Sea Air (5 page)

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
granades
. 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?”

“Six weeks. They were weeks that changed their lives.”

“You both became sailors then.” I could see it in my mind’s eye: Mathis and Uwe all grown up, dressed in fancy uniforms, pipes in the corners of their mouths as they stood at the helm of the
Gorch Fock
. In my imagination, Mathis picked up his binoculars and . . .

“Sailors? No, neither of us became sailors.”

What? The image disappeared before my eyes, my fantasy about Mathis and Uwe ruined.

“But why? I mean . . .” I felt suddenly teary. Since the day we’d met—was it only the day before?—I had cultivated the idea of Mathis being a sailor. Hearing the opposite felt like a real loss.

“Life pulled us in another direction.”

“But what happened? I thought Mathis and Uwe heard the call of the sea.”

“Of course they did. They even pictured themselves staying there forever.”

“So what happened? Oh, I’ll bet I know! It had to be—”

Mathis laughed. “Hold on. I’d better tell you before you make up something crazy.”

“Fine, but I want to know every single detail.”

“If you say so.”

“But first, Mathis . . .”

“Yes?”

“Do you mind if I rest my head on your legs?” I could tell he didn’t know what to say. I could feel my heart beating against my ribs. Without a word, Mathis tapped one thigh and helped me lie down on the bench. I rested my head on his legs like a pillow and drew up my knees. Slowly my heart calmed down as I snuggled up and listened to his voice.

The next morning, it took Mathis a moment to remember where he was. Once he did, he leaped out of bed and ran to the window. Yes, the lighthouse was there! And the ocean . . . Mathis froze. The sea was gone! How was that possible? Then he remembered what his father had told him. At the North Sea coast, the water ebbed and flowed. The water disappeared and then reappeared. Mathis remembered that it had something to do with the moon. Relieved, he settled his elbows on the table and looked out some more.

“Can I look, too, please?” Uwe was awake now, too, and trying hard to push his thin legs toward the edge of the bed. Mathis ran over, pulled a chair up to the bed, and lifted Uwe by his armpits. It took all of Mathis’s strength, but he finally managed to put his brother into the chair. He then slid the chair forward to the table. Uwe leaned on his arms and looked out.

“Where’s the sea?” Uwe became quite pale at the unexpected view.

“It’s low tide. Remember, Father explained it to us.” Mathis put his hands on his hips. “Did you forget already?”

Uwe looked confused for a moment, then started laughing. “Of course,” he said happily. “Ebb and floom!”

“Flow.”

“Ebb and flow. High tide and low tide. When will the water come back?”

“It’s already on the way. It’ll be here at ten.” Harm Voss had appeared behind the boy. He patted Uwe’s arm. “Getting across the room every time you want to look at the sea will wear you out. We’ll need to change things up a bit, wee lad.” He moved Uwe to Mathis’s bed and pushed the table and chairs aside. With a few powerful shoves, he pushed Uwe’s bed under the window. “That’s a wee bit better!”

The boys clapped. “Can I please sit there now?” Uwe pointed to his bed.

“Later, laddie. It’s time for breakfast now. Eat as much eggs and bacon as you can, and soon you’ll be running with us on the beach.”

“Really?” asked Uwe quietly.

“Scout’s honor.”

That morning, Uwe ate more food than he’d ever eaten in a single meal. The others could hardly believe how much he could pack away!

“We will be going for a hike today,” the woman from the train station announced later, after lunch. The children knew now that her name was Miss Sturm and she was in charge of everything at the children’s home—except for Harm Voss, of course. “You may run along the beach and collect seashells. The Hagena boys will stay here. We’ll be back for dinner.”

Mathis couldn’t believe it. Everybody else was going to collect seashells, and he had to stay behind? They’d spent the morning doing arts and crafts, when all he really wanted to do was to walk on the beach and watch the sea return. This wasn’t right! He moped all the way back to his room, took out Anna’s atlas, and sat on his bed with it. Uwe had been taken to the doctor and would be back soon. Then they could look at the atlas together. Mathis wiped his eyes. He didn’t want to cry now. He had promised his mother he’d be brave. But why did his brother have to be sick? Why couldn’t they play on the beach like everyone else? He heard the cheerful voices of children coming from outside, then things suddenly became very quiet. He heard someone singing “Das Wandern ist der Müller’s Lust,” and then the song faded into the distance. Now he really couldn’t help but cry. He threw himself onto the bed and sobbed.

Suddenly, he felt a hand patting his head. He looked up, but before he even saw whose hand it was, he saw a sand shovel and a small tin bucket. It had to be a mistake. Unless . . . Mathis realized it was Harm Voss who stood in front of him, and he was holding out the beach toys.

“Are those . . . for me?” Mathis hardly dared ask.

“Who else? Unless you don’t like to play in the sand . . .”

Mathis jumped out of bed and grabbed Harm’s hand.

“Uwe’s already there. He’s going to build a sand castle and I figured you might want to help. Hey, stop squeezing my hand so hard. You’re stronger than you look!”

Mathis laughed. Of course he was strong, even stronger than Harm knew.

Mathis and Uwe stayed on the beach until dinner and built a huge castle. They watched with fascination as the sea withdrew from the beach bit by bit, leaving dark, muddy soil in its wake. Father had called this ground the foreshore. Mathis saw some people sink up to their calves when they walked on it. He decided to give it a try. Slowly he felt his way forward. The ground was so warm! With each step, mud squished between his toes. It felt wonderfully soft and silky. Harm had told him a person could walk all the way to the island at low tide. Mathis raised his hand against the afternoon sun and looked toward Neuwerk for a long time. He wished he could run right over and explore it!

“Come on, Mathis. It’s time to go back. Dinner will be waiting.” Harm’s voice tore him from his thoughts and back to the beach. “Look what you boys built! Why, I think that’s the best castle I ever saw.”

“We did it all by ourselves!” Uwe beamed with pride. “Can we come back tomorrow?”

“I think so, unless Miss Sturm has something else planned for you lads. But when I tell her what a great castle you’ve built, she’ll likely see it our way. Good builders are in demand these days.”

Mathis’s face darkened. “At home, everything is wrecked. Father says the bombs did it. People really do need builders back home. Momma thinks everything will be fixed up again, but I don’t. It’s all destroyed. I don’t think it can ever get fixed.”

Harm patted Mathis on the shoulder. “I’m sure your mother is right. Everything will probably look much nicer when you go back.”

“I’m not going back! I’m staying here forever and I’m going to be a sailor! I’m never going back to that horrible place, not ever!” Mathis’s eyes flashed with wild determination and he clenched his hands into fists.

“What have we done to you young’uns, and how can we ever make it right again?” Harm said softly. His usually cheerful voice sounded infinitely sad.

They walked back to the children’s home in silence.

“Mathis, will you really stay here and never go home?”

The boys sat on Uwe’s bed, Anna’s atlas open in front of them.

“No, Uwe, never again. Look how beautiful it is here and how quiet. And think of all the good food they give us.” Mathis shuddered at the memory of the free but inevitably burnt school meals the Americans cooked for them, and of the makeshift buildings that served as the children’s school. “Anyway, there’s no sea at home. How can I be a sailor there? No, Uwe, I’m not going back. Wouldn’t you rather stay here, too?”

“Sure . . . but what about Momma? Wouldn’t she be sad if we didn’t come home?”

“Momma?” Mathis suddenly felt unsure. He hadn’t thought of that. Of course he wanted to be with his momma. Now what? He suddenly had a thought.

“Momma can come here, too. And Father, Anna, and Jürgen. We’ll all live together and I’ll be a sailor.” His eyes sparkled again. This was a great idea, and he and Uwe would never have to go back to that awful, ruined city.

Uwe clapped his hands in excitement. “Oh, good, Mathis! Let’s do that!” Suddenly he became thoughtful again. He rubbed his nose. “But, Mathis, what would Father do for work?”

Mathis was not sure whether a person could work as a finance official at the sea. He didn’t even know what a finance official did. What other kind of work could a person do at the sea? “I know! Father could be the lighthouse keeper! And we’d all live in the lighthouse!”

“Yay, a lighthouse keeper!” Uwe’s cheeks glowed with excitement. “Tomorrow you can write and tell Father and Momma. It’s a good thing you learned how to write a little!”

That night the boys fell asleep feeling perfectly satisfied with their plan.

The weeks at the children’s home flew by, and Mathis no longer felt afraid that he’d miss out on all the fun. He knew that Harm Voss was watching out for him. It didn’t even bother him that he and Uwe couldn’t hike with the other kids. He enjoyed spending those hours with Uwe on the beach, where they built sand castles and told each other stories about sailors and the sea. In the evenings, they often opened up the atlas and traced designated shipping routes with their fingers. Together they dreamed of sailing the Seven Seas and conquering foreign continents. Uwe’s strength grew each day. After three weeks, he started walking with the help of crutches. Slowly, he started to believe that one day he would be able to walk freely again. The boys hardly thought about home, and when they did talk about their family, it was to speculate about what it would be like when they all lived together happily in the lighthouse. The bombed-out home belonged to the past. One thing was perfectly clear to Mathis and Uwe: they would never go back.

Then one day, a letter came from Momma. The boys tore it open. When would the others come to the North Sea and move with them into the lighthouse? Their eyes traced over Momma’s sweeping handwriting: