The Solitaire Mystery

  I thought it was even more exciting to watch people move their eyelids. Of course, they all blinked, but they didn’t all blink at the same rate. It was strange to see how the small folds of skin over their eyes went up and down quite by themselves. I’d once watched a bird blink. It had looked as though there was a built-in mechanism regulating the blinking. I now thought the people on the boat blinked in a similar mechanical fashion.

  Some Germans with huge stomachs reminded me of walruses. They lay on deckchairs with white caps pulled down over their foreheads, and the only thing they did all morning, apart from dozing in the sunshine, was rub themselves with suntan lotion. Dad called them ‘Bratwurst Germans’. At first I thought they came from a place in Germany called Bratwurst, but then Dad explained he called them that because they ate so many fat sausages called bratwurst.

  I wondered what a ‘Bratwurst German’ thought about while he lay in the sun. I decided he thought of bratwurst. At any rate, there was nothing to suggest he thought about anything else.

  I continued my philosophical investigations all morning. Dad and I had agreed not to follow each other around all day, so I was given permission to move freely about the boat. The only thing I had to promise was not to jump overboard.

  I borrowed Dad’s binoculars and spied on some of the passengers a couple of times. This was exciting, because naturally I had to avoid being discovered.

  The worst thing I did was follow an American lady who was so crazy I thought she might bring me closer to understanding what a human being is.

  I caught her standing in a corner of the lounge, glancing behind her to make sure nobody was watching her. I was spying from behind a sofa, being careful not to be discovered. I had butterflies in my stomach, but I wasn’t frightened for myself. I was actually nervous for her sake. What was she up to?

  I finally saw her pull out a green makeup bag from her handbag. Inside, she had a little pocket mirror. At first she stared at herself from all angles, then she began to smear on lipstick.

  I immediately understood that what I was observing might be of relevance to a philosopher, but there was more. When she had finished putting on her makeup, she started to smile at herself. It didn’t stop there either. Just before she stuffed the mirror back into her bag, she raised one of her hands and waved to herself in the mirror. At the same time, she winked and smiled broadly.

  When she disappeared out of the lounge, I lay in my hideout completely exhausted.

  Why on earth did she wave to herself? After some philosophical deliberation, I decided this lady was a rare bird – maybe even a lady joker. She must have been aware of the fact she existed when she waved to herself. In a way she was two people : she was the lady who stood in the lounge and smeared on the lipstick, and also the lady who waved to herself in the mirror.

  I knew it wasn’t really legal to carry out human experiments, so I stopped with this one. However, when I spotted the lady again, later that afternoon at a bridge party, I walked straight over to the table and asked, in English, if I could have the joker.

  ‘No problem,’ said the lady, and handed me the joker.

  When I walked away, I raised one of my hands and waved at her. At the same time I gave her a wink. She almost fell off her chair. She may have wondered whether I knew her little secret. If she did, then she is probably sitting somewhere in America, still suffering from a guilty conscience.

  This was the first time I had ever bummed a joker all on my own.

  Dad and I had agreed to meet in the cabin before dinner. Without giving everything away, I told him I’d made some important observations, and we had an interesting conversation over dinner about what a human being is.

  I said it was strange that we human beings are so clever in so many ways – we explore space and the composition of atoms – but we don’t have a better understanding of what we are. Then Dad said something so brilliant, I can remember it word for word.

  ‘If our brain was simple enough for us to understand it, we would be so stupid we wouldn’t be able to understand it after all.’

  I sat thinking about this for quite a long time. In the end, I decided it said just about everything that could be said about my question.

  ‘There are brains which are much simpler than ours,’ Dad continued. ‘For example, we understand how an earthworm’s brain functions – at least most of it. Yet the earthworm doesn’t understand it itself, its brain is too simple.’

  ‘Maybe there’s a God who understands us,’ I piped up.

  Dad jumped in his seat. I think he was rather impressed that I could come up with such an intelligent idea.

  ‘That might be true, yes,’ he said. ‘But then he would be so hideously complicated, he would hardly understand himself.’

  He now waved to the waiter and ordered a bottle of beer with his meal. He sat philosophising until the beer was served.

  ‘If there’s one thing I don’t understand, it’s why Anita left us,’ he said as the waiter poured the beer into his glass.

  I was surprised when he suddenly used her name. He usually just said Mama, like I did.

  I didn’t like it when Dad talked about Mama so often. I missed her just as much as he did, but I thought it was better for us to miss her separately, rather than going around missing her together.

  ‘I think I know more about the makeup of outer space,’ he said, ‘than why that woman simply left without giving a proper reason why she was disappearing.’

  ‘Maybe she didn’t know herself,’ I replied.

  No more was said during the rest of the meal. I suspect that both Dad and I were wondering whether we really would find her in Athens.

  After dinner we walked about the boat. Dad pointed out all the officers and crew we saw and explained what their different stripes and marks meant. I couldn’t help thinking about the cards in a pack of cards.

  Later on that evening, Dad confessed he had been thinking of making a little trip to the bar. I decided not to make a big deal out of it, but said I would rather go to the cabin and read comics.

  I think he thought it was okay to be alone for a while, and as for me, I was eager to find out what Frode would tell Baker Hans while they sat looking down over the village of the dwarfs.

  Needless to say, I wasn’t going to read comics in the cabin. Maybe I was growing out of comics that summer.

  Anyway, one thing this day had taught me was that Dad wasn’t the only philosopher. I had started to be a tiny bit of one on my own.

  NINE OF CLUBS

  … a sweet juice which glitters

  and tastes mildly sparkling

  or fizzy …

  ‘It was just as well we left!’ began the old man with the long white I beard.

  He stared fixedly at me for a long time.

  ‘I was afraid you were going to say something,’ he added.

  Eventually he looked away and pointed down towards the village. Then he slumped back in his seat again.

  ”You haven’t said anything, have you?’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t exactly know what you mean,’ I replied.

  ‘No, that’s true. I did probably begin at the wrong end.’

  I nodded sympathetically. ‘If there is another end,’ I said, ‘then it is probably wise to start there.’

  ‘Aber natürlich!’ he exclaimed. ‘But first of all, you must answer an important question. Do you know what the date is?’

  ‘I’m not quite sure,’ I had to admit. ‘It must be around the beginning of October …’

  ‘I didn’t mean the exact day. Do you know what year it is?’

  ‘Eighteen forty-two,’ I replied – and now I began to understand.

  The old man nodded.

  ‘Then exactly fifty-two years have passed, my boy.’

  ‘Have you lived on the island that long?’

  He nodded again. ‘Yes, that long.’

  A tear formed in the corner of his eye. It trickled down his cheek, and he made no attempt to wipe it away
.

  ‘In October 1790 we set out from Mexico,’ he continued. ‘After a few days at sea, the brig I was sailing on was shipwrecked. The rest of the crew went down with the ship, but I clung to some solid timbers floating among the debris of the wreck. Eventually I managed to paddle my way to shore …’

  He sat deep in thought.

  I told him I had also come to the island following a shipwreck. He nodded sadly, and added : ‘You said “island” and I have said the same myself. But can we be sure this really is an island? I have lived here for more than fifty years, my boy – and I have wandered far and wide – but I have never found my way back to the sea.’

  ‘So it’s a big island,’ I said.

  ‘Which isn’t drawn on any map?’

  He looked up at me.

  ‘Of course, we might be stranded somewhere on the American continent,’ I said. ‘Or in Africa, for that matter. It isn’t easy to say how long we were prey to the ocean currents before we were washed ashore.’

  The old man shook his head in despair. ‘In both America and Africa you find people, young friend.’

  ‘But if it isn’t an island – and not one of the large continents either – what on earth can it be?’

  ‘Something quite different …’ he mumbled.

  Once again he sat deep in thought.

  ‘The dwarfs …’ I began, ‘is that what you’re thinking about?’

  He didn’t reply. Instead, he said, ‘Are you sure you come from the world outside? You’re not from here as well, are you?’

  Me as well? So he was thinking of the dwarfs after all.

  ‘I signed on in Hamburg,’ I replied.

  ‘Is that so? I come from Lübeck myself …’

  ‘But so do I. I signed onto a Norwegian ship in Hamburg, but my home town is Lübeck.’

  ‘Really? Now, before you go any further, you must tell me what has happened in Europe these past fifty years, while I have been away.’

  I told him what I knew. There was a lot about Napoleon and all the wars. I told him Lübeck was plundered by the French in 1806.

  ‘In 1812, the year after I was born, Napoleon led a military campaign in Russia,’ I concluded, ‘but he had to withdraw with great losses. In 1813 he was beaten in a great battle at Leipzig. Napoleon then took the island of Elba as his own little empire. However, he returned a few years later and re-established his French empire. He was then defeated at Waterloo, and his last years were spent on the island of Saint Helena, off the west coast of Africa.’

  The old man listened intently. ‘At least he could see the sea,’ he muttered.

  It was as though he was putting together everything I told him.

  ‘It sounds like an adventure story,’ he said after a while. ‘So this is how history has run since I left Europe – but it could have been a lot different.’

  I had to agree with him. History is like a long fairy tale. The only difference is that history is true.

  The sun was just about to disappear behind the mountains in the west. The little village was already in the shade. Down below, the little people milled around like coloured splotches between the houses.

  I pointed towards them. ‘Are you going to tell me about them?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I’m going to tell you about everything. But you have to promise me that nothing I tell you will reach their ears.’

  I nodded in anticipation, and Frode began his story.

  ‘I was a sailor on a Spanish brig on its way from Veracruz in Mexico to Cádiz in Spain. We were sailing with a large cargo of silver. The weather was both clear and calm, nevertheless the ship was shipwrecked only a few days after leaving port. We must have drifted, due to the lack of wind, somewhere between Puerto Rico and Bermuda. We had heard of strange things happening in these waters, oh yes, but we shrugged them off as being nothing more than old sea yarns. But then suddenly one morning the ship was lifted up from a perfectly calm sea. It was as though a giant hand had turned the brig around like a corkscrew. It lasted only a few seconds – then we were thrown down again. We lay battered in the sea, and then the cargo shifted and we started to take in water.

  ‘I have only a few hazy memories of the little beach which finally saved me from the sea. That’s because I immediately started to wander deeper into the island. After several weeks of roaming I settled down here, and this has been my home ever since.

  ‘I managed fine. Potatoes and corn grow here, as do apples and bananas. And there are also other fruits and plants which I had neither seen nor heard of before. Kurberries, ringroots, and gramines are an important part of my diet. I had to name all the strange plants on the island myself.

  ‘After a few years I managed to tame the six-legged moluks. Not only did they produce a sweet and nutritious milk, I also used them as work animals. Now and then I would kill one and eat the lean and tender meat. It reminded me of the wild boar’s meat we used to have at Christmas back home in Germany.

  ‘As the years passed, I developed medicines from the plants on the island, to treat the different illnesses I suffered from. I also concocted different drinks to help my mood swings. As you will soon see, I often drink something called tuff. It is a slightly bitter drink which I boil from the roots of the tufa palm tree. Tuff wakes me up when I am tired and want to stay awake – and makes me tired when I am awake and want to sleep. It is a tasty and completely harmless drink.

  ‘However, I also made something called Rainbow Fizz. It is a drink which is wonderfully good for your whole body, but at the same time so treacherous and dangerous that I am glad you can’t buy it over the counter at home in Germany. I brewed it from the nectar of the purpur-rose flower. The purpur is a small bush with tiny crimson flowers, and it grows all over the island. I didn’t have to pick the roses or tap the flower nectar myself. That job is done by the big bees; yes, they are bigger than the birds at home in Germany. They make hives in hollow trees, and there they collect their supplies of purpur nectar. All I had to do was help myself.

  ‘When I mixed the flower nectar with water from the Rainbow River, where I also get the goldfish, I got a sweet juice which glitters and tastes mildly sparkling or fizzy. That was why I called it “fizz”.

  ‘What was so enticing about Rainbow Fizz was that it didn’t give just one taste sensation. Oh no, the red drink attacked every sensory organ with as many tastes as a person can experience. And even more than that: you couldn’t just taste Rainbow Fizz in your mouth and throat, you could taste it in every single cell of your body. But it’s not healthy to consume the whole world in one gulp, my boy – it’s much better to take it in small doses.

  ‘As soon as I had developed Rainbow Fizz, I started to drink it every day. It cheered me up a little, but that was only in the beginning. After a while, I started to lose track of time and space. I might suddenly “wake up” somewhere on the island, unable to remember how I had got there. I would roam around for days and weeks without finding my way home. I would forget who I was and where I came from. It was as though everything around me was me. It started with a prickling sensation in my arms and legs, then it would spread to my head – and in the end, the drink started to eat away at my soul. Oh yes – I am glad I managed to stop before it was too late. Today Rainbow Fizz is drunk only by the others who live here on the island. Why this is so I will tell you soon enough.’

  We looked down over the little village while he talked. It started to get dark and the dwarfs lit the oil lamps between the houses.

  ‘It’s getting a bit chilly,’ said Frode.

  He got up and opened the cabin door, and we stepped into a little room where the furnishings made it clear that Frode had made everything he needed from things he had found on the island. Nothing was made of metal; everything was made out of clay, wood, or stone. Only one material gave evidence of civilisation – there were cups, mugs, lamps, and dishes all made out of glass. Around the room there were also a few large glass bowls with goldfish inside. And the peepholes
around the cabin had windows made of glass.

  ‘My father was a master glassblower,’ the old man explained – as though he had read my thoughts. ‘I had taught myself that skill before I went to sea, and it was useful here on the island. After a while I started to mix different sorts of sand. I was soon able to melt a first-rate glass in ovens which I made from a fireproof stone. I called this stone dorfite, because I found it in a mountain just outside the village.’

  ‘I have already visited the glassworks,’ I said.

  The old man turned round and looked at me seriously. ‘You didn’t say anything, did you?’

  I wasn’t sure whether I understood what he meant by his constant references to ‘saying anything’ to the dwarfs.

  ‘I just asked the way to the village,’ I replied.

  ‘Good! Now let’s drink a glass of tuff.’

  We each sat on a stool in front of a table, which was made from a dark wood I had never seen before. Frode poured a brown drink from a large glass jug into a couple of round glasses, then he lit an oil lamp which hung from the ceiling.

  I took a cautious sip of the brown drink. It tasted like a cross between coconut and lemon. For a long time after I had swallowed it, a bitter aftertaste remained in my mouth.

  ‘What do you think?’ the old man asked expectantly. ‘It’s the first time I’ve served tuff to a true European.’

  I said the drink was refreshing and tasty, which it was.

  ‘Good!’ he said. ‘Now I must tell you about my little helpers on the island. No doubt they’re the ones you’re sitting thinking about, my boy.’

  I nodded, so the old man continued his story.

  TEN OF CLUBS

  … I couldn’t understand how

  something could just grow out of

  nothing …

  I put the sticky-bun book down on the bedside table and started to wander about the cabin, thinking about what I had just read.

  Frode had lived on the strange island for fifty-two long years, and then one day he had met the drowsy dwarfs. Or had the dwarfs suddenly arrived on the island long after Frode had landed there?