Читать книгу The Greenest Wind - Gesine Schulz - Страница 5

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.

She ran into the kitchen, where her mother was busy cranking out lasagna noodles on the pasta maker.

“Mama, I think you gave me way too much underwear.”

“Well, we don’t know if Paula has a washer. It’s better to take plenty along.”

“But still – I’m not going to go through that much underwear in three weeks. Shouldn’t I take some out?”

Her mother wiped off her hands on a kitchen towel and sat down. “No, just leave everything the way it is. Come and sit down.”

“I wanted to go to the store now.”

“Yes, in a minute. I have something to tell you. Hmm, you know... Well, I packed so much underwear because you’ll be spending more than three weeks in Ireland.”

Lucy was dumbstruck with fright.

“Let me explain. You see, I’ll be on the ship for almost four weeks. That’s just the way it is; it won’t drop anchor any earlier. And after we do land, Kurt and I want to spend a few days in Cape Town. We’re lucky that Paula can take you in for five weeks.”

Lucy felt as if her throat was closing up. “Five?” she croaked.

“I knew you’d get upset. That’s why I didn’t tell you earlier. But you’ll see – once you’re there, it really won’t matter much if you stay three weeks or five.”

When her mother stopped talking, Lucy stood up slowly. She took the shopping basket, the pocketbook, and the list, and she left the apartment. As she went down the steps, she made sure to hold on to the railing. Her legs felt weak and shaky.

In the park, she sat down on the first bench she came to.

Five weeks. More than a month! That was too much. And it was mean. A mean, dirty, rotten trick. Lucy stood up, grabbed the basket, and then, scowling, stomped off to the grocery store.

She’d picked up most of the things on the list: apples, romaine lettuce, one organic lemon, Gruyère cheese. She was pushing her cart along the refrigerated shelves, looking for diet yogurt, when she suddenly stopped in front of a stack of butter wrapped in gold foil. Irish butter. Lucy stretched out her arm. With her thumbnail, she cut long, deep strips in the foil of the top package.

“There. That’s better,” she muttered. It looked awful.

On to the cosmetics section. She threw two packages of deep conditioner for hair into the cart and slowly pushed it by the hair dye. Some brands had little hanks of hair hanging from the shelf that showed how your hair would look afterwards. And they had really interesting names: Espresso, Wild Orange, Salmon Pink, Red Chili Pepper, Irish Red. Lucy opened her eyes wide. That was new!

She took a box of Irish Red from the shelf and tossed it in with her other items. Now she was in a hurry.