Gesine Schulz - The Greenest Wind

The Greenest Wind

A Summer in Ireland

Translated by Rebecca Heier

In memory of Mascha & Molly,

my Irish muses

Autumn – overlooked my Knitting –

Dyes – said He – have I –

Could disparage a Flamingo –

Show Me them – said I –

Cochineal – I chose – for deeming

It resemble Thee –

And the little Border – Dusker –

For resembling Me –

Emily Dickinson

Goodbye, California

“No, No, NO!” Lucy screamed, clapping her ears shut.

Her mother pulled Lucy’s hands down and held them tightly.

“Sweetheart, please try to understand,” she said. “It’s the perfect opportunity for me to spend a few weeks with Kurt. He called just a little while ago and I had to give him an answer right away.”

“But what about our summer vacation? You said we were going to California. You promised!”

“We can go to America some other time, Lucy, and we will. But Kurt would never understand if I turned down this chance to be with him on the ship. It’s such a lucky break that a cabin opened up at the last minute.”

Lucy’s gaze bored a hole through the wall behind her mother. Through it, she could see California. The blue, cold Pacific. Wide beaches. The hilly streets of San Francisco. And the winery of Mama’s friends where they’d planned to spend two weeks. A big, old, white mansion with pillars and a wrap-around porch. And for Lucy, a room of her own, with a balcony. Lucy sighed.

“I was really, really looking forward to it, Mama.”

“I know, honey. I’m so sorry.”

“Why can’t I go on the ship, too?”

“I’ve already told you: it’s a research vessel. Kurt and the other scientists will be working there. They only have a few cabins for visitors. Children aren’t allowed on board. And besides, it would be boring for you.”

“But–”

“It’s just not possible, Lucy. End of discussion. I don’t want to hear another word about it. Be reasonable about this, all right? Otherwise Mama will get a headache.”

Lucy said nothing. Sometimes she wished she could get headaches, too.

Tacked over Lucy’s bed was a map of the world. She’d drawn the flight route with a red jumbo marker. From Düsseldorf over the Atlantic, straight across America to San Francisco. Lucy took the thumbtacks out of the wall. She folded up the map and cut it into tiny pieces, letting them fall into the wastepaper basket.

“Bye-bye, California,” she murmured.

“I’m going over to Kora’s for a while, Mama.”

“That’s fine, honey,” her mother called from the living room. “Take the umbrella. It looks like it could rain.”

“Mmh,” Lucy answered. So what? Then she’d just get wet. It hadn’t been much of a summer so far. Chilly and wet. In California, no doubt, the sun was shining. Every single day.

“What?! You’re not going to America? I don’t believe it!” Kora’s eyes were wide. “Aren’t you mad? I would be so mad.”

“Ohh...” Lucy grabbed some potato chips out of the giant bag propped between Kora and her on the sofa. “Mad? I don’t know. I just feel empty. Like a busted balloon.”

“I’d be mad,” said Kora.

They kept reaching into the bag, snarfing down chips. Outside, the first drops of a heavy rain shower hit the window pane.

“I didn’t bring an umbrella with me,” said Lucy.

“Stay here. So now what are you going to do when school’s out?”

“What?”

“You’re not going to be flying off to the Wild West by yourself, are you?”

“Oh,” Lucy said. “No idea. I don’t know what I’m doing now.”

The two friends looked at each other in silence.

“She just forgot to tell you,” Kora finally said. “Right? Yeah, sure. That must be it.”

“I have to be going,” Lucy said.

“Yeah,” Kora said. “Take my umbrella.”

But the apartment door had already slammed shut behind Lucy.

She was as wet as a flounder by the time she got home.

“Oh, Lucy!” her mother said. “Go to the bathroom this instant. You’re making a puddle on the hardwood floor. I told you to take an umbrella.”

Lucy stayed right where she was. Drop by drop, the puddle was becoming a small lake. “Tell me what I’M doing this summer.”

Her mother closed her eyes and rubbed a hand across her forehead. “Lucy, sweetie...”

“You forgot about that, didn’t you,” Lucy said.

“Oh, Lucy!” said her mother loudly. “I didn’t forget. I did NOT forget about it. I just haven’t thought about it yet.”

Lucy shook her head. She could just imagine what would happen if she ever came up with an excuse like that.

Lucy lay in bed. The blue curtains were drawn. Rain pattered on the windowsill. The down duvet was fluffed up around Lucy and covered her up to the tip of her nose. She was holding her dark-brown teddy bear, Theodore, tightly in her arms.

“Everybody else knows what they’re doing this summer,” she whispered in his ear. “But not me. I only know what I’m not doing, Theodore. I’m not going to California.” Lucy pressed her face against his fur and sighed. He smells so good, she thought, and fell asleep.

At breakfast her mother announced: “I’m going to call around today and see what kind of camps there are for kids. How about horseback riding at the seaside? You like the water. Or what do you think about going to the mountains? Austria, maybe?”

“Oh, Mama, couldn’t I go to Italy with Kora and her mother?”

“Well, I’m not so sure about that.”

“Oh, Mama, please!”

“I don’t know if you’d be in such good hands there, Lucy. It all sounds awfully primit– well, let’s just say ‘simple.’ Let me see what else is available.”

Kora and her mother were going on a bus trip to Italy. They were staying in the former schoolhouse of a mountain village. The grown-ups were going to do the cooking. And there’d be courses – for kids, too. Acting lessons! You could even learn to play the drums.

“Do you think your mother would take me along?” Lucy asked Kora at recess.

“Sure.”

Immediately after school, Kora’s mother called to see if there was room for another child.

“Uh-huh,” she said into the receiver. “Uh-huh. Really? I see... Well, all right, then. Goodbye.”

“Sooo, girls. Unfortunately, they’re booked up. There’s even a waiting list. Sorry, Lucy. I would have liked to take you along.”

Lucy felt tears welling up in her eyes. She hadn’t figured on there not being any room left for her.

“Thanks, Mrs. Mueller,” she said. “Guess I’ll be going home now.”

Kora walked her to the door. “Too bad, Luce,” she said and stroked Lucy’s shoulder.

Lucy was sitting in the kitchen and knitting dark gray wool into a small square when her mother came home.

“Well, Mama, you don’t have to worry about Italy anymore. There aren’t any seats left on the bus.”

“Oh...! That’s a shame.”

Astounded, Lucy stared at her mother.

“Here’s what’s happening, Lucy. I made lots and lots of phone calls, and then I even went out and asked at two travel agencies. Trips for kids are booked up everywhere. Nobody’s got anything left. I don’t understand it – they keep saying that people don’t have any money these days.”

Lucy put her head down and knitted faster. Nothing left, nothing left, nothing left...

“Lucy! Are you even listening to me? Here I am, racking my brains trying to figure out something for your vacation. What is it you’re knitting now, anyway? That makes me so nervous.”

“It’s for Mrs. Freitag. A lap afghan.”