Gesine Schulz - The Greenest Wind

“So, everything worked out after all,” her mother said. “I’m so relieved. Now we can concentrate on getting ready for our vacations. Only two weeks to go before we leave. We’ll go shopping on Monday. How does that sound? We like to shop, don’t we, Lucy-bug?”

At home, Lucy’s mother got a note pad and started to make lists. She loved making lists – shopping lists, birthday lists, guest lists.

“We still have to get all kinds of things for our trips, sweetie. For the ship, I’ll need to stock up on moisturizer and makeup and what-not, get some new swimsuits, and so on. Get a piece of paper and write down what you think you’ll need for Ireland.”

“Tomorrow, Mama. I’m going to bed now.”

“Oh, my goodness. Is it already nine o’clock? Okay, off to bed you go. I’m going to work on this a while longer.” She sat over her lists, humming.

Lucy closed the living room door behind her. She didn’t want to make any list for Ireland. She didn’t want to go to Ireland.

“I don’t want to go to Ireland, Theodore,” she whispered to her teddy bear in bed. “I don’t want to go, but what I want doesn’t count. And I don’t need a list. I’m taking you. And my umbrella. Because it rains all the time there.”

That night she dreamed she was standing on a little island painted frog-green, and it was rocking like a boat in a stormy sea. It was pouring rain. She was wearing rain boots that were way too big for her, and she was huddled under Mama’s pink umbrella, Theodore tucked securely under one arm. In spite of the umbrella, they were both soaking wet, and she was chilled to the bone.

A Mean, Dirty, Rotten Trick

In the following days, Lucy’s mother was a cheerful whirlwind of activity: she arranged for someone from the garden center to take care of the plants on the roof-top terrace; she had herself vaccinated against tropical diseases; she picked up some foreign currency at the bank, and she took Lucy on a shopping trip to Düsseldorf.

She bought two bikinis and a one-piece swimsuit, six sundresses, one evening dress, sandals with silver straps, two pairs of sunglasses, a hat, and three different kinds of sunscreen. Lucy got yellow rain boots, a red rain jacket, and a green, broad-brimmed rain hat.

“Adorable!” squealed both the saleswomen in the children’s clothing boutique.

Lucy’s mother nodded. “My daughter’s going to Ireland.”

“Oh, I see,” one of the saleswomen said knowingly. “Lots of rain. And redheads everywhere you go.”

Lucy stared into the mirror and thought she looked like Paddington Bear. She’d rather get wet and catch pneumonia and die young than run around looking like that!

In English class, Miss Schmitt asked about their vacation plans. “Where are you going to spend your holidays?”

“I’m going to visit my aunt in Ireland,” Lucy said when it was her turn.

“Don’t forget your umbrella,” Miss Schmitt reminded her.

Kora asked why all Irish people had red hair.

Miss Schmitt said that not all Irish were red-haired, but many were; why that was, she didn’t know. And Mr. Heymann, who taught geography and liked to spend a lot of time in restaurants when he was on vacation, asked what sorts of regional foods there were where they were going.

Everyone knew something – everyone but Lucy. She hadn’t the faintest idea.

Mr. Heymann knew of only one typically Irish dish: mutton stew with cabbage and potatoes.

Lucy made a mental note not to touch it with a ten-foot pole.

Kora and Lucy had started going to Chang’s ice cream parlor every day after school, even though Lucy’s stomach was feeling a little funny.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t eat any ice cream,” Kora suggested.

Lucy shook her head. Lately, she’d constantly been feeling slightly sick to her stomach. Even at night whenever she happened to wake up. The ice cream was helping her fight it, she was sure.

“I’ve heard of people being bitten by the travel bug,” said Kora. “Maybe you got bit by one of those.”

Today, Lucy shoveled down her ice cream in a hurry; she wanted to eat another dish of it before she went home.

“Because one week from today I’m flying to Ireland, Kora. And I doubt if they’ll have an ice cream parlor in the middle of nowhere. I have to stock up now.”

There was an open suitcase in Lucy’s bedroom. “I’m starting to pack,” her mother said. “We’ve both got an appointment with Stefan later on to get our hair cut.”

Lucy took a look at her suitcase. A couple of woolen sweaters, thick socks, and her flannel nightgowns were already in there.

“Phooey,” Lucy muttered, kicking the suitcase shut. She sat on the bed, her back to the suitcase, and continued sewing together the patches for Mrs. Freitag’s afghan.

Stefan was quickly finished with Lucy’s hair, as always. Washed and cut off straight at the shoulder. As usual, Stefan and her mother had tried to talk Lucy into getting blond highlights.

Mother and daughter had the same ash-blond hair. Lucy’s mother thought it an unbearably boring color that needed sprucing up with a few honey-blond highlights. She couldn’t understand why Lucy kept refusing.

As Lucy’s mother paid, Stefan handed Lucy two little bottles: shampoo and conditioner.

“Travel-size,” he said. “Have a great vacation. But aren’t you kind of scared to be traveling all alone?”

“No,” said Lucy. “Thanks for the shampoo and–”

“Nonsense, Stefan,” her mother interrupted. “What do you mean by ‘all alone’? We’re flying to London together. From there I’ll put her in the plane to Ireland, where her aunt will pick her up. You can hardly call that ‘traveling all alone.’”

Scared, Lucy thought. Maybe I’m just scared, and there’s nothing wrong with my stomach – it’s not a travel bug bite. And it wasn’t the hour she’d be spending alone in the airplane that was bothering her, either: it was the three weeks afterwards.

The afghan for Mrs. Freitag was finished. There was hardly any black in it, and most of the grays were light hues. The one brown piece looked like a little smart-aleck there in the second row. It made Lucy smile whenever she looked at it.

“Look, Mama, I’m finished. What do you think?”

“Very nice, Lucy. Only that one piece doesn’t really go with the others. Didn’t you have enough of the other yarn?”

“Yes, I did. I just think it looks... I know it doesn’t go with the others. But I liked it because...well... I’ll just take it down to Mrs. Freitag now.”

Her mother nodded. “But don’t stay too long. I need you to get a few things at the store. Cheese for the lasagna tonight, deep conditioner for my hair, and – here, I’ve made a list for you.”

“Lucy – oh, my, it’s gorgeous!” Mrs. Freitag had spread the afghan out on her couch and was admiring it. “So carefully done, and the colors flow so well! You’re quite the little artist. I love it. Thank you, thank you.”

Lucy felt herself starting to blush. “In case you don’t like this one piece here – the color doesn’t really match – I can change it. But I can’t do it until I come back. I thought at first – but then it isn’t really...”

“Change it? Over my dead body, child. It has to be there. It’s what gives the afghan that special something. And Rufus was that color, wasn’t he? Caramel brown.”

Lucy beamed. “I have to go to the grocery store now. Bye, Mrs. Freitag.”

“Good bye, Lucy. I’ll think of you every time I use the afghan. Very often, in other words.”

Lucy hummed as she hopped up the steps on her way to the sixth floor. In her room, she glared at the open suitcase, which was filling up day by day, sometimes hour by hour. Underwear. Mountains of it.