“Ah, that is something we have in common then. My mother is also gone. She died when I was a baby. I do not remember her.”
I felt a stab of pity for him. I yearned to take his hand, not merely because he was so handsome (I told myself) but because I genuinely sympathized with the poor, motherless boy he had been. Instead, I said, “I am sorry. My mother and I, we were great friends. I cannot imagine growing up without her, even though I did not have her long.”
“What was she like?” Karl paused in his walking and looked at me. I thought I should keep going, should get home, and yet I wanted to stop. It had been so long since I had talked to anyone, at least about anything, except to Father, about whether we needed more chicken feed, or to my sister, asking if I could watch her baby for the day. Karl seemed actually interested in hearing me. But perhaps he was merely being polite.
But why would such a beautiful young man even be polite to me?
“Mama.” I pictured her, in her bed, the feather pillow atop her face to block the noise and light. “She was always sickly. I never remember her being well. I suppose I should not complain about the work, for my sisters had all the work before me, and they had to care for me. And care for her.”
“They are gone now, married?”
“Yes. Sometimes, when they were out at market, and Mama and I were alone, I would crawl into bed beside her, and she would sing to me. She also taught me how to read.”
“You can read?” He sounded surprised.
“Yes. Can you not?”
“Of course I can. But I’m . . .” He hesitated, and I heard his unspoken words. I’m a man. You’re a girl. But he said, “I’m a student. I do little other than read. I would think you would not have time to read.”
“Father says I do not. But Mama taught me, for it was the one thing we shared, and now I read every night to remember her. I only own two books, but one of them is the Bible, so it takes a long while to read.”
He smiled. “And what is the other?”
I felt my face get warm, and I looked away. “You will think it silly.”
“Try me.”
“It is called Exciting Stories, and it is a book of stories that are . . . well . . .”
“Exciting?”
“Exactly,” I whispered. “I know it sounds like a waste of time, but nothing exciting has ever happened to me.” Until today. “Each day has been exactly like the one before, except when Mama died, which was bad, or when my sisters married, which was good for them but merely a big party and a lot of work for me. And then more work when they left.”
He nodded. “I understand. Nothing very exciting happens in my life either.” He drew in a deep breath.
“But how is that possible? You’re a student.” I did not know what students did, exactly, having never been to school. But I had seen the group of buildings, the university, and I pictured young men, all learning from books and from one another, and then going out into the world to accomplish things and lead lives that had nothing to do with mine.
“Yes.” He nodded. “I know I am lucky, but like you, I do the same things all day, and they are exactly what someone else—everyone else—expects of me. I have started to go to the market and talk to people, just so I can see how they live.”
I nodded, understanding. I wanted so much to touch him but, of course, I didn’t. Still, he was so near I could almost feel the warmth of him, anyway, could almost imagine how his hand would feel, clasped in mine.
I could not give in to it. In fact, I had to get home. It was dark, long past the time when Father would be expecting dinner. I had put soup on the fire. Still, he would wonder and disapprove.
“We should walk,” I said.
“Of course. But I like talking to you. Can you keep talking? Maybe tell me one of the stories from that book. Is there one you know by heart?”
“Of course. I know all of them by heart.” I began to walk, though slowly. “I have read them so many times.”
“Then please?”
I thought about which one to tell, and finally, I settled on one about a sailor who fell in love with a mermaid.
“There once was a sailor who was very lonely out at sea. The other sailors had loves at home, but he didn’t, so he would sing sad songs all his days. Then, one day, he saw a mermaid on the rocks. She also sang a sad song, and soon, they sang together. They fell in love, but of course, they could not be together, for she had to live underwater while he could only breathe air.
“The sailor was very sad, even sadder than he had been before. Now that he had known love, he could not live without it. So one night, he tied an anchor to his leg and plunged into the ocean. The mermaid saw him, and she rescued him. She dragged him down to her watery kingdom where they lived happily, under the sea.”
We were close to home when I finished. I could hear the Isar, lovely and cold, a bit like the ocean with the mermaid. I looked down, afraid he would think my tale too simple. But he said, “That was lovely. It has been a long time since anyone has told me a story like that.”
“But you read all day.”