the city.

He gave me a strange look and cleared his throat. “And what kind of ideas are you looking for?”

“New project ideas. A friend and I own a project design and development company.”

“That sounds like an interesting job.”

“It pays the bills. And I have a free schedule. This way, Paula doesn’t always have to go to day care after school.”

“Paula?”

“My daughter. She’s seven.” I could feel my heart beating in my chest. What would Mathis say to that?

“A beautiful age!”

Relief flooded through me. The news that I had a daughter didn’t appear to bother him a bit. Or maybe it didn’t matter to him because he had no long-term interest in me? I hadn’t considered this possibility.

“Do you have children?”

“Three.”

“Oh.” I swallowed hard. “You’re married?”

“Yes.”

You see
, my mind told me, and I felt my heart breaking.

“What do you have planned for today?” he asked. Apparently, the subject was closed for him.

“I was thinking a little exercise wouldn’t hurt. I may go for a bike ride. What about you?”

“Great idea! I’ll come, too—if you don’t mind.” He gave me a pleading look.

Get up and walk out of here, right now!
my conscience told me.
You know nothing good can come of this.

“I’d love that,” I heard myself say instead. It was too late to turn back now. I knew this could very well be a mistake. But I felt I had no choice. My heart was still beating hard in my chest.

Mathis stood. “I’m hitting the buffet again. Can I get you anything?”

“A little yogurt and a ton of fruit. But don’t worry, I’ll come, too.”

When we finished breakfast, Mathis headed to the restroom, so I waved the waitress over and paid the bill.

“Where to now?” Mathis asked when he returned.

“I heard there’s a boat harbor nearby. I thought I’d go there.”

“Perfect. I know just where it is.”

As the waitress passed, Mathis called out to her. “Could I have the bill, please?”

“Your wife has already paid.”

“Really? But she never does that!”

The waitress gave him an irritated look. “Excuse me?”

“Never mind. Thanks!” He gave me a mischievous grin. “Ah, the old ‘pay when he’s in the bathroom’ trick! Good one.”

On our way to the exit, we passed an old model ship in a glass case in the middle of the room. “Look, isn’t it beautiful?” I asked.

“The
Gorch Fock
,” Mathis said. “I’ve sailed on it.”

I knew it! A sailor.

It was a beautiful summer day. We biked beyond the boat harbor on a path that led all the way down the side of the levee. It felt good to move my body in the fresh air, feeling the wind on my face. If I lived here, I could do this every day, I realized. After work, I would jump on my bike, or I’d run at low tide. All my frustration would drop away, and I wouldn’t stay awake, sleepless, for hours each night anymore. In the summer, Paula could swim in the sea without worrying about someone breathing down her neck, like I did at the over-crowded pool. Mathis stopped and pointed at the dike. “There’s a gorgeous view from there. I’d like to show you.”

I got off my bike and looked up with him. I could see what he meant. In front of us were broad salt marshes, bordered by a narrow strip of sand, then the sea. The sea wasn’t exactly there at the moment, but that did not diminish the scene’s beauty. Quite the opposite. With the tide out, sunlight sparkled in the pools of tidewater left in the sand. These had drawn what felt like every bird in the area. The air was filled with their screeches.

“This would be the ideal place to write a novel,” I observed.

“You write novels?”

“I could if I lived here.”

“Why don’t you write them where you live now?”

“Oh, I tried, but I get totally frustrated. When I sit in front of my computer, nothing comes to mind. At least, nothing positive. The only thing I could write there would be a novel about frustration, and no one wants to read that.”

“Probably not.”

“Have you ever thought about writing a book? I once heard someone say that everyone has at least one book in them.”

“Oh, I’ve written many, but only in my head. On paper, I can’t write a single coherent sentence. I’m afraid my stories will stay my secret forever. Probably no one would want to read them anyway.”

“People would want to read about Mathis and Uwe.”

“Yes, ‘Mathis’ has had a truly exciting life and one that’s full of contradictions. People often envy the varied life I’ve lived. But everything I’ve done, I’ve done because of pressure—either pressure put on me by other people or by circumstances, or pressure I put on myself. If I’d been more sure about my decisions, my life would have turned out quite different. Maybe not more peaceful, but different. I suppose that’s true for everyone, though, not just me.” He cleared his throat. “Don’t mind me. I’m just thinking out loud. Forgive me. Anyway, we were talking about you. Why don’t you just move? If you’re self-employed, perhaps you could move your office here. Or maybe you really could write. There are lots of options.”

He had a point. I had wrapped up all my projects before vacation. I just needed more courage to make that kind of decision. Or someone to kick me in the butt. Probably both.

“Well, you know what Gellert says.”

“Who?” Mathis gave me a blank stare.

“You know: Christian Fürchtegott Gellert. Goethe’s mentor?” I wagged a finger at him.

“Oh,
that
Christian Fürchtegott Gellert.”

“You don’t know who he is, do you?”

“Never heard of him. But I’ve heard of Goethe, if that helps.”

“Good for you.”

“Thanks so much. So, what did this genius say about your life?”

“It’s not about my life, in particular, but about life as a whole.”

“And what did he say?”

“He said, ‘Live, like you will have wished to have lived when you die.’”

“Actually, I have heard that before. I like that. It’s almost as if he knew my problem.”

“What problem is that?”

“That’s a very long story.”

“Then it sounds like I’ve got a fascinating vacation ahead of me,” I began, then realized what I’d said. “I mean . . . That is, if you want to tell me.” Why didn’t I ever think before I opened my mouth?

He looked at me for a long time. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I actually think I’m in the mood.”

The seafood restaurant at the boat harbor turned out to be a true gem. It was located in a tiny thatched wooden hut and could seat no more than twenty guests. Fishing nets hung from the ceiling and walls. There were no typical light fixtures, but old ship lanterns dangled from the ceiling. On the walls hung many small plaques bearing sailors’ sayings, but they were written in Old German, and I could decipher only small fragments of them. From our spot on the low-lying terrace, we saw a fishing trawler in the harbor approach the quay wall. Soon, numerous crates were hoisted from the ship and loaded onto trucks.

As the second boat came into view, our host headed for our table. I turned to him eagerly, ready to order an ice-cold Radler beer. But he walked right past us, turned toward the railing, and looked out over the incoming boats. He began to wave his arms wildly, then shouted something I couldn’t comprehend at a volume that hurt my ears. Was he warning somebody about something? Or waving off an intruder? A man appeared inside the boat’s wheelhouse and saluted back, a hand raised to his cap. He yelled back something in the same incomprehensible language, then laughed raucously, apparently thrilled by the presence of our wildly gesticulating host out on the terrace.