Sea Air (3 page)

I was awakened by warm sunbeams on my face. The night before, I’d had three glasses of wine with my crab cake, slept soundly, and now felt wonderfully refreshed. I’d decided that this morning I would walk along the beach to the next town and find breakfast there. Surprisingly, this still struck me as a brilliant idea, and so, after a quick shower, I set out.

Only a few people were on the beach, which stretched out seemingly without end between the horizon and me. The water was gone; it was low tide. I saw the outline of a single figure who appeared to be walking out to what was, during high tide, a small island. At low tide, it could be walked to from the beach. That was a bit too far for me to attempt on an empty stomach, so I only walked on the foreshore, the area of beach exposed during low tide. The sand felt heavenly, soft and warm underfoot. When I walked on the beach as a child, I always imagined that I was an angel floating on clouds like lamb’s wool. My brother would bring me back to reality in a flash by throwing a handful of sand in my face. Spaghetti-shaped swirls on the beach had looked to me like sandworms, and I screamed at the sight of them. Patiently, my father calmed me down and, drawing on that patience, he refrained from punishing my brother Frank for tormenting me. Frank was my number one enemy, but all three of my siblings seemed against me. I would have much rather been an only child, like my best friend. Then, I felt sure, I would have everything I wanted. I wouldn’t have to share my bedroom with anyone, not even my parents. As it was, I felt like I always got the short end of the stick.

When I was ten, I decided I’d take off on my own, going wherever I wanted and living on wild berries. It seemed obvious to me that getting stuck with so many brothers and sisters was a huge injustice. I wanted to know what waited for me in the “big, wide world” beyond the horizon. This idea didn’t sit well with my parents, especially after I spent a night sleeping under a blackberry bush near my home. Things just got worse when they grounded me for a week. I spent that week studying my school atlas. I decided that “equator” was probably just another word for horizon and figured if I could get there, I really would see the “big, wide world.” I read up on the countries that were lucky enough to be positioned on the equator and was delighted to learn that everyone who lived there had darker skin than me. I figured no one would overlook me there. For the next few years, I focused on my goal of reaching Africa, even after I learned that “horizon” and “equator” meant entirely different things.

I thought about these things as I stared at the horizon. It still seemed infinite to me, and I imagined I could see the curvature of the earth. My longing for far-off places seized me anew and I turned my gaze back down the coast. It was time for breakfast and warm enough to sit outside. I chose a restaurant where I would be able to eat on a terrace overlooking the dike. I filled my plate from the buffet then sat at a table near the edge of the deck and watched a colorful, seemingly endless line of people set out on the long walk toward the island. From where I sat, it looked like an ant highway. A line of horse-drawn carriages appeared from nowhere, as if spit out by the dike. These, too, were following the path to the island. Each carriage was drawn by two horses and filled with around ten people. I sighed. Paula would love a trip like that. I pictured her large brown eyes, sparkling with enthusiasm. I promised myself I would come back here again and bring Paula with me.

Suddenly, a tall man with binoculars stepped in front of me, blocking my view. Great. Now, all I could see were a yellow windbreaker, a denim-blue cap, and navy pants covering what I had to admit was a rather attractive male butt. I coughed in irritation, trying to telegraph my desire for him to move along. When he turned around, I found myself looking into the brightest eyes I had ever seen. A bearded face smiled at me apologetically. A friendly-looking man, he could have been the model for the decorative sailor that stood on the kitchen shelf of my apartment. Only the sailor’s blue-and-white striped shirt and pipe were missing.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to hog the view.” He shrugged and, before I could reply, stepped to the side where he wouldn’t block anyone and put his binoculars back up to his eyes. I watched him for a moment, wondering if he would turn around again. But he stood like a statue, his binoculars trained firmly on a point in the distance. I tried but couldn’t figure out exactly what he was watching with such interest. Now, I was the one to shrug. I got up and left the restaurant.

I spent the rest of the day reading and lounging in my beach chair, getting up only once to buy a fish sandwich and a newspaper before going back to read some more. When the temperature cooled in the evening, I trudged back to my apartment, stopping to buy cheese, baguettes, and red wine. I looked forward to spending a quiet evening in front of the TV. I hadn’t felt this relaxed in a long time. I hoped the next several days would be the same. What could be better than doing nothing at the North Sea? I was about to find out.

I
’d stretched out my TV-watching until three a.m. and woke at noon feeling irritable, so I cheered myself up by stopping at a bakery and walking to the beach with croissants and a small cup of cocoa. I’d walked quite a distance when I came across a couple of boys in swim trunks collecting treasures from the sea in their buckets. I sat nearby on a small boulder and watched the ships slowly force their way against the current into the open sea. The sun made my back nicely warm. Dark clouds gathered in the distance, and I felt the wind pick up. The sun still shone overhead, causing the water to flash with light.

“Are you looking for something?”

Me?
I turned and looked behind me. At first, all I saw was the blinding sun, then a flash of yellow flapping in the wind. Slowly my eyes adjusted to the harsh light of the North Sea sky. To my surprise, it was the sailor from the day before. He seemed to smile at me with his incredibly blue eyes. He wore the same yellow jacket, but today he had rolled his tattered jeans up over his calves. His feet were sunk to the ankles in mud, and his binoculars dangled from his neck.

“Where’s your ship?” I asked before I even stopped to think. I couldn’t believe I’d said it. The question just rolled off my tongue.

“My ship?”

My face started to burn. Nearby, a small crab buried itself in the sand. I wished I could follow him.

“I just mean, you look like . . .”

“Like I’ve lost my ship?”

“Yes. I mean, no . . .”

“You’re right.” His mouth curled into a smile and he looked down at me in amusement. But his eyes held something that looked like longing. And sorrow.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to . . .”

“Coffee?” He held out his hand. Without thinking, I took it and he pulled me up firmly. We walked side by side, back toward the beach.

“I’m afraid I chased you away yesterday. When I turned around, you’d vanished.”

So he recognized me from the balcony, I realized with surprise. I’d thought at the time that he’d barely noticed me.

“Don’t worry about it. I was about to leave anyway.”

“A couple minutes before that, you looked ready to fight for your territory.”

“And now you’re giving me the third degree.”

“Not at all!” he protested. “I was just trying to think of an excuse to invite you for coffee, and then you were gone.”

“And you thought you’d try again today so you followed me for miles down the beach.”

“A nice thought, but I’m afraid running into you again was a lucky coincidence. Really.”

“What did you mean when you asked me what I was looking for?”

“A person who sits alone on a rock in the middle of the tidal flats, lost in thought while looking at the open sea, is always either in search of something or on the run. Or both.”

“Who says so?”

“I do.”

“Why are you so sure?”

“Because I do the same thing.”

“Which begs the question, are you searching for something or are you on the run?”

“Both.”

“Let me guess. A long time ago you stole a treasure and buried it in the sand, and now you have to find it again.”

He laughed. “You have an evil imagination. But I’m afraid I have to disappoint you. I’m no pirate.”

“That’s too bad.”

“I don’t know. Life’s pretty exciting without having to resort to piracy.”

“You think so?” I wondered what he did with his life that was so exciting.

“Look, the ball is up!” He pointed toward the beach, at a floating red sphere.

“What’s that?” I asked. “I saw it yesterday, but I don’t know what it’s for.”

“It means the water is coming back. It’s telling us to get back to the high water mark, unless we want to swim back.”

“It’s a good thing you found me, then, or I would have drowned.”

“And just like that, a lucky coincidence turns into a full-fledged miracle.”

As we reached the beach promenade, dark clouds swallowed up the sun and the first drops began to fall. Families hastily gathered their belongings and ran from the beach in a colorful line, disappearing behind the dike. A plastic shovel lay forgotten in the sand. My companion and I pulled off our shoes. The sand crunched between my toes, a noise that always gave me goose bumps. I shuddered.

“Are you cold?” he asked. “I know a pub that hasn’t been discovered yet by the tourist crowds. Consider it an insider’s tip. They’ve got the best potato-and-fish stew at the North Sea, and it’s only a few blocks from here. Sound good?”

I nodded and followed him. After a few minutes, he turned onto a side street and descended the basement stairs of an old fishermen’s cottage that had “The Skipper” written in plain letters over the entrance. I caught snippets of north German conversations spoken in low voices all around us. As we entered, someone said, “
Moin,
Mathis
, ook who in’t land
!
” My companion gave a short nod. He guided me past the counter and over to a corner table from which we could see the whole room. The pub was small, but its wooden tables were massive, and all but one were occupied. Most of the patrons were men dressed in plaid flannel shirts or navy-blue peacoats. Some played cards, some threw dice on the counter, and others just sat there. No one spoke much. A model ship with three masts hung from the ceiling, and the walls were painted with maritime images. Beyond that, the room was simple and unadorned.

Our server came over and set a beer on the table. “And for the lady?”

I figured this wasn’t the place to order a latte macchiato. “Black tea, please.”

He disappeared behind the counter and returned shortly with my tea.

My companion placed his binoculars beside him on the bench and pulled off his yellow jacket. Underneath it, he too wore a plaid shirt—a blue one.

“Your name is Mathis?”

“Mathis Hagena. And you are . . . ?”

“Nele. Nele Martens.”

“A North German name, but you’re not from around here.”

“What makes you say that?”

“A local wouldn’t spend all afternoon on the foreshore.”

“Maybe.”

“And you would have known the importance of the red ball.”

“You’ve got me there. What about you? What brings you here?”

“That’s easy. I love the sea.”

“Where do you live?”

“I do all my living when I’m here. But my official residence and work are in central Germany.” His voice betrayed no bitterness, but his eyes were fixed on a point on the wall and his brow was furrowed.

“Why don’t you do those things on the sea, if you love it so much?”

“That’s a long story.”

“Will you tell it to me?”

“If I do, you’ll have to extend your vacation.”

“I have no problem with that.”

He began to explain.

As the train cut through the quiet summer day, two children remained in their seats. Sunlight fell sharply through the compartment window, blinding six-year-old Mathis, but he dared not close the curtain. Doing so would draw the attention of the other kids, and that was the last thing he wanted. He hadn’t wanted to come on this trip at all. He would have much preferred to stay at home with his mother and his friends. “You must understand, we don’t have any choice,” Momma had told him, and Mathis knew, too, that the North Sea would be good for his brother. He, Mathis, was a big boy now and his brother needed him. He was sure they would have lots of fun up at the North Sea.

The North Sea. Yes, that was a place he would really like to see. Mathis’s father had shown the boys pictures of the sea, enthusiastically telling them about a voyage he’d taken years ago, before he’d gone to war. Mathis was sure that he’d like the sea. But he was scared. At least Uwe was with him. They would stick together.

He glanced over at Uwe. The younger boy slouched in his seat and stared sadly out the window. Uwe had tried to hold back his tears when they said good-bye to their mother, Mathis had noticed. Swallowing hard and biting into his apple were all that kept him from crying. Then someone had carried the sickly boy into the train and settled him on his seat. He had hardly stirred since. Mathis gathered his courage and asked, “Want to look at the atlas Anna gave us?” He was terrified. The children turned in his direction and looked at him, but he kept his eyes on his brother, determined not to let their stares bother him. Uwe’s face brightened and he nodded. Mathis opened his backpack and pulled out the atlas. It was old and ragged, but the boys treasured it and treated it gently. Their older sister won the atlas at school as a reward for high achievement and had given it to her brothers for their journey. “Now, you will never get lost,” she told them with a wink.

Mathis sat next to Uwe, and the boys opened to the page that showed the North Sea coast. “Look, we’re going here.” Mathis pointed to the area around Cuxhaven. “Pretty big sea, right?”

Uwe nodded approvingly. “Will we be able to go boating?”

“Of course! I’ll be the captain.” Mathis underscored the words with a salute that touched his imaginary captain’s hat.

“May I look, too?” A little girl with blond hair appeared in front of them. Her pale face was sprinkled with freckles, and two spindly legs poked out from under her dress.

“Who are you?” asked Mathis, not at all convinced he wanted to share his treasure with anyone besides Uwe.

“My name is Charlotte and my dad died in the war.”

“Oh. Are you going to the North Sea?”

“Yes. The doctor told me I’m too skinny and said there would be a lot of good food up there. He said I should eat as much as I can.”

“I’m going to the North Sea to eat, too, so I’ll be strong.” Mathis grabbed his own skinny arm with his opposite hand.

“And you?” Charlotte looked over at Uwe. “Why did someone have to carry you to the train? Can’t you walk?”

Uwe shook his head.

“Why not?”

“He’s very sick,” Mathis answered for Uwe. “But Momma said the sea air will make him healthy again. Can we keep looking now?”

Charlotte sat down next to them. For the rest of the train ride, the children were completely absorbed in the atlas, forgetting the world around them.

At the Cuxhaven station, the train screeched to a halt as Mathis covered his ears. Hardly anyone was on the platform. A woman entered their compartment and told them, “We’re here, children. Collect your things and go out without pushing. When you get to the platform, line up in two rows. Don’t get lost. You”—she pointed to Uwe—“will be picked up immediately after the others disembark. Your brother will stay with you.” She nodded to Mathis and disappeared.

The children climbed out of the train, one after another. Charlotte got in line last. Just before she left the train, she turned to Mathis and Uwe. “See you later. Thanks for letting me look at the atlas with you. It was great.” Then she was gone.

The boys didn’t have to wait long before a tall, friendly-looking man approached them. “Here we go then.” He picked Uwe up in his arms. “Oh, laddie,
nooo
, yer no bigger than a minute! Ya need ta eat a ton o’ eggs and bacon, my boy! What do you young’uns call yerselves?”

“I’m Mathis, and that’s my brother, Uwe.”

The man looked Mathis over from top to bottom.
“
Hmm
. Yer just a wee thing yerself. Don’t worry, we’ll getcha fat and sassy in no time. I’m Harm Voss, director of the children’s home. Have you ever been to the sea?”

The boys shook their heads.

“Well then, it’s about time. The sea makes little boys strong. I’ve seen it meself.”

Uwe put his small head on Harm’s shoulder and closed his eyes.

“Will you be our friend, Harm?” Mathis looked with fascination at the huge man.

“Of course! What do ya think?”

Maybe this trip wasn’t going to be so bad after all, Mathis thought.

Horse-drawn carriages carried the entire group to the children’s home. As they drove through the town, laughing children ran next to the coaches and called out in greeting: “
Moin-moin
, Happy Holiday!” Mathis was surprised. Why did they say
moin
when it was almost evening? At home people said
moin
only in the morning. Strange!

He sat with Uwe in Harm’s carriage, which they both liked very much. Harm sang old sea shanties the whole way. Some Mathis had heard before, but most were new to him. He hummed along softly.

“Hard starboard is the dike,” Harm shouted, pointing to the right with his riding crop. The strong winds nearly drowned out his strong voice. A flock of seagulls passed overhead, their screeches almost deafening. Mathis yelled as loud as he could to Harm, “May we see the sea, please?”

Harm called out, “Whoa,” and signaled for the coachmen behind him to stop, too.

“What is it?” called the woman from the train station. She ran toward them, her skirt gathered in her hands.

“The lads want to see the sea.”

“There’ll be plenty of time for that later.”

“Nah, this is the right way. Low tide, ya get my meanin’?”

“The children have to eat. We need to keep to the plan.” Standing with her hands on her hips, she threw Harm a challenging look.

“I doubt the sea knows that. Come on, kids. There you go.” He pointed to the steps on the dike, and the children laughed and jumped from the carriage. As soon as Mathis’s feet hit the ground, he wanted to start running. Then he saw his brother. Uwe sat on the carriage seat with blankets draped over his useless legs and tears in his eyes. Mathis couldn’t very well leave Uwe alone. He hung his head and dragged himself back. Just as his foot hit the carriage step, he felt someone pull him back by the arm. “Run now, before the sea rushes in!” Harm punched Mathis’s shoulder gently, then picked up Uwe in his blanket and carried him toward the water.