“Of course.”
“But I want to apologize for my... unusual departure.”
“An apology isn’t necessary.”
“They can come for brunch tomorrow,” she said, her mind made up. “But first...”
“What is it?”
“Before they come, I have a story to tell you.”
CHAPTER 41
We find a shallow cove to the north of Hallstatt, pedaling our rental boat to the place our innkeeper recommended we swim. Astream runs into the lake here, icy water pouring down from the mountains, smoothing out the bed of rocks for a respite in the summer’s heat.
I dip my toes into the creek and then recline on the backseat of the pedal boat, the fractured rays of sun trickling down through the leaves as Ella and Josh splash in the water. Birds sing in the forest, and as Ella and Josh wander upstream, jumping from stone to stone, I enjoy the rise and fall of the birdsong, a gentle current like the one that rocks the boat.
I miss my family, but something about this place breathes a gentle contentment inside of me. Peace. I don’t miss being home, not like I thought I would. Perhaps it’s because of Ella and herdad. I’m away and yet I’ve found a bit of home here with the two of them.
After our visit to the cemetery yesterday, Josh helped Sigmund Stadler carry his mother down the steps and to the office of a doctor in Hallstatt. Sigmund texted Josh last night to say his mother was awake again, but we haven’t heard anything else. So we wait and I worry about this elderly woman who climbed all those steps to care for the graves of her mother and the woman she called a friend.
Dozens of questions continue whirling through my head as I rest in the warmth this afternoon. I want to ask Annika about the listings in her book, about the photograph of Max, about what has happened in these decades since the war. And most of all, I want to ask her about Luzia Weiss.
The story from herBambibook flutters into my mind, the journey of a deer who longed to be with others and yet learned as a young fawn that to survive, he must live in fear. And that he must spend most of his time alone so no one would hurt him, including Faline.
What a sad life, I’m starting to think, to live alone because you’re afraid.
Because I’m afraid.
I want to enjoy the stories of others, but I don’t want to live solely in their pages any longer. I want to embrace my future, my own story, without fear.
Last night after Josh and Ella settled into their room, I wrote the last paragraphs of my blog about Felix Salten. It seemed fitting to finish the post here in the country he once loved, eighty years after he ran away.
Abstandis a German term that means building an intentional space between an individual and the world around him. In order to protect his life, Felix Salten had to lay a brick wall between himself and the country he loved. He never returned to Austria. Like the roe deer he created on paper, Salten spent his final years roaming until his death on October 8, 1945, months after the Soviet Army liberated Vienna from the Nazis.
Perhaps Salten described his journey best in one of his last books—Bambi’s Children:
One-Eye spoke in his oiliest tones. “You’re very famous, now. The whole forest speaks of you as though you were already a legend. I should be honored that you speak to me atall.”
“If it’s an honor,” Bambi told him, “it’s very unwillingly bestowed. What I did, I did because I had to.”
“It was heroic of you,” said One-Eye with slyflattery.
Bambi shook his head. “Is it heroic to do what necessity demands?” He wheeled and disappeared.
Necessity demanded that Salten disappear from Austria, but he left behind a treasure trove of stories for children and their parents to remember what might be lost today if we don’t stand against the evil in our midst.
I reach for my phone and snap a selfie. Me, Calisandra Randall, relaxing in a pedal boat. I text it to Brie, knowing she might go into shock when she sees it.
Ella squeals on my right. Josh has lifted her up, cradling her under her arms as her legs dangle in the water, swinging her fromside to side. This is what fathers are supposed to do, I think. Make their children laugh, secure in their arms.
The jet lag weighs down my eyes, and I doze before being awakened by someone pouring cold water over my feet. Ella—laughing as she scoops up the water in her hands, reviving me.
When I look over at Josh, he shrugs. “I couldn’t stop her.”
“Because she’s bigger than you?”
“Her willpower is certainly stronger.”
