by Dora Heldt
“Dorothea, go out and tell us what they’re talking about. We can’t hear any of it.”
Marleen watched, fascinated, as the ladies nattered on and on at the two cowering men. Dorothea opened the window with a swift tug, prompting all four of them to turn and look at us. Caught in the act, Marleen and I jumped back. Dorothea waved at them cheerfully and then turned around to us.
“Too late, they saw you. By the way, there are guests in the breakfast room without anything to drink. And Christine, your favorite guest is one of them. So, how was your night?”
“Lovely.” I reached for the two canisters that Marleen pushed toward me. “It just didn’t last as long as yours did.”
“I have no idea what’s going on anymore.” Marleen handed Dorothea a coffee and looked at her curiously. “Can someone please fill me in?”
As Dorothea started to describe her nocturnal adventure with a lively smile, I went out with the coffee jug to see my favorite guest, the one I was so longing to have a nocturnal adventure with.
Johann was seated at the small table by the window. My pulse racing, I went over to him.
“Good morning, Christine. You know, I’d love to have breakfast with you. How are you?”
“Good.” I had a frog in my throat, and a very big one at that. “Do you drink coffee or tea?”
“Coffee, please. Is everything okay?”
I didn’t need to turn around; the bumblebee and the dressing gown were clattering loudly into the room. I looked at Johann.
“As you can see, I have a lot to do. Here’s your coffee, and I’ll see you later.”
He laid his hand on mine for a second.
“I hope so.”
Frau Weidemann-Zapek and Frau Klüppersberg were a little taken aback when I brought their tea over to them with a beaming smile.
Something in the Air
* * *
The ladies were already on to manufacturing their daily provisions by the time my father appeared. Hannelore Klüppersberg jumped up at once, knocking over her juice glass. While Mechthild dabbed the tablecloth, Hannelore got my father’s upper arm in an iron grip.
“My dear Heinz!” It almost sounded like a cry of victory. “We still have a seat free here, so why don’t you finally grace us with your company? We want to hear some of your lovely stories about the island.”
The conversation at the other tables fell silent. The guests looked at my stunned father, caught in the iron grip of the colossal queen bee.
“Well, erm, I just wanted to…”
Emily’s childish voice interrupted the silence.
“That’s Christine’s dad,” she said. “He always starts it too. And he wears funny hats.”
“What do I start?” My father had managed to free himself from Hannelore’s grip. I hurried over to avert disaster.
“I told the twins you always start…to tell me nice stories when I’m bored.”
“Really?” My father looked first at me, then the twins, then Frau Klüppersberg, who was still standing in front of him. “Why does everyone want me to tell them stories all of a sudden?”
Emily looked at him earnestly. “No, I mean—”
“Emily, drink your cocoa. Frau Berg, can I get you anything else? Dad, why don’t you sit down and I’ll bring you a coffee?”
I had to restore some order; my father couldn’t handle this much confusion first thing in the morning. On the way to the door I had to go past Johann, who was standing at the buffet. He let me pass, and then I felt his hand on my back. Frau Weidemann-Zapek, who seemed to be fixing a plate for my father, looked first at his hand, then me, and raised her eyebrows. I paused for a second and tried to make my voice sound sugary-sweet.
“Excuse me, Frau Weidemann-Zapek, but I should tell you that my father hates herring salad.”
Then I escaped into the kitchen.
The number of guests in the breakfast room gradually began to dwindle. The first had already left the guesthouse with their beach bags—it looked like it was going to be another beautiful day. Astonishingly, my father was still putting up with the two ladies. Apart from their table, the only other person left was Johann, who was drinking his fourth coffee and reading the Süddeutsche Zeitung.
I slowly started to clear the buffet away, trying to discreetly listen in on my father’s conversation and, even more discreetly, steal glances at Johann. The first was unsuccessful, because the three of them lowered their voices more and more the nearer I got to them, and the second equally so, because I felt like the women were watching me. In the end, Johann folded his newspaper and stood up. He walked past me and laid his hand on my shoulder for a moment.
“See you soon.”
At the door he turned around once more and looked over at the last occupied table. “Have a lovely day, everyone,” he said.
“Thank you, young man,” the ladies chorused, but my father didn’t seem to have heard. In any case, he didn’t answer.
As I was about to walk into the hallway for a last glimpse of Johann, I almost collided with Kalli. He stormed around the corner, his face bright red, pulled me toward him, and waltzed me into the breakfast room. His voice was croaky.
“Where’s your father? Ah, there you are, Heinz! Christine, we did it, we did it, she did a great job, it’s wonderful, I knew it, no, I didn’t know it, but I was sure. Just beautiful!”
He turned around to me once again and then just stood there, breathless. My father looked at me.
“This can’t be about Dorothea’s color combinations. Can it?”
“I’m a granddad!”
Kalli choked and coughed. I banged him on the back until he calmed down and could croak out some more words.
“A girl, Katharina had a girl! I’ve got a granddaughter! They just phoned. Hanna sends her love and told me to buy everyone a round. In the Shark Bar, this evening. Isn’t it wonderful?”
Frau Weidemann-Zapek clapped her hands with delight.
“Oh, congratulations! And thank you for the invitation. We’d love to, wouldn’t we, Hannelore? Such a young granddad, unbelievable, you wouldn’t think it possible.”
She beamed at everyone. My father stood up and patted Kalli admiringly on the back.
“Well done, old boy.”
Kalli looked proud. I gave him a hug too. Frau Klüppersberg stayed seated next to her friend, but called out cheerfully, “Of course we’ll be there. We’ll all have a really fun evening.”
Kalli nodded to them, and it slowly dawned on him. He leaned over and whispered to me. “I didn’t mean to include these ladies in the invitation, and I’m sure Hanna didn’t either. Do you think they’ll come?”
I looked at him sympathetically. “You can’t get out of it now. Do it for your granddaughter. After all, primitive people used to make sacrifices for newborn children. This way we can spare the calf.”
My father clapped him on the back again and whispered to him. “Well, Kalli, as I always say, in for a penny, in for a pound. We’ve gotten through worse.” Then he turned back to the ladies. “So, we’ll see each other this evening in the Shark Bar, then. Have a lovely day.”
They waved good-bye coquettishly as my father pulled me out into the hallway with him. Once we were outside, he turned to me with his fatherly expression. “Tell me,” he said, “that young man who was here just now, are you already closely acquainted with him?”
Kalli had followed us. “Oh, he’s one of the guests,” Kalli said. “We’ve seen him already. You didn’t like his eyes, remember?”
My father waved his comment away impatiently.
“Thank you, Kalli, I know that, it was only yesterday. Frau Klüppersberg said she noticed a bit of familiarity between the two of you. What did she mean by that, Christine?”
“You can ask Hannelore yourself tonight when you’re dancing tango together. I’m sure she’ll gladly give you more details.”
Kalli scratched his head. “You know, I don’t think they play tango music in the Shark Bar.”
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“Kalli, I’m talking to my daughter. The thing is, I don’t think he’s completely kosher, this guest. He has strange eyes.”
I held my father’s gaze. “Deceitful. You said yesterday that they were deceitful.”
“Exactly. So watch out. I don’t want to be fishing your body out of the North Sea.”
I’d heard this routine before. I kept my voice calm and pleasant.
“Thanks, Dad. I appreciate your caution. But may I also remind you that I’m forty-five?”
“I know. And by the way, Gisbert is forty-seven, he just looks younger. You two would be a good match there, in terms of age.”
I still stayed calm. “To be honest, I think he seems quite strange. There’s something a little nervous and unpredictable about him. Maybe he’s more likely to throw my corpse into the North Sea.”
Heinz smiled leniently. “That’s nonsense, Gisbert is a charming young man. You just need to get to know him better. I’ll call him and invite him for this evening. He likes dancing, too. He told me a lot about himself yesterday. You’ll like him, you’ll see. So, let’s go and get some work done now. Come on, Granddad, that means you too.”
I managed to keep up a friendly smile as I watched them go.
Frau Weidemann-Zapek and Frau Klüppersberg pushed past to go up to their room. They nodded to me.
“See you this evening.”
I nodded back, then thought of something.
“Oh, before I forget…” They stopped on the stairs. “My father really loves dancing, but he never dares ask anyone. Feel free to do ladies’ choice, and if he says no at first, just persevere; he can be a little shy sometimes. Don’t let him shake you off by any means. See you this evening.”
“I’m glad you told us. We don’t like it when men are too pushy anyway, do we Mechthild? And your father is so charming and obliging. See you later then; we’re looking forward to it.”
For once, I was smiling as I cleaned up their table.
After a lunch consisting of sausages and rolls that Gesa had brought over to the restaurant for us—“Kalli wanted sausages, two for everyone”—I received a text message: “I have a problem, could you come to the Town Hall Café in Friedrich Strasse right away? Johann.”
Dorothea, standing next to me, saw my expression. She looked at me questioningly, and I gave her my cell phone. She read the text and then wrinkled her forehead.
“I don’t have enough green paint. Christine, could you go and buy another two cans please?”
“Sure. Anything else?”
“Yes.” My father lowered his sanding paper. “Bring a paper with you.”
On the way to the bike shed I typed a reply: “I’m on my way.”
I hoped this wasn’t to do with Pookie. I wasn’t in the mood for that kind of stress.
I saw Johann as soon as I came into the café. He was just ending a telephone call and gestured to me to take a seat.
“I’m so glad you’re here. I had such an awful morning.”
He put his cell phone away in his jacket pocket, then bent over the table and kissed me on the mouth. Completely naturally, as if it was the most obvious thing to do in the world. I smiled blissfully. He, on the other hand, looked very serious.
“I wanted to buy a bottle of wine earlier, in the hopes that we could meet on the beach this evening. But once I got to the cashier I realized that I didn’t have my wallet with me. So I put the wine back and went back to the guesthouse to fetch my money. I turned the whole room upside down, but it wasn’t anywhere to be seen. The last time I had it was in the Surf Café yesterday evening when I paid. And now it’s gone.”
“I’m sure you’ll find it again. Did you phone the Surf Café?”
The kiss had clearly muddled my brain. Johann seemed to agree. “Christine! Of course I have. And then I retraced all my steps from last night, there and back. And I went to the lost property office too. No one’s handed anything in. It’s gone.”
“So what now?”
Johann lit a cigarette with shaky fingers. “Now I’ve canceled my credit and debit cards. I’ve still got ten euros in cash, but that’s the lot.”
“But you’re a banker. Surely that means you can withdraw cash without a card.”
“Of course.” He looked at me again, this time as if I had some modicum of common sense. “But only with an ID, and that was in my wallet too.”
“Shall I lend you something?”
“Could you?” he asked. “I’m sorry, this is all really embarrassing, but I don’t know what else to do. Then I can drive home tomorrow first thing; at least they know me in the bank there. And I’ll need money for a train ticket too, but I’ll give it back to you right away. That would be great. Thank you.” Now he was smiling after all.
“It’s no problem.” I fished my wallet out of my purse and opened it. “How much do you need?”
“Five or eight hundred?”
“That much?”
“Well, I was so sick on the ferry over that I think it’s best if I fly back. I just hope I can still get a flight for today. I also need to pay the guesthouse for the two nights, otherwise Frau de Vries will think I’m some kind of con man. And I have to pay the garage in Norddeich and fill the car up with gas, so it all mounts up. I get nervous when I have so little money and no cards on me.”
I would feel the same. I knew it seemed ridiculously trusting to give someone I barely knew so much money. But for one, it wasn’t going to bankrupt me. For another, I wasn’t some naive schoolgirl—I believed Johann was a good man, and I wasn’t an idiot. I had to have faith in my judgment, or what would I have? His request was a little unusual, and perhaps presumptuous, but I couldn’t give every man I met the third degree—I didn’t want to be that kind of woman.
“Then I’ll go to an ATM; I don’t have that much on me. I’ll be back in a minute.”
I had three hundred euros with me and withdrew five hundred. After all, he would give it back to me as soon as he got back. And besides, I felt a little guilty; he’d been paying for me just before he lost the wallet. It made me feel good to be able to help him.
We drank another coffee together, which Johann insisted on paying for with the ten euros he’d found in his trouser pocket. I cycled back with a warm feeling inside, hoping that Johann sorted out his money issues soon. And that Pookie wasn’t a bank clerk.
It was only once I got back to the guesthouse that I realized I’d forgotten to buy the local paper. I had no idea why my father wanted to read it anyway; just because he’d gotten to know that hack didn’t mean he had to change his reading habits. I was just about to set off again when Marleen stormed over to the restaurant with a strange—but clearly not happy—expression on her face, clasping the very paper I needed in her hand.
“Stop! Marleen, wait.”
She stopped, and I pushed the bike over to her.
“Can I have that paper by any chance? Then I won’t need to…” Now that I was right in front of her I could see she was furious. “What’s wrong?”
Marleen waved the paper in the air. “What’s wrong? Come over to the restaurant with me and then you’ll find out. I’m either going to murder the great island expert or the ginger-haired ferret—it depends which one I catch first.”
I put the bike down and hurried to catch up. There was no way I wanted to miss this.
She flung the door open and stormed into the room, where she unfolded the paper and smoothed it out on the table. She looked around her.
“Everyone, I have something I want to read to you. Can you listen for a moment?”
Onno, Kalli, Dorothea, and Nils came over. I looked at my father, who was sitting comfortably on a chair with a smile of eager anticipation. Marleen threw him a look that was hard to decipher, then started to read:
PROMINENT SYLT TOUR GUIDE GIVES NORDENEY A HELPING HAND
Nordeney
Locals and tourists are sure to have been asking themselves of late what the untiring workers and helpers in the f
ormer local “Sea View” are actually up to. We now have an exclusive on the well-protected secret. Yesterday, our journalist GvM had the great pleasure of making the acquaintance of Heinz Schmidt, by trade one of the most well-known, if not the most well-known Sylt expert. “Of course, I know Sylt like the back of my hand,” Heinz told us with a mischievous smile, “and whoever knows an island understands everyone. So it was clear to me right away what Nordeney was missing.” The suntanned and youthful-looking seventy-something told GvM about the building plans. “I’m in charge of the renovations. The aim is to make a run-down old restaurant into a bar that would satisfy even Sylt standards.”
The plans show elegant sofa suites to replace the grimy old bar, and in the place of the scuffed old dining tables, guests will sit around chrome and glass. Instead of flowery wallpaper there will be murals, waves, and dunes in passionate rainbow colors. “Yes,” said the Sylt resident, his steel-blue eyes flashing, “we recruited the famous Hamburg artist Dorothea B. for the murals and painting; after all, we couldn’t get just any old housewife to do it.”
Instead of cheap linoleum the guests will find themselves gliding across brand-new parquet flooring, and instead of plastic flowers on the tables there will be lavish fresh bouquets. When questioned about the cost, the likeable man became modest. “We don’t talk about money, not even on Sylt.” He smiled winningly, then invited the editors to the opening next weekend.
So the only question that remains is the name. Heinz Schmidt doesn’t hesitate long before saying, “No, ‘Sea View’ won’t work of course. I’m fond of the name ‘The Cockle,’ but we’ll discuss it among ourselves.” As he speaks, he winks at his beautiful daughter Christine, who’s supporting her charming father with all her might. The editors would like to wish them every success and look forward to a stylish new venue on our beautiful island.
GvM
Marleen slammed the paper down on the table, smacking the palm of her hand on exactly the spot where the likeness of my father was smiling cheerfully up at the reader. Marleen stared thunderously at the prominent island expert, who was sitting contentedly on his chair.