During the evening, when there was
dancing on the concrete patio where I
usually hung up my washing, I had the
chance of dancing with my husband again
for the first time since leaving Germany.
Rolf had bought a motorboat for his fish
ing, and several days after the wedding
he invited me on a cruise around the island.
I accepted with alacrity, having had far too
'little time for a thorough exploration of
Floreana even by land. We sailed north at
an amazing speed! Rolf's boat went 10 times
faster than the little fishing boat in which
we first arrived on the island.
Rolf brought the boat skillfully into Post
Office Bay, where ships had left our mail
through the years. "What about seeing if
there's any mail?" Rolf said. "I'll stay in
the boat for a bit. I'd like to clean the en
gine while I'm waiting."
I walked off to the white barrel that was
our "letter box" and opened the flap to see
if there was anything inside. There wasn't,
of course. No ship had called recently.
Before closing the flap again, I reached
inside and felt around the bottom of the
barrel. I gave a start: my fingers had
touched some sort of letter or package
stuck inside. I couldn't pry it loose without
using a little stick.
It was a thick envelope, shriveled and
yellow with age. The writing was very in
distinct, whether from the salty sea water
or the sharp salty air. I read my own name
and noticed that the stamps were German:
old German stamps, long withdrawn from
circulation. The letter must have been stuck
to the bottom of the barrel for years!
"CJo there was mail after all," said Rolf,
" as I returned to the boat deep in
thought I shook my head. "Not really."
We cruised around for an hour or so
more without another word being said. My
thoughts were far away in time and place;
they were back in October, 1935, when I
left Floreana to go to Germany on my first
"home leave."
I remembered the strange man who had
come to see me as I was preparing for the
voyage back to South America. He admired
our enterprise, but insisted with vehem
ence that we had already proved what we
could do.
He very much wanted us to return to
Germany and manage his farm for him; he
would even pay our passages home. And
when my ship reached Antwerp how it
all came back to me! there was that tele
gram from him saying: "Hope to see you
back here very soon with all your family.
Will be sending check to Floreana shortly."
Heinz was at home when we got back.
"Mail," I said. "It has certainly been some
time reaching me, hasn't it?" I handed the
thick envelope to him.
He looked at the faded address and shook
his head in a puzzled way. "Oh, well, the
most important things often take longest"
"It's not so important as all that," I
said, and took it back from him, then
slowly opened the envelope.
When I saw several sheets closely writ
ten, the ink smudged, and the lines running
into each other, I realized it would be
a difficult job to read the letter. But there
was something attached to the letter which
made me gasp.
"Aren't you going to read your letter?"
Heinz asked.
"It's almost unreadable," I answered,
"but anyhow I don't need to read it now.
I know just what it says. Look at this,
though. The ink hasn't faded so badly here
you can make the words out quite easily.
And the figures." I handed him a check
made out for $1,000.
Heinz stared at it, completely flabber
gasted. "A thousand dollars! But that's
that's quite a lot of money! It's incredible!"
When I returned to the island 22 years
before, I hadn't told Heinz much about the
man who was so anxious to rescue us from
our adventure. He only smiled at the time.
Now he burst out laughing when I ex
plained about the letter which had taken
so many years to find us.
"Suppose we'd found it then?" I re
marked. "After all, it is a lot of money."
Mnrgretf right.) isproud of herisicind-born
offspring; Jnge is now 24, and Rolf is 28.
"I wouldn't have sold my freedom for a
thousand dollars then, either."
"And what do we do now?"
"Now? I say that we've got money to
burn." He winked at me.
"'Money to burn'?" I repeated. "Yes, I
think that's the best thing to do." I put the
check back in the envelope along with the
letter. Then I made a taper from newspaper,
lighted it from the small fire in the stove,
and held it under the envelope. Soon the
envelope and its contents turned to ashes.
When the last spark was out, Heinz, usu
ally a stickler for tidiness, simply kicked
the ashes to one side and chuckled heartily.
"I'm certainly glad the postal service is a
bit slow here,'' he said.
And so was I.
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