No," my husband says, no, he gasps it, "No!" I look up at him from the lounge: "What is it?" My husband's face is as white as cheese. "The 'old lady' has died, I mean the engine is dead!" Panicked, he presses the starter button. Nothing happens. Oh well. We are in Kappeln, the ship has just come back into the water. As always in February, which is why everyone thinks we're crazy. The engine is probably on strike because it's too cold, I think, but I'd rather keep that to myself.
"I'm going crazy!" my husband shouts, pressing and pressing the poor button. Then he inspects the engine, swearing and arguing with himself and the world. "This can't be happening. We wanted to sail in the beautiful winter sun." It's no use. The engine man who is called is not available until the week after next.
"What are we supposed to do until then?" my husband moans. And: "What I wouldn't give to be able to go out now. I'd do anything for it. I'd even be quiet and say nothing, not complain." I don't even listen any more. Only his "Oh, hello!" catches my attention again.
More from Steffi von Wolff:
Standing in front of our boat are Putzi and her husband, whose name is Urs but who wants to be called Gianni because, as he always says, he has "the vibrant south in his blood". He also likes to answer questions with "Si" instead of "Yes". The two of them are quite lone wolves, but at least they are friendly and nice. "What, your engine's broken? Gianni looks at us sympathetically. "Yes," says my husband. "It's a disaster. We wanted to go on a little spring tour in the beautiful sunshine." "You know," says Putzi, "if you weren't always complaining so much, we'd take you with us." Normally he wouldn't take that lying down. But now he just asks in consternation: "Where to?" Putzi: "Well, on a little spring tour. Our boat is going into the water today." My husband's mood suddenly improves. "I'm not going to complain. Not a word from me. I swear. So, are you taking us with you?" I'm a little embarrassed by his slightly submissive tone. But Gianni nods. "Si," he says graciously.
"We've never travelled with Putzi and Gianni before," I point out later. But my objections are ignored. The next morning: "Isn't it a marvellous day?" exclaims Putzi. "Let's go then!" Gianni is in good spirits and starts the engine, engages forward gear - but the boat doesn't move. "Stop!" shouts my husband. "The stern lines are still tight!" He shakes his head and loosens them. "Oh, it doesn't matter, they'll break at some point," says Gianni. My husband pinches his lips together and says nothing. Instead, he sets about hauling in the fenders. But: "Don't worry, they're always hanging outside with us," Putzi curbs his eagerness.
"Er, all right," he says. Putzi adds: "They're hanging there all right." I can feel my husband's pain. But before he can say anything, a motorboat roars past. The boat rocks briefly in the swell and there's a thud below deck. "Oh, I think that was the thermos flask. I still had coffee on." Putzi goes below and I look after her. She obviously hasn't closed the jug. Oh no, she left it on the cooker with the filter attachment. Now the coffee spills into the bilge and the coffee grounds are spread across the lounge floor.
"It's kicking itself", Putzi waves it off, deeply relaxed. My husband's face, on the other hand, twitches rhythmically. Coffee grounds and coffee in the bilge - oh. Oh. If there's one thing he can't stand, it's bad preparation. Before the lines are untied, everything has to be secured, stowed and packed and, in particular, the thermos flask has to be screwed shut. "Where are we actually sailing to?" I ask quickly to take my mind off the coffee disaster. "No idea," Gianni replies candidly. "We'll just drift along." My husband flinches again. "What do you mean, drift?" he asks. "You have to know where you're going. What does the weather say?" Gianni says that they said not to worry about Better Weather. "Not about what?" my husband asks. "I don't know," says Gianni. "That's just what they say."
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At least the sun is shining. My husband checks the weather. "It's going to rain later." Gianni nods: "Si, that's what I said." Before I can discover the meaning of this dialogue, there's another clatter downstairs. "Oh, the soup!" Putzi disappears back into the cabin. I don't want to know what it looks like there now. "You have to secure the things," says my husband in a tone that tries not to grumble. "Putzi did," says Gianni. "Yes, I left the soup in the pot," says Putzi cheerfully, "but I forgot the lid. I don't know where they all are." A little later, she adds: "Oops, the toilet overflowed. I forgot to close the valve."
My husband and I exchange glances. "Why don't you switch on your GPS," my husband asks Gianni. "It's broken. Not working, si," says Gianni. You could have guessed it. "You need GPS, don't you? Why don't you get it fixed?" My husband's tone becomes more forceful. Gianni remains calm: "I don't know what exactly is broken. It doesn't matter either. We know our way around here."
"Oh, we always leave the fenders outside. In general, you can overdo it with stowing and securing."
It says, and there's a clunk. We all jerk forwards violently together. We've run aground! "Oops," says Gianni. "That wasn't so good. At least the fenders are already hanging outside in case someone wants to lie in the packet, hahaha!" My husband's face is now turning red, and that doesn't change. He breathes in and out heavily and says nothing, nothing at all, not even after Putzi announces that the eggs have tumbled onto the floor. "I forgot to put them back in the box."
Luckily, a fishing boat comes by to help us. "Where do you want to go?" Gianni is just about to say that we should drift off when my husband interrupts him in a flash: "To Kappeln," he begs the fisherman. "Please. Quickly!"
"I don't understand why you don't want to stay," complains Putzi. "It's really nice here." I'm diplomatic: "That's very sweet, but this kind of sailing isn't for us," I hasten to say before my husband goes completely crazy. Quite apart from that, the sails weren't even up, which surprises me. I would have trusted Gianni to "always leave them up, it saves time". Instead, I just say: "You probably want to clean up first."
Heading
But Putzi has other plans. "No, I'm not going to clean now. It's just starting to rain. I'm not going to clean, there are other things to do." I don't ask what. No, I don't ask. I go crazy with the next stupid answer.
After arriving in Kappeln, we flee back to our "old lady". "My nerves," says my husband. "Those were the worst hours since I've been on boats. A storm is nothing compared to that." He looks at me and then actually says: "Thank you for always making sure that everything is secured." "That's obvious." I am patronising.
I can still hear him mumbling about coffee grounds, eggs, the loo and GPS. And how you can only prepare your boat so badly. That would never happen to us!
Shortly afterwards, Ansgar is standing on the jetty. "That was a short trip, you and Putzi and Urs. I hear there's something wrong with your engine. Shall I have a look?" I say: "I'd love to. Come on board." Ansgar looks at the display, presses the button and asks my husband a few questions. "Hm," he finally says, "tell me, could it be that there's no diesel in the tank?" My husband stares at him. And turns pale. "Diesel. Yes. No ...", he stutters. Ansgar just grins: "Bad preparation, I say."
