As she ran towards me she threw off her fancy hat, and then she tried to pick me up, but she couldn’t – Athens isn’t the only place where things change in eight years. Instead, she wrapped her arms round me and squeezed me tightly.
I remember smelling her and feeling happier than I had done for many years. It wasn’t the kind of pleasure you have when you eat or drink something – this happiness wasn’t just in my mouth, it bubbled through my whole body.
‘Hans Thomas, Hans Thomas,’ she said breathlessly. After that she didn’t say another word. All she could do was cry.
Only when she looked up again did Dad walk onstage. He took a couple of steps towards us and said, ‘We have travelled across the whole of Europe to find you.’ He didn’t have to say any more before Mama threw both her arms round his neck and sobbed there, too.
The photographers were not the only witnesses to this bitter sweet scene. Several tourists stood gaping at us, without the faintest idea that it had taken more than two hundred years to arrange this meeting.
When Mama stopped crying, she suddenly switched to her role as model. She turned and said something in Greek to the photographers. They shrugged their shoulders and said something which must have made Mama angry, and a heated argument developed between Mama and the photographers before they understood that they had to make themselves scarce. They packed up their things and shuffled off down through the temple site. One of them even picked up the hat Mama had tossed aside as she ran towards me. As they rounded the corner of the entrance, one of them pointed to his watch and shouted something impudent at us in Greek.
Once we were left to ourselves, the three of us were so embarrassed we didn’t know what to say or do. It is relatively easy to meet people you haven’t seen for many years, but it always gets more difficult once you’ve got over the initial shock.
The sun was already so low in the sky that it lay below the gable of the ancient Temple of Poseidon. The columns along the one short wall cast long shadows across the promontory. I wasn’t particularly surprised to notice a red heart on the bottom left-hand corner of Mama’s dress.
I don’t know how many times we walked round the temple, but I understood that Mama and I were not the only ones who needed time to get to know each other again. It wasn’t so easy for an old seaman from Arendal to know how to speak to an experienced model who spoke fluent Greek and had lived in Greece for many years. It probably wasn’t any easier for the model. Nevertheless, Mama talked about the sea god’s temple and Dad talked about the sea. Many years ago Dad had sailed past Cape Sounion on his way to Istanbul.
As the sun slipped below the horizon and the contours of the ancient temple grew clearer and darker, we started to make our way down to the entrance. I held back for a few minutes because it was up to the two adults to decide whether this was going to be just a short meeting or the end of a long separation.
In any case, Mama had to drive back to Athens with us, as the photographers hadn’t waited for her in the carpark. Dad opened the Fiat door as though it were a Rolls-Royce and Mama was a princess.
Before Dad had got as far as putting the car in gear, all three of us were talking at once. Then we sped back to Athens, and after we passed the first village, I was appointed as moderator.
In Athens we parked the car in the hotel garage and walked along the pavement up to the entrance to the lobby. We stood there for a long while without saying anything. The truth was that the chatter had been constant from the moment we’d left the ancient temple, but none of us had raised the topic of what all this really was about.
Eventually I broke the awkward silence. ‘It’s about time we made some plans for the future.’
Mama put one of her arms round me, and Dad added a few sickening words about everything happening in due course.
After many if and whens, we all three went up to the roof terrace to celebrate the reunion with something cold and refreshing. Dad waved the waiter over and asked for soft drinks for the father and son and the house’s finest champagne for the lady.
The waiter scratched his head and sighed. ‘First the two gentlemen have a party on their own,’ he said. ‘Then they restrain themselves. Is it ladies’ night tonight?’
When he didn’t get an answer, he made note of the order and stumped back to the bar. Mama – who knew nothing about the previous occasions – looked at Dad in confusion. He in turn gave me a very stern joker stare, confusing her all the more.
Once we had talked at random for an hour without getting closer to the question everyone was thinking about, Mama insisted I go and get ready for bed. In a way, it was her contribution to child-rearing after having been away from her son for more than eight years.
Dad gave me a familiar ‘do as she says’ look, and it suddenly dawned on me that I was the reason for the halting conversation. I understood that the grown-ups had to talk together one to one. After all, they were the ones who had separated. I was just something which had complicated the whole affair.
I gave Mama a hug, and she whispered in my ear that she would take me to the best pastry shop in the city the next day. I was already preparing some secrets to tell her, too.
Once I had undressed in the hotel room, I got out the sticky-bun book right away and read on while I waited for Dad. There weren’t many pages of the teeny book left.
FOUR OF HEARTS
… we don’t know who is
dealing the cards either …
Baker Hans stared into space. While he was talking about the magic island, his deep blue eyes had possessed a special gleam, but now it was as if the spark had died.
It was late and very dark in the small room. Only a faint glow from the fireplace was left of what earlier that evening had been a roaring fire. Baker Hans got up and started to rake through the embers with a poker. The fire found a second life for a little while, throwing a flickering light over the goldfish bowls and all the other strange objects in the room.
Throughout the long evening I had absorbed every word the old baker had said. From the moment he had started to talk about Frode’s playing cards, I had been so captivated that I had hardly been able to breathe. On several occasions I had caught myself sitting with my mouth half open. I had never dared to interrupt him, and although he told me about Frode and the magic island only once, I am sure I remember everything he said.
‘And so in a way Frode returned to Europe after all,’ he concluded.
I wasn’t sure whether he said this to me or to himself. I just know I wasn’t quite sure what he meant.
‘Are you thinking of the cards?’ I asked.
‘Yes, them too.’
‘Because those were the cards lying upstairs in the attic?’
The old man nodded. Then he went into his bedroom. When he returned he had the little card box in his hand.
‘These are Frode’s playing cards, Albert.’
He placed the cards on the table in front of me. I felt my heart beat faster as I carefully lifted the pile out of the box and put it on the table. On top of the pile lay the Four of Hearts. I carefully thumbed through the other cards and studied each one. The colours were so faded I could hardly make out what they depicted, but some were quite clear – I found the Jack of Diamonds, the King of Spades, the Two of Clubs, and the Ace of Hearts.
‘Were these the cards ... which ran around on the island?’ I finally managed to ask.
The old man nodded again.
I felt as though every single card I held in my hand was like a living person. When I held the King of Hearts in front of the fire, I remembered what he had said on the strange island. Once upon a time, I thought to myself, once upon a time he was a little man full of life. He had run between the flowers and trees in the big garden. I sat for a long time holding the Ace of Hearts in my hand. I remembered her saying something about not belonging to this solitaire game.
‘Only the Joker is missing,’ I said, after I had counted all the cards and discovered there were only fifty-two in
the pack.
Baker Hans nodded.
‘He joined me in the great solitaire game. Do you understand that, son ? We are also dwarfs gushing with life, and we don’t know who is dealing the cards either.’
‘Do you think ... that he is still in the world?’
‘You can be sure of that, son. Nothing in this world can harm the Joker.’
Baker Hans stood with his back to the fire, casting enormous shadows over me. For a moment or two I was quite scared. I was no more than twelve years old at the time. Maybe Father was at home, in a rage because I was at Baker Hans’s and still hadn’t come home. Ah yes, but only on rare occasions did he wait up for me. He was probably lying somewhere or other in town sleeping off the booze. Baker Hans was the only one I could really depend on.
‘Then he must be terribly old,’ I protested.
Baker Hans shook his head vigorously. ‘Don’t you remember? The Joker doesn’t grow old like us.’
‘Have you seen him since you both came back to Europe?’ I asked.
Baker Hans nodded. ‘Just once ... and that was only about six months ago. For a second or two I thought I saw the little figure jump out in front of the bakery. But by the time I had run out onto the street, he had disappeared into thin air. That was when you came into this story, Albert. That same afternoon I had the pleasure of beating up some youngsters who were making your life miserable. And that ... that was exactly fifty-two years after Frode’s island sank into the ocean. I have worked it out over and over again ... I am almost positive that it must have been a Joker Day ...’
I stared at him in amazement.
‘Does the old calendar still hold true?’ I asked.
‘It looks like it, son. It was on that day that I realised you were the neglected boy whose mother had passed away. Thus I was able to give you the sparkling drink and show you the beautiful fish ...’
I was dumbfounded. Now I realised that the village dwarfs had been talking about me too at the Joker Banquet.
I swallowed hard.
‘How ... how did the story continue?’ I asked.
‘Unfortunately, I didn’t catch everything that was said on the magic island, but it is true for us human beings that everything we hear is stored in our minds even if we don’t remember it. Then one day it suddenly pops up again. Just now, as I was telling you about what happened on the magic island, I remembered what the Four of Hearts said after the Four of Diamonds spoke about showing the boy the sparkling drink and the beautiful fish.’
‘Yes?’
‘The boy grows old and his hair turns white, but before he dies, unhappy soldier comes from land in the north.’
I sat staring into the fire before me. I was in awe of life – and I have never lost this feeling. My whole life was framed in one sentence. I knew that Baker Hans would soon die – and I would become the next baker in Dorf. I also understood that I was the one who had to carry the secret of the Rainbow Fizz and the magic island into the future. I would live my life in this cabin here, and one day – one day an unhappy soldier would arrive from the land in the north. I knew that it was a long way off; it would be fifty-two years before the next baker arrived in Dorf.
‘The goldfish also form a string of generations which go all the way back to the fish I took from the island,’ Baker Hans continued. ‘Some of them live only a few months, but many of them live for years. I get just as sad each time one of them stops wriggling around the glass bowl, because they are all different. That is the secret of the goldfish, Albert – even a little fish is an irreplaceable individual. That’s probably why I bury them beneath some trees up in the woods. I put a tiny white stone on each silent grave, because I believe every goldfish deserves a little monument made of a more durable material than itself.’
Baker Hans died only two years after he had told me about the magic island. Father had died the previous year and Baker Hans managed to adopt me as his son, so everything he owned was left in my name. The last thing he said – as I leaned over the old man of whom I was infinitely fond – was: ‘The soldier doesn’t know that shaven girl gives birth to beautiful baby boy.’
I understood that this must be one of the sentences omitted from the Joker Game, which suddenly rushed through his head just before he died.
*
Around midnight I was lying on the bed deep in thought when Dad knocked on the door.
‘Is she going to come home to Arendal with us ?’ I burst out before he’d even got through the door.
‘We’ll have to wait and see,’ he replied, and I watched a secretive smile flit across his face.
‘But Mama and I are going to the pastry shop tomorrow morning,’ I said, to assure myself that the fish hadn’t got away just as we were about to pull it into the boat.
Dad nodded. ‘She’ll be in the lobby at eleven o’clock,’ he said. ‘She has cancelled all other engagements.’
That night Dad and I both lay staring up at the ceiling before we fell asleep. The last thing Dad said – either to me or to himself – was : ‘You can’t turn a ship under full sail at the drop of a hat.’
‘That might be true,’ I replied, ‘but destiny is on our side.’
FIVE OF HEARTS
… Now I needed to have
nerves of steel and not to count my chickens before
they hatched …
When I woke up the next morning I tried to remember what Baker Hans had said about the shaven girl just before he died. Dad soon started thrashing around in his bed, however, and the new day got the upper hand.
We met Mama in the lobby after breakfast, and now it was Dad’s turn to go on up to the hotel room again. Mama insisted on taking me to the pastry shop alone. We agreed to meet Dad a couple of hours later.
As we were leaving, I gave Dad a private wink as a way of thanking him for the day before. I tried to communicate that I would do my best to bring Mama to her senses.
Once we had ordered at the pastry shop, Mama looked me straight in the eyes and said, ‘I don’t expect you understand why I left you both, Hans Thomas.’
I wasn’t going to be thrown by this opening, so I replied calmly, ‘Do you mean to say you know why ?’
‘Well, not exactly …’ she admitted.
But I wasn’t going to let her get away with half an admission. ‘You probably have no idea why you just packed your suitcase and left your husband and son without a trace except for some smeary pictures in a Greek fashion magazine.’
A delicious plate of cakes and some coffee and a fizzy drink were placed on the table, but I wasn’t going to be bribed by this, so I continued: ‘If you are trying to say you don’t understand why you didn’t send so much as a postcard to your own son in eight whole years, then you’ll understand if I say thank you very much and leave you sitting here with your coffee.’
She removed her sunglasses and started to rub her eyes. I didn’t see any tears, but maybe she was trying to squeeze some out.
‘It’s not that simple, Hans Thomas,’ she said, and now her voice sounded as though it was about to break.
‘One year has 365 days,’ I continued. ‘Eight years have 2,920 days, and that’s not including February 29. But on neither of these two leap-year days did I get a peep out of my mother. It’s quite simple, in my opinion. I’m pretty good at mathematics.’
I think the bit about the leap-year days was the coup de grâce. The way I managed to include my birthday made her take both my hands in hers, and now the tears ran down her face in streams, without her rubbing her eyes.
‘Can you forgive me, Hans Thomas ?’ she asked.
‘It depends. Have you thought of how many games of solitaire a boy can play in eight years ? I’m not quite sure myself, but it’s a lot. In the end, the cards become a kind of replacement for a proper family. But if you think of your mother every time you see the Ace of Hearts, then something is wrong.’
I said this about the Ace of Hearts to see her reaction, but she just sat looking completely baffled.
‘The Ace of Hearts ?’ she gasped.
‘Yes, the Ace of Hearts. Didn’t you have a red heart on the dress you were wearing yesterday? The question, though, is who the heart is beating for.’
‘Oh, Hans Thomas!’
She was really confused now. Maybe she thought her son had become mentally disturbed because she had been away for so long.
‘The point is that because the Ace of Hearts has got herself mixed up in trying to find herself, Dad and I have had serious problems resolving the family solitaire game.’
You could have knocked her over with a feather.
I continued: ‘At home on Hisøy Island we have a drawerful of jokers, but they’re no good when we have to roam Europe looking for the Ace of Hearts.’
She smiled warmly when I mentioned the jokers.
‘Does he still collect jokers ?’
He’s a joker himself,’ I replied. ‘I don’t think you know the man. He’s a bit of a card, you know, but lately he has had more than enough to do trying to rescue the Ace of Hearts from the fashion fairy tale.’
She leaned over the table and tried to pat me on the cheek, but I just turned away. Now I needed to have nerves of steel and not to count my chickens before they hatched.
‘I think I understand what you’re saying about the Ace of Hearts,’ she said.
‘That’s good,’ I replied. ‘But don’t even think of saying that you know why you left us. The explanation for that mystery is really buried in something which happened with a magical pack of cards a couple of hundred years ago.’
‘What do you mean ?’
‘I mean that it was in the cards that you should travel to Athens to find yourself. It all has to do with a rare family curse. Clues were left in a Gypsy woman’s fortune-telling and an Alpine baker’s sticky bun.’
‘Now you’re pulling my leg, Hans Thomas.’
I shook my head knowingly. First I glanced round the pastry shop; then I leaned over the table and whispered, ‘The truth is, you’ve got mixed up in something which occurred on a very special island in the Atlantic Ocean long, long before Grandma and Grandpa met each other up at Froland. Moreover, it wasn’t accidental that you travelled to Athens to find yourself. You were drawn here by your own reflection.’