Sea Air

by Meeringa, Jule

  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.

&nb
sp; “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.

  The host turned back to our table. After his desperate exchange with the fisherman, I expected his face to be somber. But it was covered by one of the biggest smiles I’d ever seen.

  “So, good people, what will it be?”

  I almost covered my ears. Why on earth was he yelling at us? Did he think we were deaf?

  “Two large Alsters, please.” Mathis didn’t react a bit.

  “I’d rather have a Radler,” I said.

  “That’s the same thing, Nele. Up here in the North, they call it an Alster.”

  Why couldn’t I keep my mouth shut?

  “Oh.” I gave him my biggest smile, hoping that our host wouldn’t judge me for my ignorance about local customs. He didn’t seem to notice my mistake.

  “Whatcha wanna eat?” he roared.

  “I’ll have a large loaf of granade-bread,” Mathis said. “How about you, Nele?”

  Grenade bread? What on earth was that? But I had learned my lesson and wasn’t about to ask. “One for me, too, please. I’m starving!”

  “If you have time, my son is just coming in with his boat,” the host said. “He’s bringing in some fresh granades now.”

  I wished he’d stop screaming. “Is that your son on the boat?”

  “So ’tis.”

  “We’ve got all day if it means getting freshly caught granade
s. Right, Nele?”

  “Of course. I’d wait all day for grenades,” I said. Mathis gave me a funny look. Why was he grinning at me that way? Our host nodded quickly and went back inside.

  “Why does he yell like that?”

  “I have no idea, but the locals say he always does it. That’s why they call him Karl-Bölk.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Bölken is Old German for ‘scream.’ He’s from East Frisia.”

  I hadn’t intended to take a language immersion vacation. In my opinion, he didn’t have to scream so loud, even if his name was Bölk.

  “How do you know so much about this place?”

  “I’m here often, so I’ve learned a lot. And if you leave a boat here, you learn even faster.”

  “You have a boat here?” This fact really stunned me.

  “Not here in the harbor, but close.”

  “A fishing boat?”

  “Yes, but a very old one. I’m turning it into a sailboat.”

  I was impressed. “What will you do when it’s ready?”

  “I’m going to sail it around the world.”

  I wasn’t sure whether to believe him. But something in his eyes told me not to ask anything more.

  When our host brought the food, I got my next lesson in what may be the most complicated language that has existed since the Tower of Babel. The “grenades” turned out to be the tastiest North Sea shrimp I had ever eaten. I ate every bit of my huge portion and felt an overwhelming desire to lick the plate once they were gone. I followed Mathis from the restaurant in good spirits and nearly stumbled over a sign that said “Fresh Granades Daily!” Shrimp! Not grenades! Mathis had to think I was an idiot.

  The ride back to the dike was a long one, so partway there we took another break. We sat down on a bench and looked out on the water without talking for a while. In the distance, the lighthouse threw its beacon in wide circles above the sea.

  “Did Mathis and Uwe watch the beacon from the window that night?” I asked.

  “Absolutely. They had to see the beacon before they would go to bed.”

  “How long did they stay at the sea?”