“We can’t,” Stephie says in her sensible, big-sister voice. “We haven’t got bathing suits.”
For a long time they hadn’t been allowed to go to the beach in Vienna. Not since signs prohibited them, signs that read JEWS FORBIDDEN. When Mamma was helping them pack, she had pulled out their old bathing suits, but it was clear they had outgrown them.
Aunt Marta arrives on her bicycle, a big bag dangling from her handlebars. Holding Stephie’s letter, she points toward the village.
The post office, Stephie thinks, and decides to go along. She needs to see with her own eyes when her letter is mailed, to feel confident it is on its way.
“Wait here for me,” she says to Nellie. “I’m going to the post office. I’ll be right back.”
The post office and the village shop are in the same building, a big, rectangular, flat-roofed structure. Stephie stands next to Aunt Marta, watching her buy a stamp from the lady at the window.
“It’s for Vienna,” Aunt Marta says. “ Vienna, Austria.”
“The German Reich,” the lady corrects her. “Here you are, Mrs. Jansson. I didn’t know you had friends abroad.”
“The letter’s from this girl,” Aunt Marta explains. “She’s sending it to her parents.”
“And who is she, precisely?” the lady asks.
“A young Jewess,” Aunt Marta tells her. “There’s trouble in that part of the world, so Evert and I agreed to take her in. Until her parents can leave the country. I understand they’re hoping to emigrate to America.”
The post office lady sighs. “Poor little thing. All alone in the world.”
“She’s better off here than there,” Aunt Marta says brusquely. “Her sister’s here, too, you know.”
“Oh me, oh my,” the lady responds. “What terrible times we’re living in. Do you think there’ll be a war, Mrs. Jansson?”
“Man proposes and God disposes,” Aunt Marta concludes, paying for the stamp with a coin from her wallet. “Thank you very much.”
Stephie goes into the store with her, too, waiting while she shops. She recognizes the man behind the counter. He’s the red-faced man who was shouting and scolding the boy down at the dock the day before. As he helps Aunt Marta, he keeps shooting curious glances in Stephie’s direction. Something about the look in his eyes makes Stephie very uncomfortable.
When they’re about to leave, a young girl walks through the door. It’s the same blond girl who made her friends laugh outside Auntie Alma’s yard. Her hair is wet and there’s a towel flung over her shoulders. She steps confidently behind the counter and fills a bag with toffees. Just helps herself, not asking anyone, and apparently not needing to pay.
The shopkeeper smiles, patting her cheek. The girl pops a toffee in her mouth, chewing and making smacking noises. She stares at Stephie the whole time, until she makes her way to the door and closes it behind her. When Stephie and Aunt Marta get out onto the shop steps, Stephie sees the girl vanish around a bend in the road on her bright blue bicycle.
seven
“Stephie, Stephie, we’re going swimming!”
“But we don’t have bathing suits.”
“Oh, don’t we?” Nellie cries triumphantly, swinging a bathing suit out from behind her back. “I do!”
“Where’d you get it?”
“Auntie Alma had it waiting for me,” Nellie tells her. “I’m sure Aunt Marta has one for you, too. Auntie Alma says we’re just going to eat and go.”
“How do you know? You don’t understand Swedish!”
“Oh, yes I do. I understand everything Auntie Alma says to me.”
Their new “aunts” are standing talking by the fence. When Aunt Marta bikes off, Auntie Alma points to Nellie’s bathing suit.
“What did I tell you?” Nellie says delightedly. “You’ll get one, too.”
Nellie’s bathing suit is made of shiny yellow fabric. Stephie hopes hers will be the same, or maybe red.
They eat cheese sandwiches and drink milk at Auntie Alma’s kitchen table. The little ones are excited; John spills his milk all over the table. Auntie Alma doesn’t get angry. She just wipes it up and pours him a new mug.
Soon Aunt Marta is back, a towel in one hand and something black in the other. She gives them to Stephie. The black thing is a bathing suit. A real old-fashioned lady’s bathing suit made of thick wool.
Stephie stares at it. The woolen fabric is so ancient it’s going green in spots. Auntie Alma smiles encouragingly. Aunt Marta looks expectant.
“Danke schon,” Stephie whispers through stiff lips. Thank you very much.
“Stephie,” Nellie whispers, “is that supposed to be a bathing suit? Are you going to wear it?”
“Hush up,” Stephie hisses. “One more word and I’ll pinch you black and blue.”
Nellie goes silent. Auntie Alma has all the other suits and towels in a bag and is waiting by the door. There’s no choice for Stephie but to join everyone. She’s relieved, at least, to see Aunt Marta head home on her bike.
They walk down a path to the swimming cove. Auntie Alma holds her son by the hand. Nellie and Elsa run loops around the others, racing, pushing one another, laughing.
Stephie lags behind, the awful bathing suit between her thumb and index finger, touching as little of the fabric as possible. Where the path ends there are a few bikes parked, leaned haphazardly against one another. Stephie rolls the bathing suit into her towel.
The narrow strip of sandy beach is full of pebbles. No deck chairs, no beach parasols, no ice cream vendors are in sight. One young mother is on a blanket with three toddlers. No one else is on the beach, but on the cliffs in the distance Stephie sees a group of bigger children, some of whom are in the water below. A head of red hair glistens in the sun.
Auntie Alma spreads a blanket on the sand, sits down on it, and undoes the top two buttons of her blouse. She helps little John into his bathing trunks. Nellie and Elsa undress, pull their suits on, and rush down to the water’s edge. They splash and play, chasing each other in the shallow water. Then they lie on their stomachs, pretending to swim.
Stephie sits down on the blanket next to Auntie Alma, who looks inquisitively at her and her bundle. Auntie Alma unrolls the towel and holds up the bathing suit.
“No,” says Stephie in German. “I’m not going to swim.”
Auntie Alma talks and gesticulates, holding out a hand to Stephie and offering to walk her down to the water. Stephie shakes her head stubbornly, until Auntie Alma gives up. Removing her shoes and stockings, Auntie Alma walks to the water’s edge with little John. He puts his feet into the water tentatively, wriggling his toes.
Out on the headland, the older children are jumping off the cliff. Stephie hears their voices clearly, watches them shoving and laughing, seeing who dares to jump first. The girls she saw outside Auntie Alma’s house are all there, along with a couple of boys. The blond girl from the shop has a white bathing suit that ties in the back with a red band. The redhead’s suit is green.
Nellie comes running, shaking herself like a wet puppy. When she swishes her braids, drops of water splash on Stephie.
“The water’s nice and warm, Stephie,” she shouts. “Aren’t you coming in?”
“Nope,” Stephie says angrily.
“Why not?”
“None of your business.”
“Oh, come on,” Nellie insists. “I want to swim together.”
“I wouldn’t put that sickening suit on if you paid me,” Stephie replies. “Not on my life.”
“Well, if that’s how you feel, I guess you can’t swim,” says Nellie reasonably. “I’ll be in the water all afternoon,
