Holidays! The time has finally come. Sven has finished treating his last patient’s teeth, whilst Anni has spent days washing and packing. Now they’re sitting in the car on their way to the boat. “It feels a bit odd without Wochenändi around,” Sven remarks after they’ve arrived and unpacked and stowed everything away on their ‘Späte Liebe’. “Well, I don’t miss her,” Anni objects, “I actually find it quite pleasant when there’s no one around who’s constantly clapping her hands and babbling in Denglish.” Anni shakes her head vigorously as she says this. “Where are she and Schnupsi actually going on holiday?” asks Sven. Anni replies that the two of them are in Mallorca. “God help us!” Sven blurts out. “I bet when they come back, Ändi’ll call us ‘amigos’ and go on and on about siestas and sangria.”
Meanwhile, the sun is shining gently from the sky, and Anni and Sven clink glasses of white wine. “Oh, I’m so looking forward to it,” says Anni. They have two weeks ahead of them, and she plans to spend plenty of time swimming and enjoying cold drinks as the sun sets! The next morning, they set off early.
A boating holiday on the ‘Späte Liebe’
The Müritz is looking its very best. Reeds sway in the wind, ospreys circle above the water, and Anni feels that it all already feels completely like home.
The first few days fly by; the mooring and unmooring manoeuvres go absolutely brilliantly, even without any help, and the newly-minted owners are proud of themselves! One evening, they meet a couple who invite them to a chair yoga session on their boat; they actually accept the invitation, only to realise afterwards that it’s not really their thing. So all’s well. Until that evening at Marina Wolfsbruch.
Anni is setting up the barbecue at the picnic area and Sven is looking after the sausages. That’s when he turns up. At first, they only see a pair of sandals. Then the bare knees. Then the shorts. Then a polo shirt, the collar of which is in a position you’d normally only see on aggressive cobras.
An unwanted lecture
Finally, the face appears. A face that radiates the firm conviction that it has the right answer to every question in the world.
The man stops. He looks at Sven. And begins the conversation with a question that is really more of a statement: “Well, motorboat driver?” Sven senses danger. This must be how an antelope feels when it hears a rustling in the bushes by the waterhole. “Er, yes. Lovely evening,’ says Sven cautiously. ‘Depends on how you look at it,’ replies the stranger meaningfully. Sven is taken aback. Anni reaches for her wine glass. And then the man simply sits down next to her on the bench without being asked. “I’ve been driving motorboats for 37 years.” Sven says, “I see.”
A rather one-sided conversation ensues. The uninvited guest says: “Engines used to be really good.” Sven: “Of course.” The man: “Nowadays, it’s all about cutting costs.” Sven: “I see.” The man: “What sort of engine do you have, then?” Sven tells him the model of the engine that’s hard at work deep inside the fuselage of the ‘Späte Liebe’.
The stranger lets out a throaty laugh. It is not a friendly laugh; no, it is the laugh of a fussy teacher who thinks he has just caught a primary school pupil making a mistake in an addition problem. “I know him. He’s a troublemaker!”
“I see.” Sven nods slowly as the man takes a deep breath. The lecture begins.
He explains to them why modern engines are rubbish. Why old engines are better. Why old engines are actually rubbish too. Why diesel engines are unbeatable. Why petrol engines are superior. Why aluminium is no good. Why steel is outdated. Why shipyards haven’t got a clue. Why harbour masters haven’t got a clue. Why weather services have no idea. Why specialist journals have no idea. Why every single engineer in Europe – and those in China and Sri Lanka too – have no idea. Why the government is to blame for all this and much more besides. And why he is the only person in the whole world who knows the truth.
Unwelcome behaviour
In the meantime, he unabashedly grabs a bratwurst from the barbecue. “It’s been on there a bit too long,” he says. “That’s our sausage!” protests Anni, dumbfounded. “Besides…” But the man isn’t listening at all. On the contrary, he now mutters: “Ah, there’s mustard there. Hmm, you’ve only got medium-hot, well, what can you expect.” He then spends ten minutes explaining the ideal barbecue temperature to them.
After that, the conversation turns back to motorboats and, specifically, to the ‘Späte Liebe’: ‘The fuel consumption is far too high.’ Sven wants to know how on earth he knows that. “Experience!” Sven adds: “You know neither the boat nor the route.” A blind rage is slowly building up inside him. But he’s keeping his cool. For now.
“I don’t need it.” The man’s replies are brimming with self-confidence. Anni almost admires his utter ignorance when it comes to facts. Frowning, she polishes off the salad. At least the stranger hasn’t touched that.
She’d actually love to ask the man if he’d like some. It’s definitely too much oil. Or the wrong sort. And the wrong herbs and the wrong lettuce, anyway. And too much salt. And the CDU must have something to do with it, and only he – he’s the one who knows what he’s talking about. The mayor of Helgoland might well have a hand in it, too.
Whilst Anni is still lost in her thoughts, the stranger continues his talk. Propellers. Shaft systems. Batteries. Alternators. Diesel filters. He has three more opinions for every opinion he expresses. At one point, he says: “By the way, my name is Frohwalt.” He doesn’t say whether that’s his first name or his surname.
After nearly an hour, the man pauses briefly, presumably to catch his breath. For the first time, a wonderful little silence descends.
A hassle-free boating holiday
Anni seizes her chance. “Our boat’s moving.” The man pauses: “Yes.” Anni: “The engine’s running.” The man: “Yes.” Anni: “We haven’t got stuck.” – “Yes.” – “We’re on holiday.” – “Yes.” – “Everything’s absolutely fine!”
Frohwalt now looks baffled in turn. Apparently, he’s never come across anyone who uses logic before. “I was just trying to help you,” he begins. “With what?” asks Sven. “Well, with the motorboats. With the problems.” Sven and Anni reply in unison: “We don’t have any problems!”
The man falls silent. For the first time this evening. You can hear seagulls. You can hear water lapping against the mooring posts. You can hear a fender squeaking on another boat somewhere.
Finally, Frohwalt stands up, nods and walks off. Anni and Sven watch him go. “Goodness me!” they say, once again at the same time. And: “What a chatterbox!”
The remaining two weeks pass peacefully. Then they return. When they arrive in Waren, there’s already someone standing on the jetty, waving. A man. With the collar of his polo shirt turned up! Next to him is Wochenändi, back from Mallorca.
“There are the holidaymakers!” she exclaims, clapping her hands. “Look, a new permanent mooring holder at our jetty. Say hello to Frohwalt! He knows loads about engines. But I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it himself!”