Sea Air (21 page)

So now he couldn’t deal with me being around. What use was this fucking declaration of love? Why couldn’t he simply keep his mouth shut? What did he want from me? Was I supposed to pity him because this situation was so difficult, making it hard for him to take advantage of great opportunities? Fuck the opportunities! Nobody seemed to care how I felt; the big issue was everyone’s professional success.
Well, not for me . . . not anymore. I’m out of here!

I ran slowly at first, but as my anger built, I ran faster and faster, tears running down my cheeks. I heard Mathis call after me from behind. But I didn’t turn around—I just ran. And then it hit me: I was running in the wrong direction! The beach obviously had just one point of access, so I couldn’t go any farther. My escape route ended at a steep rock wall. Sobbing, I fell to the sand. I wanted to die on the spot.

A shadow fell across my face. Two strong arms pulled me up until my head rested on Mathis’s shoulder. He smelled so good—like the North Sea. I continued to sob.

“Don’t cry, Nele. Please don’t cry anymore. Everything’s going to be all right, I promise.”

“No . . . let me go. I want to be alone.” I couldn’t bear to lean on his shoulder, to inhale his scent, knowing that he would soon push me away again. But he wouldn’t let me go. Suddenly, I felt his lips on mine. I wanted to resist, but I couldn’t. I made a weak attempt to free myself, then I gave in. Mathis’s kiss was demanding, and his hands began to wander all over my body, pushing up my sweater and caressing my breasts. I groaned.

Mathis took off his yellow jacket and spread it on the sand for me to lie on. Slowly I unbuttoned his shirt and kissed his bare skin. With a sigh, Mathis pressed me onto the sand and began to undress me, stroking me ever so gently. There was no turning back.

We made love to each other long and hard, as if making up for lost time.
Please, dear Lord, let it always be like this,
I prayed as we held each other, our breathing labored. I was still afraid of losing him again. But heaven heard my prayer this time.

“Let’s try, Nele.” Mathis leaned on his elbow and gently brushed away a section of hair that had fallen across my forehead. “I surrender.”

I could have cried out in joy, I’d dreamed of this moment for so long. But I just looked at him and snuggled into his arms, then fell asleep on the spot. I woke to the sensation of Mathis gently kissing my eyelids. “My darling, it will be dark soon. We should start home. Besides . . . my arm is asleep.”

In fact, I had slept for over two hours. To prevent the spring sun from burning my skin, Mathis had covered me with my clothes, which I now put back on.

“It’s so peaceful here,” I whispered, inhaling the fresh sea air. In the distance, a few sailboats glided over the Baltic Sea. I watched them as if in a dream. I longed to be so free and to sail the world’s oceans with Mathis Hagena as my captain.

“Enjoy it. Back in the city, we won’t be able to feast our eyes like this.” Mathis looked so uncomfortable at the thought, I had to laugh.

“Well, then, let’s start off to the lions’ den. I’m sure they’ll be waiting for us.”

“I’m a little nervous about that, too. What do you think Paula will say?”

“She’ll be thrilled.”

“
Hmm
. We’ll see. Let’s go before they send out a search party.”

When we reached the top of the cliff, Mathis held me in his arms and we took one last look at the sea. A blood-red sun sank slowly on the horizon, highlighting the black outlines of a sailboat. As I gazed up at Mathis, a final ray of sunlight fell on his face and tears sparkled in his eyes.

A
re you guys married now?” Paula wiggled back and forth on her chair. Fragrant trout sizzled on the grill as Marco uncorked a well-chilled bottle of white wine. No one had said a word when Mathis and I wandered, hand in hand, into the yard. But later Sandra hugged me tight in the kitchen and whispered “Good luck” in my ear.

“No,” I said to Paula. I shoved a few potato chips into my mouth.

“Why not?”

“People don’t necessarily have to get married to know they belong together.” Mathis had found the right words again, so I let him speak.

“But you don’t get to sleep in the same bed if you’re not married.”

“There’s no rule that says we can’t do that.”

“There is in the Bible,” Anneke said. “Our regellion teacher said so.”

“That’s
re-li-gion
teacher.”

“He’s the pastor, he knows all about it,” she insisted. “Anyway,” she said, loudly popping the now-empty potato chip bag, “it doesn’t matter, because Mathis is already married. So that won’t work.”

Her comment was followed by loud laughter. In the relaxed atmosphere, we enjoyed the evening to the fullest. Mathis squeezed my hand over and over, as if to make sure I was really there. He looked genuinely happy and told one hilarious story after another about his career as an architect.

“Anneke and Paula want to sleep alone in an apartment tonight,” announced Sandra when it was time to go to bed. She threw me an innocent look. “You wouldn’t mind, would you, Nele? If they sleep in your apartment then I suppose you can stay the night with Mathis.” I could have kissed her.

“Are you sure you two won’t get scared? I mean, you’re still a little young for this kind of adventure.” Mathis gave them a look of concern, earning—as expected—an outraged protest for his remarks.

“Too young? Mathis, we’re not babies anymore! We’ll prove we can do it. Please, can we, Momma?” Paula looked at me anxiously.

“Oh, I don’t know . . .” I stalled. “Okay, look. I believe you can do it. And if you get scared, all you have to do is call us on the phone.”

“Calling is for babies.”

“All right, here we go. Brush your teeth and then you’re off!”

In a flash, the girls were gone. Mathis and I retired very quickly afterward.

The last few days on the island passed like a dream. Finally, the tension that had dominated Mathis’s and my interactions and had so affected the group was gone. Now we could work for several hours a day and enjoy the sunny spring—including fun trips with the kids, evenings spent socializing with friends, and for each individual couple, nights filled with love.

“When are you heading home?” Mathis laid on the sofa, thumbing through a brochure.

“We’re leaving tomorrow, right after breakfast,” said Christoph. “Unfortunately, I have to give a presentation tomorrow night.” He sighed and gave a longing look out the window, across the wide meadows where Mathis had said thousands of poppies would soon spring up. “I’ve got a stupid job, really. If I had a better offer, I’d snap it up in a second.”

“Ines, what about you? When are you and Marco taking off?”

“Tomorrow. My grandma’s turning ninety-five and we’re heading up to see her. Are you staying longer?”

“No, I’ve finished my work here. I’ll make a detour to the North Sea to check on my boat, and then I’ll head back.”

All this was news to me! I had imagined myself taking a nice journey back to the city with him, not riding in the backseat of Christoph and Sandra’s car, crushed between two children singing “Wer hat die Kokosnuss geklaut?” I pushed down my disappointment and sipped my tea.

“How much longer for the Easter holidays?” Mathis asked.

“School starts again on Monday. So in five days,” said Sandra.

Mathis turned to my daughter. “Hey, Paula . . . have you ever been to the North Sea?”

I watched them nervously. Was he thinking about taking Paula and me with him?

“No. I haven’t been to the West Sea, either, or the South Pacific. Just the Baltic Sea.”

“I see. Would you like to come on my cutter?”

“What’s a cutter?”

“An old fishing boat. But I fixed it up so it’s like new. Now we can ride across the sea in style.”

“I only want to go if Anneke comes with me, and if there’s something for us to play with.”

“I want to go to Johanna’s birthday party on Saturday,” Anneke said, and my heart sank.

“Oh, I do too, Momma,” said Paula, turning to me. “We already got her a present.” Thus, the topic was settled.

Mathis gave me a disappointed look and shrugged.

“How long will you stay at the North Sea?” Sandra asked Mathis.

“Just through the weekend. Unfortunately, I have to work on Monday, too.”

“I’m sure you don’t want to drive all that way by yourself.”

“I’d rather not. How’d you know that?”

“Oh, it was just a guess.”

“You’re a good guesser.” Mathis grinned and winked at her.

“Paula,” she said, “would you let your momma go with Mathis so he doesn’t have to drive alone? That way you could stay with us longer.”

“I don’t care,” said Paula, focusing on her drawing.

“I’ll bring back something beautiful for you,” I was quick to add. There it was again: the guilty conscience.

“Okay.” Paula seemed perfectly fine with the arrangement. What an easy child!

Although the sun was shining, a cool northeasterly wind met us when we got up on the dike. There were only a few people around, not like during the summer. But low tide was exactly as it had been when I’d first arrived. The water had retreated behind a large shell bank, and the mud flats sparkled in the sunlight. On the foreshore, a young man held up a kite and let it go with a loud whirring sound. The kite pitched dangerously close to the ground as a big black dog chased it, and then he pulled back the string and the kite rose up out of reach of the dog’s snout.

“Just like real life,” Mathis noted as the dog watched the kite fly away. “At first you can hardly believe that your dream is within your reach. Then the next thing you know, it’s snatched right out from under your nose.”

“Right now, my dream is to get some breakfast. I’m starving.”

“Then we’d better head straight to The Starfish.”

“Like before.”

Mathis gave my hand a firm squeeze. “Yes. Like before.”

“I’m sorry, but we’re booked up all day.” The waiter gave us an apologetic look, then looked a little irritated when Mathis and I burst out laughing.

“Just like real life,” Mathis said, which made the waiter look even more confused. He turned away, offended.

“Now what?”

“The Skipper?” replied Mathis.

“The Skipper it is!”

We returned to the pub where we’d spent our first evening together, and after the obligatory
Moin!
we were at our corner table again with a pilsner for Mathis and a black tea for me. I looked at him. I’d intended to order a beer. He grinned.

“This is the way it is, because you ordered black tea the first time we came here. Remember? You have to drink it now, or Onno will be offended. It’s an honor that he remembered. You’re a regular now.”

“Well, in that case—cheers! What about food? Will they just bring what we had last time?”

“Nope. Order whatever you want.”

I chose cream of crab soup followed by flounder in butter sauce. Every bite was delicious.

“It’s been a long time since you told me your story.”

“True. Where did I stop?”

“You’d just married Helga.”

“And where should I pick the story up?”

“At your divorce. Why did you and Helga split up?”

“In the end, it was the fault of the seventies.”

“How’s that possible?”

“The seventies were a stormy time, and Helga brought that storm into our relationship.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“It sounds that way only in hindsight. At the time, it was unbearable.”

“Will you tell me?”

“I’ll try, but it won’t be easy.”

Mathis Hagena sat, nervously smoking, in the small apartment he shared with Helga and Lars. As he smoked, he thought, as he had so many times before, about his father. If the old man could have seen Mathis sitting here like this—his curly hair down to his shoulders, dressed in a worn-out wool sweater, stained jeans, and hand-knit socks, sprawled out on an old mattress in the corner of the living room—he’d have unleashed a lecture about decency and morality and the corruption of today’s youth, whose failure to appreciate the old values endangered the future of the Fatherland.

But if there was one thing Mathis could be quite sure of, it was that his father would never show up at that apartment voluntarily. Chances were, he’d never again speak a word to his son—the communist.

Mathis blew out a puff of cigarette smoke and started to pace. He wondered what the future held—for his political work, for Helga, for his small son, and for his life.

“Bloody hell!” He crushed the butt of his cigarette against the bare concrete wall and immediately lit up another. Mathis wondered how he’d gotten himself into this situation and how the hell he was going to get out of it. His friends were no help—they were in as deep as he was, and no one else seemed to see how badly their lives had gone off track. How had it all gone so wrong? He believed in the importance of their ideals. But he couldn’t keep going like they were. This was insanity!

Mathis had never been interested in politics before his time in the Navy. It was enough for him to serve on the mine-sweeping ship to which he’d been assigned, to cross the Baltic Sea and pick up a few refugees trying to escape from Eastern Europe, to play scat with his shipmates, and to spend as much time as possible back at home with Helga.

But things began to change. The Soviet Union deployed nuclear warheads in Cuba, and the world barely avoided a nuclear confrontation. The Berlin Wall was built, closing the boundary between East Germany and West Germany, and entire families were separated from each other. At first Mathis assumed that everything possible would be done to defuse the East-West conflict and reunify those who’d been separated from one another. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

As if nothing had happened, people threw themselves into the new economy—building homes, indulging in unrestrained spending, and celebrating with frequent parties in an attempt to bury Germany’s inglorious past. Businessmen, lawyers, and “brown shirts”—former Storm Troopers with questionable political pasts who held influential positions, just as they had during the war—controlled West Germany’s fortunes as it rose from the ruins. As if there’d been no Hitler and no Nazis and no atrocities, West Germany’s leaders preached unlimited consumption and presented capitalism as the only viable economic form. Communism became the bogeyman, something to fight against bitterly, no matter the cost. The people accepted this anticommunist propaganda, which urged them to concentrate upon the present and the future and promised to free them from their shameful past.

Resistance to this conscious denial of the past would eventually shake the foundations of society. Mathis was a part of the early resistance. Still a student at this time, he participated in sit-ins at the universities and was, like so many others, threatened with expulsion as a result. The expulsions never came to pass, thanks to the large number of students who stood together in solidarity. He participated in peace rallies and felt the sting of the policeman’s nightstick, stood at the grave of student activist Benno Ohnesorg, listened to Joan Baez play guitar at open-air concerts, and even spent one long evening on a balcony discussing various methods of cultivating hashish.

Mathis also became estranged from his father, who refused to talk about his Nazi past and about the injustices meted out by the Third Reich. In Mathis’s attempts to understand history, he ran up against countless incidents of repression and walls of silence. He ranted against out-of-control consumerism and capitalism and refused to buy anything but the barest essentials for himself, opting to steal, not buy, from stores. He believed in the ideal of a more equitable future—something he thought could be reached through the solidarity of young people like himself who felt betrayed by their parents’ generation and joined together to make themselves heard.

And now this.

Mathis went into the kitchen to make more coffee. He’d been living on little more than coffee and cigarettes lately. Wherever Helga was today, he figured she’d already been on the road for hours with Lars, who probably hadn’t taken his afternoon nap and would be terribly cranky again. More and more, the boy was being exploited by Helga and her so-called friends.

As Mathis opened the refrigerator door to get milk for coffee, he heard Helga’s key in the lock. She came into the kitchen, carrying Lars in her arms.

“Mathis, you won’t believe what just happened, I just found out—” But Mathis didn’t want to hear it.

“Maybe you should put our child to bed first, after dragging him around all day to who knows where. Next time, leave him here, where he can have a little peace and quiet.”

Helga gave him a sour look but turned on her heels and carried Lars to the bedroom.

“There was an explosion at the German embassy in Stockholm,” Helga said when she came back into the room. She took a cup out of the kitchen cabinet.

“So?” Mathis had no desire for mindless chatter.

“Uli Wessel is dead, and so is Sigi Hausner. Total bullshit. But at least we got two of them.”

Mathis couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. “You’re kidding, right? Your people blew up the embassy?” His hands trembled so hard, he dropped his cup. “Why?” he yelled. “Are you crazy?”

“It was for Holger.”

“For Holger.” Mathis immediately knew what she meant. Holger Meins had died last year in jail after waging a hunger strike against prison conditions. He and Helga had been at his funeral and had vowed revenge. But not like this!