Читать книгу The Greenest Wind - Gesine Schulz - Страница 4

A Crazy Aunt in Ireland

“Aunt Paula? You want me to go to Aunt Paula’s? But she’s crazy!”

“Nonsense, Lucy. Why on earth would you say a thing like that?”

“Because that’s what you always say: ‘Paula is crazy.’”

“Oh, I see. Well, that’s just a saying. It doesn’t mean she really IS crazy. It’s just that sometimes she does things that a sensible person wouldn’t do. You see what I mean?”

“No,” said Lucy.

“Well, anyway, she’s NOT crazy. And I’m sure she would love to have her niece come and visit.”

“But I don’t even know Aunt Paula.”

“Well, then it’s about time you got to know her, isn’t it? Besides, she did come to visit us a few years ago. I’m sure you remember.”

“No, I don’t.”

“No? Well, all right. I guess you were still pretty little. Doesn’t matter. I know you’d love it there with her.”

“But Mama! She lives in a tent because her house doesn’t have a roof!”

“That was a long time ago, Lucy. I have no doubt her house has been fixed up in the meantime and has a roof, too. We’ve had lots of Christmas and birthday cards from her since then, and if she was still writing them in a tent, I’m sure she would have mentioned it. You see, it’s things like that I’m talking about when I say she’s cra–, I mean...different. If a person falls in love with a place they take a vacation in, maybe they go there the next year, too. They don’t just quit their job and give up a promising career and then use up all their savings to buy a ruin and move in! Still, she seems to like it there. I’ll ask her if you can come for a visit.”

“The house is all by itself in the middle of nowhere, you always said. I don’t want to go there, Mama. Please, can’t I go with Papa?”

“I’ve already told you I don’t mind. If they say you can tag along, you’ll go to France. But I’m still going to write to Paula. Actually, we’re running out of time. I’d better check into sending a telegram. She hasn’t got a phone.”

No phone and maybe no roof! Who knew what else was missing? I don’t want to stay with a woman I don’t even know, thought Lucy. Even if she’s my aunt ten times over.

She grabbed her jacket and left the apartment. A couple of girls from her class were at the playground and waved to her. Lucy waved back and kept walking. She didn’t feel like talking to anyone right now. Except maybe Kora. Lucy changed direction and started running. One street-crossing on a red light, a short run straight through the park, and there she was, in front of the apartment block where Kora lived.

Lucy buzzed their signal – one long, three short. Code for: get down here, on the double!

Ninety-three seconds later, Kora opened the door. “What’s up?”

Lucy shrugged her shoulders. “You want to go to Mr. Chang’s for some ice cream? I’m buying.”

“Sure, but I’d rather have hot chocolate. With whipped cream. With cinnamon sprinkled on it. And chocolate flakes. It’s too cold for ice cream. For me, anyway.”

Kora couldn’t afford to go the ice cream parlor so often. She didn’t get a very big allowance. But Lucy always had more than enough pocket money. If Kora was broke, Lucy paid. It didn’t matter what the weather was like: Lucy always felt like eating ice cream. Her favorite was strawberry ice cream with little chunks of fruit in it, covered with a cloud of freshly whipped cream. She ate ice cream even in the winter.

She linked arms with Kora. “What kind of pink do you want for your Barbie blanket? Maybe strawberry ice cream pink?”

“Is that why you rang the bell?”

“No. It just popped into my head.”

They walked into Chang’s ice cream parlor. Mr. Chang was Chinese and made Italian ice cream. The best in town.

“Hi, Mr. Chang.”

“Hello there, Lucy. Hello, Kora.”

“A dish of strawberry ice cream and a large hot chocolate, please,” Lucy said.

They sat down at one of the little round tables. Mr. Chang brought them their order: a high-sided silver dish crowned by an equally high mountain of whipped cream smothering the strawberry ice cream below. And a giant cup of hot chocolate topped with an island of whipped cream sprinkled with cinnamon and chocolate flakes.

“Mmmhh!” said Lucy and Kora. They bent over the table and dipped their mouths in the cream.

“It’s about my vacation,” said Lucy. “Everything’s booked up. We started looking too late. But Mama doesn’t mind if I go along with Papa and Christopher. And Ilona.”

“Hey, that’s great! So, it’s all set!”

“Yes. No,” Lucy said. “I don’t know yet if they want me along.” She looked at her friend uncertainly. “We still have to ask them.”

“Oh,” Kora said. “Well, then... But don’t you think your father would be glad if you went along?”

“Do you think so?” Lucy asked.

“Don’t you think so?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Lucy didn’t feel quite so down anymore. “But there’s something else.” She told Kora about the Ireland plan.

“Oh, no!” Kora exclaimed. “That’s horrible.”

“Yeah, I know.” said Lucy.

“I’m afraid not, Lucy,” said Ilona firmly.

Lucy sat on the sofa, looking at the floor, and she could feel her face burning. “I wouldn’t be any bother to you. I promise I wouldn’t.”

“The answer is no, Lucy. Sorry.”

“I could play with Christopher and look after him.”

“We have an au pair for Christopher. You know that. Susan will have enough time for him.”

“Papa, please. Please!”

Her father was standing at the window, looking out into the yard. He turned around.

“You heard Ilona, Lucy. I’m sorry if you’re disappointed, but we’ve had this vacation planned for a long time. Just because your mother suddenly upends her plans doesn’t mean we have to do the same thing. You’d be bored, anyway. The house is a long way from the nearest village. There wouldn’t be any other kids your age around, and–”

“But I’d really like to spend some time with Christopher, and-”

“No, and that’s final, Lucy. Enough of this. You can go and spend a little more time with him now. Susan’s getting him ready for bed.”

Lucy stood up and left the room. In the hallway, she stopped and stared up at the ceiling so her tears wouldn’t fall. She heard Ilona say: “I can’t believe Birgit – sending that child here to beg us like that!”

“I’ll talk to her,” her father said.

Horrified, Lucy put her hand up to her mouth. Now he’d complain to her mother! Would it be her fault?

Quietly, she went up the stairs and opened the door to Christopher’s room. Susan was just putting Christopher in his crib.

“Lucy, come and help me. Your little brother doesn’t want to go to bed.”

Christopher pulled himself up on the bars and looked at Lucy.

“You little monkey,” said Lucy, tickling his neck.

“Grleglre pfhhhh,” he gurgled, and laughed.

“All right, little man,” said Susan, grabbing him under the arms and swinging him up high and out of the crib. “You can stay up for just a little while yet. Sit in the rocking chair, Lucy.”

Susan unloaded Christopher into Lucy’s lap. Lucy put her arms around him. She sighed.

“Well, what’d they say about your plan?”

“They don’t want me along.”

“I’m sorry, Lucy. Are you really sad now?”

Lucy nodded.

“I can see why. You know what? I’ll write to you from France and tell you what that little brother of yours is getting up to. Would you like that?”

Lucy nodded several times. Her eyes filled with tears. But she didn’t want to cry. She nodded again.

Susan patted her leg. “Good. It’s a deal.”

Christopher had fallen asleep in Lucy’s lap. Susan carefully picked him up and laid him in his crib.

“So, then you’ll be going to Ireland, won’t you?”

“But I don’t want to go to Ireland.”

“Beautiful country,” Susan said. “Very green from all that rain. And the people are friendly.”

“I don’t like rain,” Lucy said.

“Oh, Irish rain is very special, you know. They have lots of different kinds of it there. And rainbows, of course. Ireland is famous for its rainbows.”

“I don’t want to go to Ireland.”

Susan smiled. “When you pout, your lip sticks out just like Christopher’s.”

“Really?” said Lucy. “Just like his? Well, we are related, you know.” She hurried into the bathroom. But by the time she got to the mirror, her pouty lip had disappeared. She heard the front yard gate shut and ran to the window. “Mama’s coming! I have to warn her. Bye, Susan.”

Lucy threw Christopher a kiss. She hurried down the stairs but stopped in front of the living room door. Too late. Her mother was already in there. She heard her father say: “…that’s why I have to tell you, Birgit, if you’re not able to make arrangements for Lucy, you’ll have to cancel your trip. You can’t–”

“Of course I’m able to make arrangements for Lucy, Markus. She’s going to Ireland to stay with Paula.”

Lucy sank down on the bottom step. She had to go to Aunt Paula’s! Suddenly, she started feeling queasy.

“Oh, really?” her father said. “Lucy didn’t say a word about that. Well, that’s fine, then. How is Paula, anyway? Still hasn’t had enough of the simple life?”

“She sounded cheerful enough. Somehow she manages to make ends meet. Seems like she’s still puttering around with her mirrors. Glues seashells on them. She sells them. To tourists, I guess.”

“Good Lord,” Lucy’s father said. “Sounds awful. And she always had such good taste. But if it brings in a little money... And you? Lucy says you’ve got a new boyfriend. Is he the right one this time?”

“Yes, Markus, I think he is.”

“Well, I hope you’ll be happy.”

Yes, Lucy thought. I hope so, too. Since the divorce, her mother had had two boyfriends, but both times it had fallen apart after just a few months. For weeks afterward, her mother had been sad and would sit at the breakfast table with her eyes red from crying. Lucy had worried about her.

She crossed her fingers on both hands and shut her eyes tight. She hoped things with Kurt would go well. Then she’d finally have time to worry about other things: about her awful D minus in needlework class, for instance, all because she couldn’t sew that ugly vest or that stupid pillowcase; or about seeing Christopher so seldom; or about how she could visit more often without her mother or Ilona being dead set against it.

“Paula called today,” her mother said in the car on the way back. “Imagine that. She’s even got a telephone now. She’s really looking forward to your visit.”

Lucy crossed her arms and turned her head away. Shipped off to an artsy-craftsy aunt in Ireland!

“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.