Sea Air

by Meeringa, Jule

  “In the end, architecture was the last option open to me, but even in that field, nobody seemed in need of my services. I finally decided to go into business for myself, so I bid on jobs and waited for a few contracts to fall into my lap. Initially, there was no money, just work. One day, I ran into my old school friend, Erwin. He told me that he’d been growing strawberries for years and that there was good money in it. When I told him that I was in between jobs, he let me join him. ‘Why sit in a dark and stuffy office all day, when outside, nature beckons!’ he said, and after working a few days in the strawberry fields, I understood what he meant. The fresh air and warm sun revived my spirits. Life was fun again.”

  “But you quit that job, too.”

  “Yes, after two years. I had entered various architecture competitions, and I’d begun working with my current partner, Horst Kleinert, on a project. Back then his jobs weren’t very exciting. We would meet in the evening and frantically work on a design for a new city center to be built somewhere in southern Germany. Our design won first place in the competition and was actually implemented—which, as you know, doesn’t always happen.”

  “So naturally you dumped your friend in the strawberry business.”

  Mathis didn’t react to my sarcastic tone. “I had to decide—I couldn’t do both—and I figured this was my chance to return to domestic life.” A thoughtful expression crossed Mathis’s face. “Looking back,” he said, “that decision was the first step toward total dependence. When I worked in the strawberry fields, I was able to take off every now and then, but now my freedom was gone. I was bound by contracts and responsibilities—both to the construction project itself and to the employees we needed to hire. I doubted my decision almost immediately, and I felt more and more like a prisoner all the time. I went into therapy, but even my therapist couldn’t help me. The more I talked with her, the more she shook her head and said, ‘What are you doing here? You should be building wells in Africa or something. Go out into the world!’ But it was too late.

  “In the end,” Mathis said, “I dealt with my anxiety and wanderlust by throwing myself into my work. I felt compelled to prove that I could settle down and play the part of a solid, upstanding citizen. I never even went on vacation, and along the way, I married Karin. After our first child was born, changing diapers and feeding the baby provided the perfect distraction—and I also had a lot of fun. After all, what’s more rewarding than seeing your children grow up? I had no time to worry about myself. The years passed and I had almost forgotten that there was more to the world than work and family. Until . . .”

  “Until?” I prompted.

  “Until I met you.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes. Your appearance brought everything about my life into question for me. Above all, I felt suddenly aware of all the responsibilities I had taken on. I tried to ignore these thoughts and feelings and just push on ahead. But you were everywhere and . . . oh, I don’t need to tell you. You were part of all this.”

  I nodded.

  “And if I fucked it up again, Nele, I’ll do my best to put it behind me.” Mathis cleared his throat as if trying to find just the right words. “Our time together has meant a lot to me. It was . . . well, it was one of the happiest times in my life.”

  It was . . . It was. At Mathis’s use of the past tense, my heart broke and I felt the room start to spin. I had known all along that our relationship was over. But Mathis’s words were quite blunt.

  “What are you going to do now?” I felt the tears begin to rise in my eyes.

  “I’ll do what I have to do, Nele—what I should have done thirty years ago.”

  “You’ll leave town.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I’m not just leaving this town, Nele.” He spoke so softly I could barely make out the words. “That wouldn’t be enough. No, if I take this step, I need to do it right.”

  What did he mean by that? I wondered. And why was he giving me such a strange look?

  “Well?” My voice sounded thin in my ears. “It won’t be any easier if you don’t say it.”

  “It has nothing to do with you.”

  “Of course not,” I said. “It never had anything to do with me.”

  “I really love you, Nele. My feelings haven’t . . .”

  “Changed. I know. Get to the point, Mathis—are you moving to the coast?”

  “I’m moving to the coast, yes.” He gave me one more long look, then said with an air of finality, “I’m going to Riga.”

  I felt as if the ground had shifted under my feet.

  “To . . . Riga,” I said. “But what will you do there?”

  “While I was at the convention in Riga a few weeks ago, I ran into a colleague I’d met over the summer in Stockholm—the man who’d invited me to partner with him on several projects. The work would require quite a bit of traveling, and it would allow me to see the world. I accepted the offer on the spot. But later, as I thought it over in my hotel room, my old feelings of guilt grabbed me again. I thought about my obligations to my family, to you and Paula . . . and, of course, to our project, waiting in the wings. I couldn’t leave everyone hanging. So I reneged on the job offer.”

  “And then, our project failed.”

  “Exactly. I flew to Riga again to check if the offer still stood. My colleague was thrilled and cleared out two days of his schedule to walk me through everything.”

  “And everything is final?”

  “Yes.”

  “When will you sign the contract?”

  “I already signed it.”

  “You already . . .”

  “There’s no turning back. I’ll admit, I wanted to get it over with quickly, because—”

  “Once you got back to Germany you would have caved in to pressure again,” I said.

  “Something like that. I knew as soon as I saw you, I’d change my mind.”

  I sat frozen in my chair, trying to wrap my mind around all he’d just said. Mathis was moving to Riga and from now on, he’d be far away. Would he forget me?

  “I need to go now, Nele.” Mathis stood and walked to the front door while I was still processing his words. I staggered after him, feeling numb.

  “When will you go . . . to Riga?” I asked.

  “Next week. I’ll probably come back to Germany again to settle a few things. I . . . Nele?”

  I heard Mathis call my name as I collapsed, then everything went black. When I came to, I was in Mathis’s arms, and he was stroking my head. I buried my face in his sweater and let my tears flow. I cried and cried until Mathis gently lifted my head and looked deep into my swollen eyes. Then he said in a low voice, “There’s one thing I forgot to ask, Nele.”

  “What is it?” I asked through my agony.

  “Will you come with me to Riga?”

  “Say that again. He’s going where?” Sandra stood on the terrace wearing rubber boots and garden gloves, surrounded by garden equipment. She was looking at me now, her eyes wide. She’d planned to take advantage of the beautiful autumn weather and restore her somewhat shabby-looking flower beds, but my appearance had given her something more urgent to consider. She pushed aside the garden tools and pulled off her gloves. Then she arranged two chairs for us to sit in, so the sun would shine on our backs.

  “To Riga,” I replied in a weak voice as I sat in one of the chairs.

  “Just like that—on a whim?”

  Just like that, on a whim? I thought back on the long explanation Mathis had given me.

  “Not on a whim,” I said. “He has his reasons.”

  “I see. And they are . . . what, exactly?” Sandra gave me a dark look that seemed to say, So, you fell for his story after all. She clearly couldn’t imagine that there could be a valid rationale for Mathis’s behavior. No, she didn’t understand—but how could she?

  “It’s not ea
sy to explain,” I said. “I’d have to tell you his whole life story.” I gave her a lopsided grin. “And I’m afraid it’s quite long and complicated.”

  Sandra raised her eyebrows. “I don’t get it at all. But it doesn’t matter—the fact is, he’s going, right?”

  “Yes, he’s going next week.”

  “And he’s not coming back.”

  I shrugged.

  “Well, that’s just great. He just gets to go off and leave everything and everyone hanging—you, Paula, his children, his job. This guy Mathis of yours is quite a catch.” Sandra jumped up and started to yank weeds out of her flower bed. “And what do you think about all this?” She chucked a stray, rotten apple over the garden fence.

  I sighed. If only I knew the answer to that question!

  “He asked whether I’d like to come with him,” I said.

  “Whether you . . . want to come with him?” Sandra looked over at me, stunned. “You’re not going with him to Riga?” From the look on her face, this possibility appeared unthinkable to her.

  “Well, why not?” I asked.

  “Because you don’t just up and take off to Riga—with or without Mathis!” Sandra said. “Do you know what would happen if everyone just decided to move to Riga?”

  “No,” I shot back. “What?”

  “Nele, you know this is ridiculous, right? Think of Paula, your job . . .” Sandra made a sweeping motion with her arms. “And everything you have here. Why would you give it all up for a guy who is so completely unpredictable? Because the next time he takes off, you’ll be left alone in a foreign land, without friends . . .”

  I nodded. Maybe Sandra was right—or maybe not. All I really knew was that I had to make a decision. Mathis was serious about his proposal. After he’d asked me to go with him to Riga, we’d sat together as he urged me to seize the day and start a new life with him. I had promised I would think about it—and then he was gone. Now here I was, unable to think clearly.

  “And what about Steffen?” Sandra asked.

  “What about him?” I said. “What does Steffen have to do with anything?”

  “Oh, Nele, he has quite a lot to do with things—you know that as well as I do. Steffen loves you, and he would give you anything you wanted. He’d be the perfect man for any woman, but the poor guy had to fall in love with you—a woman who doesn’t appreciate him at all. Not that that stopped you from going to bed with him. And why—just to mess with his mind? What’s gotten into you, Nele, to make you run after a man like Mathis? I know he’s nice, handsome, and successful. But he’s also a flake and a dreamer who’s determined to look for happiness everywhere except in his own life. He’s not right for you, Nele!

  “But this isn’t just about you—you also have to think of Paula. Remember when she had her accident? Mathis was nowhere to be found. He was off roaming around the world, completely unreachable. He didn’t give a shit what happened to you here! Steffen was there for you: he took care of everything and you could reach him anytime, day or night. But instead of snatching him up, you sent him packing so you could follow this flaky guy to Scandinavia.

  “And now this! Mathis disappears for days, leaving you worried sick, sitting on a mountain of problems—and what happens when he comes back, begging for forgiveness? Good old—and sorry, but it’s true!—stupid Nele falls for it and decides she wants to emigrate with him to Riga. Do you hear how ridiculous that sounds? What on earth do you want, Nele? What can Mathis give you that Steffen can’t?” Sandra gave me a challenging look.

  “Freedom?” I said in a quiet voice.

  “Freedom!” said Sandra. “Come on, Nele, grow up! We all have responsibilities we can’t run away from, and that’s going to be true no matter where in the world you live. Think about Paula. She needs security, not a mother who’s always dreaming about running away. Steffen can give you the kind of security that Mathis Hagena isn’t capable of offering.”

  “Maybe I don’t want any damned security!” I said. “Maybe I just want to live my life, Sandra, and that doesn’t necessarily have to happen here.”

  “You’re getting yourself all worked up over a crazy idea, Nele. It’s time to come back down to earth.”

  “Oh, shit, I don’t know.” I stomped my foot in frustration.

  “Nele, be sensible.” Sandra’s voice suddenly became gentler. She took my arm. “I only want the best for you.”

  “I have to think about all this,” I said in a dull voice.

  “Take your time,” she told me. “This isn’t a decision that can be made lightly. If I can help you in any way . . .”

  “Could you . . . ?” I hesitated. “Do you think Paula could stay with you for a few days? I’d like to go away—some quiet place where I can have some time to think. Like you said, this is a big decision.”

  Sandra hesitated, then nodded. “Peace and quiet is probably just what you need now. Of course I can take Paula—the whole week, if you want.”

  “That’s sweet of you, thanks. I’ll check with Marco first, to make sure that’ll work, and I’ll let you know.” I kissed Sandra on the cheek as I left. On the way home, I couldn’t help but wonder why this guy had been sent to me. If only I hadn’t driven to the North Sea all those months ago, I thought. Then my life wouldn’t be such a mess now.

  The accordion player smiled in my direction as he put his instrument down on a chair, finally taking a well-deserved break. I’d been listening as he’d played upbeat Parisian chansons for the better part of an hour, barely pausing between each one. I loved the music, and I loved the sunny spot I’d found on the steps of the Sacré Coeur, high above the rooftops of Paris—a place I thought of as “my city.”

  I lived in Paris for some time after graduating from college, and ever since my arrival this morning, two thoughts kept popping into my mind: How had I gone for so long without experiencing the feeling evoked by the unique atmosphere of this glorious city? And why had I ever returned to Germany? I experienced so many happy hours here, both with my friends and alone. I fondly remembered sitting with a book in my hand, sipping café au lait and nibbling a croissant in one of the cafés in the Latin quarter, near the Centre Pompidou, the world before me alive with street performers, dancers, and laughing children. It was the same here, in the artists’ district of Montmartre, where I’d often sat on the steps of the Sacré Coeur. That had been a wonderful time in my life. When Marco asked me where I planned to go, I had replied instinctively, “Paris.” Yes, this was the right place to think about the rest of my life.

  “Why are you so sad, young lady? The sun is shining in the sky and it’s a beautiful day,” the accordion player called out to me. He made a gesture as if wiping tears from his eyes.

  I ran my fingers over my eyelids and was surprised to find that they were, in fact, all wet! I hadn’t even noticed that tears were running down my face. Embarrassed, I grinned at the young musician. He looked so nice, in his red-checkered shirt and jeans that only reached to his calves. He looked like he hadn’t shaved in about three days, and his dark hair fell in waves over his shoulders. He walked over and sat down next to me.

  “Sad?” He reached out and stroked my cheek.

  “I’m okay,” I replied in a quiet voice. Strangely, it didn’t bother me that he’d touched me. I felt as though I’d known him forever.

  “L’amour?” This one phrase contained his entire question.

  I grinned. The French really knew love. “Yes,” I said. “Of course it’s love—what else?”

  “I’m taking a break now. Why don’t we buy something to eat and have a picnic?” He pointed to a small stall nearby where baguette sandwiches were sold.

  I nodded. “I’d love to!”

  A few feet away, a juggler whirled balls through the air. The accordionist signaled for him to look after his things, and then we climbed up the stairs and headed to the stall. This tradition of buying
a baguette from one of countless stalls and eating it in a crowded square was quite familiar to me from days past.

  The vendor greeted my companion with a hearty, “Salut, Eric!” The two men exchanged a few quick words in French.

  “What do you want to eat?” Eric asked, and I opted for a tuna baguette and a Coke.

  “Your new girlfriend?” asked the vendor, nodding in my direction, but Eric laughed and shook his head. “No, just a sad girl from Germany who needs comfort.”

  Embarrassed, I looked down at my shoes.

  “Oh la la, l’amour!” The vendor batted his eyelids and raised his arms in mock desperation, and then he grinned at me. “Eric is the best comforter in Paris,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye. He started to laugh, and Eric and I joined in. Already feeling better, I jumped down a few steps with Eric and we sat with our food near his accordion. I took a hearty bite of baguette and enjoyed the view over the city for a few minutes. It was a beautiful autumn day—probably one of the last days of the year when one could, without concern for the weather, go outdoors to make music, juggle, or paint. I decided to enjoy it to the fullest.

  Eric gave me a sidelong glance. “You came to Paris alone?” he asked after a while.

  “Yes. I wanted to think a little bit.”

  “Oui. This is a wonderful place to ponder,” Eric said. “I come here often.”

  “And what do you do when you’re not playing the accordion?”

  “Hmm. Sometimes I play the saxophone, too.”

  “Nothing else? I mean, you’re not studying or something?” He looked very much like a student to me.

  “Oh, I’ve tried a few times to study, but sitting in front of dusty books and reading about what others once thought—that’s not the life for me. No, uh . . .” He gave me a questioning look. “What’s your name?”

  “Nele.”