by Dora Heldt
“Ha!” Renate walked on slowly. “Young? My father was seventy! She forced us kids out of the house early. She hated her son-in-law—my father—and my brother, too, merely because he was the spitting image of him. I wasn’t allowed to listen to loud music or wear pants, and she never even wanted to see us. Unfortunately, it was her house. My parents couldn’t afford one of their own. So we had to do whatever she said, do her shopping, move her furniture around, wash the curtains, carry coal up to her room—there was always something. So much for your multigenerational house idea—it was a complete nightmare.”
“I know families can be difficult sometimes. But if you move in with people voluntarily, old people with young parents I mean, and people who actually like each other, then that’s a different matter.”
“Inge.” Renate sighed. “Forget it. You’d have strangers’ children around you the whole day, they’d be hyperactive, destroy your roses, and steal your money to buy drugs. Then there’d be the parents, screaming at the kids and not taking anyone else into consideration, and on top of all that you end up looking after their brats without being paid a penny. That’s certainly not how I see my life panning out. Now, please, let’s change the subject. I’m getting upset just at the thought of it.”
Inge looked at her thoughtfully. Perhaps she hadn’t explained it very well. Renate hadn’t grasped what she was saying at all. But there was clearly no point in trying again, so she pushed her thoughts aside and linked arms with her.
“Come on then. We’ll go drink a hot cocoa, then find you some socks and sensible shoes, and after that you can come to the lingerie boutique with me. I was thinking earlier that I’d really like to buy some nice underwear. Something like the lacy ones you usually wear.”
Renate looked pleased. “Okay then, that sounds good. All except the part about the sensible shoes and the cocoa. I’m not twelve! No, we’ll have some champagne. It’s imperative to always go lingerie shopping while tipsy.”
Just the prospect of it was already warming her feet. Smiling, Renate began to take long, energetic strides toward the Westerland Promenade.
Heinz hung up the phone with a worried expression and sat down next to his daughter.
“No one’s answering.”
Christine swapped papers with Johann and looked up at her father. “Who are you trying to call?” She scanned the regional sections of the Sylter Rundschau. “Did you see this? There’s live jazz in the Alten Backstube today. We could go.”
Johann nodded. “Sure. Oh, look—Bremen tied. Three to three.”
“That’s a shame.”
“No one’s answering!” Heinz smacked the palm of his hand against the table. “Is anyone listening to me? No one’s answering!”
“Where?” Johann lowered his paper and looked at him questioningly.
“At Petra’s. And her cell phone is off too.”
“What do you want Petra for?” Christine read on, glancing up intermittently. “It starts at eight.”
“For God’s sake, put the paper down when I’m talking to you!” Heinz was in a really bad mood now. “That’s not asking too much.”
His daughter cocked her head. “How do you have Petra’s cell number anyway?”
“Not Petra’s. I’m talking about your Aunt Inge. She isn’t answering her cell, and no one’s picking up at Petra’s. I’m worried that something else might have happened there.”
Johann carefully smoothed his section of the newspaper flat and laid it down on the table. “I don’t think these petty criminals would break into the same house two times in a row. I’m sure Inge has just gone for a walk. And she won’t have any reception if she’s down by the sea.”
“Petty criminals, I don’t think so!” Heinz shook his head in disbelief. “You’re clearly very naive.”
“Dad!” Christine laid her hand on Johann’s thigh. “Don’t start up with your conspiracy theories again. What do you want Inge for?”
“I wanted to tell her that Walter’s coming.”
“Oh.” Johann nodded contentedly. “That’s good, it’s the right thing to do.”
Heinz looked at him questioningly. “What do you mean by that?”
Christine rushed to answer before Johann could speak. “Well, she has to tell Petra, because of the bedding and so on, that’s all he meant. But hasn’t Uncle Walter called her himself then?”
“Why?”
“Well, to say he’s coming today. He must have told her.”
“No, I don’t think so. He’s her husband. He doesn’t need to.”
Christine and Johann gave him a surprised look. Heinz stood up. “It’s about time Walter came. After all, it’s his job to take care of her. I’m just her brother. I can’t spend my whole life looking after my little sister—that’s asking too much. And she’s really not making it easy for me. What am I supposed to be, a psychologist? I’m going for a walk down to the docks. You can do whatever you want. You’re on vacation after all.”
Johann lifted his hand to wave good-bye and waited until Heinz had left the kitchen. “He’s clearly feeling guilty. Perhaps he really did learn something from all the fuss he caused on Norderney, and maybe he’s holding back now because of it.”
“No chance,” answered Christine, reaching for the paper. “He’s just scared of how Inge will react when Walter turns up on her doorstep later.”
“And? How do you think she’ll react?”
Christine looked at him over the paper. “I certainly don’t think she’s going to burst into tears of happiness at seeing him again. Let’s just say I don’t particularly want to be there to witness this particular reunion.”
She watched her father through the kitchen window as he put on his cap and set off toward the harbor. His shoulders were drooping. Christine hoped Inge at least gave Walter a chance.
Chapter 22
* * *
Inge stood sideways in front of the mirror and sucked in her stomach as far as she could. Then she breathed out again, amazed. It was surprising what a difference some new lingerie could make. And it was even comfortable to wear. Of course, everything was cut in a flattering way and chosen in keeping with her age. The friendly saleswoman had made sure of that, noting Inge’s embarrassment as Renate had handed her a very modern and trendy set in the changing room. It had been such a wisp of a thing; it had barely even qualified as underwear. Inge was no young thing. But she was wearing prettier lingerie than she ever had, and she felt good. In spite of her little belly and round hips. She didn’t want to be thirty anymore, or even twenty for that matter. But she wanted to have time left. Time for the things she had forgotten to do over recent years. Although, to be honest, she hadn’t ever forgotten them; she had just thought there would always be plenty of time to do them. Now she was sixty-four, and it was time. High time, because otherwise she wouldn’t ever do them, and that worried her sometimes. But at least she had already made a start.
Inge took the new lingerie off and folded it up carefully. Then she slipped into her pajamas and bathrobe. There was a movie on TV in half an hour that she wanted to see.
As she opened the window, a car was just pulling up in front of the house. Inge looked at the clock. It was nearly ten. The new guests were arriving rather late. Inge leaned over and held her breath. It was Heinz. At this time! She wasn’t in the mood to talk to her brother. All she wanted to do was relax and watch her movie. At that moment, the passenger door started to open. Please, not Charlotte too! That would make things even more complicated. But Charlotte was much slimmer. The person getting out of the car was big and moved awkwardly. Inge’s mouth fell open in shock. It was Walter. With a huge duffel bag on his shoulders. Inge wondered whether he had sat down with it on his back in the car. He certainly couldn’t walk with it, anyway. Inge suddenly felt like she was going to faint.
Without consideration for any sleeping guests in the apartments within, they rang the doorbell of the main house. Inge pulled her bathrobe tighter around her and ran down the steps
before Heinz and Walter could wake the whole house.
She flung the door open and stared at the two of them.
“Surprise!” Heinz leaned casually against the doorframe and then noticed her pajamas. “Were you already sleeping?”
With his oversized, silver-colored bag, Walter looked a little like Neil Armstrong walking on the moon. And he moved like him too. He took two wavering steps toward her.
“There, Inge, we gave you a surprise, didn’t we? I got straight on the train when I heard you were attacked. What a to-do. I’m telling you, there’s a revolution coming in this country. There are so many bad policies coming from the fat-cat politicians, Germany’s going to implode sooner or later. If you ask me, there’s too much poverty, too many taxes, and things keep getting more and more expensive, so it’s not surprising that some people flip out and…”
“Walter.” Inge’s voice sounded weak. By now she was wishing she had fainted.
“Yes?”
“What on earth do you have on your back?”
“This?” Walter tried to turn his head. “It’s my luggage. You can travel round the world with it. Twenty internal pockets. Frost-resistant, ultralight fabric. It’s wonderful.”
“Aha. Twenty internal pockets,” repeated Inge tonelessly.
“And it weighs practically nothing.” Heinz smacked the monstrosity enthusiastically, making Walter lurch forward. “He borrowed it. From…what was his name again?”
“Henning. That’s my old colleague Paul’s son. He goes on lots of around-the-world trips and has back problems too. Suitcases just make the problem worse—the uneven load shifts the vertebrae. So he lent me the bag, which I thought was very nice of him. And he doesn’t need it back until October.”
“October.” Inge felt like a traumatized parrot. “You don’t say.”
“Yes.” Walter nodded with contentment. “It’s just really hard taking it off by yourself, that’s all.”
“We can do that together now.” Heinz pushed past Inge into the hallway. “But come in first. Would you like a beer?”
Walter nodded. “I’d love one, and about time too. I’d already finished my water by the time I got to Munster.”
“Inge. Where’s the beer? In the common room? Or should we knock on Petra’s door?”
Suddenly, Inge awoke from her frozen state. “Don’t you dare! We’re not disturbing Petra, and under no circumstances are we going into the common room. It’s past ten in the evening. What’s gotten into the two of you? Walter, why don’t you call before you get on a train with that stupid thing on your back? I said quite clearly that I needed a few days of peace. Am I speaking Bulgarian? Why is no one listening to me?”
“Don’t get worked up now.” Her brother patted her arm. “We’ll all sleep on it and then see how we feel tomorrow.”
He winked at his brother in-law and began to struggle with taking the bag off his back.
“You can sleep on it all you want, but not here!” Inge’s voice was shaking. “I have a single bed. Walter, I’m sorry. I’m sure you had a strenuous journey, but as I told you, I want some space, and it’s just been one week. And right now I want to watch my movie. So, good-bye.”
Walter and Heinz stood before her, stunned and despondent. Walter was the first to find his voice. “Well, if that’s what you want…”
“But where is he supposed to go?” Heinz waved his hands around theatrically. “He can’t just sleep in the dunes!”
Inge looked at the world-traveler’s bag. “No, but there’s room at your place. After all, it was only this afternoon that you said I should come and stay there, so I’m sure Walter can sleep on the couch for a night. And tomorrow you’ll go back home, Walter. I’m fine, and you’ve seen that for yourself now, so you can relax.”
She ignored her brother’s horrified face and looked at Walter instead. He thought for a moment, then shook his head.
“No, that won’t work. There has to be a Sunday in between. That won’t work.”
“What are you talking about?” Inge was bemused.
“Saver’s ticket.” Walter tapped his forehead meaningfully. “I tricked the train system. After all, the normal prices are scandalous. I figured out how to get a great deal. But if I go back tomorrow, then my entire system falls apart.”
Before Inge could answer, Heinz positioned himself in front of Walter like a shield. “Inge, I don’t know who you are right now. And I’m ashamed of you. Listen, Walter, you’re coming to our house. I want you to see that the whole family hasn’t gone mad. We still have manners. Right then. Good-bye, Inge. Walter, you can get that thing up on your back yourself, right?”
Without waiting for an answer, Heinz stormed out past his sister. Walter leaned over with a sigh and pushed his arm arduously into one of the straps. Suddenly feeling sorry for him, Inge leaned over and held up the strap. Walter looked at her gratefully.
“It’s a bit unpractical, putting it on by yourself. Henning is a lot bigger than I am, so I’m sure he finds it easier to get into. Thank you.” He pulled the strap straight and teetered a few times until everything was in place. “Right then. I guess I’m going with your brother then?”
Inge stroked his cheek. “Yes, Walter. I did say that I needed to be alone for a while.”
“Inge?”
“What?”
“You’re not mad at me, are you?”
“No. But you should have called me.”
“The ticket was very reasonable though. So…how much longer will it take? With you, I mean.”
“Oh, Walter.” With the huge bag, he bore a striking resemblance to a cartoon character Pia had loved as a child, Big Jim or something like that. “You and I, we have to make something out of our lives. Take some risks now and again. Even though we’re already seniors.”
“But we do.” Walter looked indignant. “I sure took a risk today. I changed seven times with this thing on my back. And I met some nice people, and all of that for fifty-four euros and fifty cents.”
“Walter!”
He took a step toward the door and waved at Heinz reassuringly, who was calling for him with his arms crossed. “I’m coming.” Then he turned back to Inge.
“I have to go. So, sleep well. You’ll tell me if you need me, right?”
“I will. Good night.”
Inge watched him teeter over toward Heinz. She very much doubted that this monstrosity of a bag really was good for the back.
Chapter 23
* * *
Johann was whistling the last song the jazz band had played—perfectly in key. Impressed, Christine looked at him. Was there anything the man couldn’t do well? The concert had lasted almost three hours, and it was almost ten thirty already, but neither Johann nor Christine felt like driving straight back home.
“We could go to Hafendeck and have a cocktail,” Christine suggested.
The bar wasn’t as full as Christine had feared, and there was a free table directly by the window. Christine leaned back in contentment and reached for the cocktail menu.
“I think I’m going to have a tequila sunrise, even at the risk of you having to carry me home afterward. Do you think you could?”
He didn’t answer. Christine looked up. “Johann?”
He was squinting toward the end of the bar. Christine laid her hand on his arm, and he jumped.
“Look, isn’t that…?”
“Renate.” Christine followed his gaze and recognized the magnificent head of red curls and white pantsuit immediately. “John Travolta used to wear suits like that. Is Aunt Inge with her?”
Johann looked around. “I can’t see her. I think Renate’s with the man in the red jacket.”
Her companion was dressed a little too garishly for his age perhaps, but he looked nice all the same. He was laughing loudly, then Renate put her hand on his chest and whispered something into his ear. She reached for her champagne glass and gave him a long and lascivious look.
“She’s in top form tonight.” Johann gr
inned. “So, what did you want to drink? I’m in the mood for a beer.”
While they waited for their drinks, Christine had to restrain herself from watching the lovebirds, although she was sure it would have been a very entertaining show. She tried to concentrate on Johann, who was relaxing with his beer and looking out over the water. Then the DJ played the first bars of an old one-hit-wonder, and Renate’s voice belted out, “You bet-raaaaayed me a thousand times…Oh, Horst, this is my favorite song. You have to dance with me, come on!”
Johann and Christine couldn’t help it. They had to turn around and look. Renate was sashaying ahead, waving the ends of her shawl flirtatiously to the beat as she arrived on the dance floor, where she waited for Horst, swaying back and forth. He followed her, a little embarrassed, and put his hand stiffly on her back. She immediately entwined herself around him.
Johann raised his eyebrows. “Who’s leading?”
“Renate, of course. She’s not leaving anything to chance. And later she’ll say to him, ‘But you wanted it too.’” Christine sucked tentatively at her straw. “This cocktail is a heady mix. It’ll only take one more song and I’ll be pulling you onto the dance floor.”
“You’d better drink more slowly then. Who is this Horst guy anyway? I thought she was here by herself.”
“Maybe someone she met here?” The glass was full of ice cubes, so Christine had no idea how much she had already drunk. “I think Renate is here looking for a man. Visiting Inge is just a cover.”
“What makes you say that?”
“She has this sparkle in her eyes. I notice things like that. But Horst doesn’t seem that much of a catch. You know, I think I’d like another cocktail.” She signaled to the waitress.
Johann shook his head leniently. “Well, I’m not dancing—did I mention that? No matter how hard you try to pull me onto the floor. And no matter how many of these concoctions you drink.”
Suddenly, there was a commotion at the edge of the dance floor. A woman in her early sixties—wearing jeans, a pullover, and a jacket, with a sensible haircut and a determined expression on her face—was jostling her way through to Horst and Renate. They were moving to the beat in a close embrace, their eyes closed. When the woman tapped Horst on the shoulder, he opened his eyes—and all the color drained from his face. Unfortunately, Johann and Christine couldn’t hear what was said, as they were sitting too far away, but the body language of the trio didn’t bode well. The woman with the sensible haircut slapped the man in the red jacket in the face.