Another Springtime Ch. 04

Chapter 4: The Uniqueness of a Beautiful Girl

The approaching holidays were both blessing and challenge. Europeans are much more tradition conscious than many Americans, and from my own time in Europe this could be a real time of wonderful experiences and family togetherness and spiritual uplift.

The backside was that she could hardly overlook the fact that her family experience had been shattered. Jennifer and I knew something of that as well.

The evening after they delivered the big oak table and china and stuff to ‘Foggy San Francisco' we started our holiday planning. Jennifer was there at Christine's invitation, and our calendars began to get blocked in with activities, evenings at home, things to do, events to attend, places to go, etc. I suggested we might invite a couple of Jenny's girl friends from the university who may not be able to go home for the holidays. We picked an evening to go to the Seattle Symphony for a special program, and added as well a performance of Charles Dickens' ‘Christmas Carol." We remained undecided about a performance of the Nutcracker, largely because our conversation was drifting to other things at the moment. A little planning ahead would help ease the strain for both the girls, and that in fact seemed to be the end achieved. That's what dads are supposed to be able to handle easily, right? Christmas, nevertheless, was a time with many rich and delightful memories with my wife… and there was still a large, empty place where she had been in my life, and it seemed not to want to close up. Time and experience probably are the only healers, but in many ways I was still an ICU patient in triage.

By Thanksgiving time we had been living together for nearly five months. Gradually barriers came down between us and we got better acquainted. She was a prim and proper young lady in every way, and in so being inspired me to be a gentleman at all times. Our casual dress around the apartment was always modest, though comfortable at the same time. She carried on a relentless campaign against wrinkles, and nicely ironed linen and cotton blouses were her regular dress, and, wielding her iron with skill, my dress shirts had never had it so good! Still, I could notice and frequently in the way she dressed the very delightful curves and charms of a young girl maturing into womanhood, her body very fit and well toned, lithe and graceful in her movements and the awkwardness some girls experience in adolescence altogether in her past; this all a fitting and splendid complement to her sparkling personality. She was a beautiful young lady, blossoming and glorious…and both eye-catching and heart stopping.

In light of this, as one might imagine, the living arrangements were workable and pleasant, but also imposed a certain strain. I could throw myself into my work – whether my graduate studies or the protection job – because they were important and I wanted to succeed there, but also to push thoughts and fantasies of Christine out of my immediate awareness.

It is worth noting here, as an indicator of her education and background, that the language spoken in north Germany differs markedly from that used daily by those in the south, and that the much more easy going dialects of Franken and Bayern, with which I was familiar. They, together with the Austrian in the Tirol, as well as Swiss-German, enjoy and foster quite distinctive dialectical divergences, adding a great deal of color and gaiety to the linguistic landscape. One of the differences that had always intrigued me was how a South German speaker could alter and shift the usage of various prepositions, sometimes in what seemed a quite bizarre way, and still be understood. In academic circles, of course, this and other variations in the "standard" German usage was considered dialectical or colloquial, and thus the more staid and proper Prussians in the North were often shocked by their unlettered countrymen and cousins. Such dismay only pleased the Bavarians just that much more. They were much more interested in the important things of life… like, for instance, which brewery produced the more excellent product.

Now, with Christine available as a native speaker, I could explore such fascinating details at length. Marvelous!

We could talk about all kinds of things, and it was no small benefit for me to have a native German speaker virtually at my beck and call, and we frequently did explore all kinds of topics, including German pronunciations and the subtle differences in the subjunctive verb forms… and her own academic knowledge of German stylistics and grammar was very sharp. Our conversations just could not ever get around to things about "us," nor anything suggesting any kind of feelings growing between us as a man and a woman.

It took only a little introspection to see that I could expect nothing from her in this way. Her hormones may be raging within her but she was too much a reserved and in-control-of-herself young lady to let that show; and then, too, she had no experience and exposure to a social life that would be any kind of guideline for her to use in doing so. This was actually for her a significant weakness; so far as I could discern, she had no meaningful experience that would allow her to differentiate, in my person for instance, between protector and paramour. Only gradually, as she gained trust in me as a confidant did she venture to raise questions that touched on our evolving social relationship, and then with hesitation. For my part, I had no such shortfall. I knew exactly what I wanted… the only question was how to encourage it to occur.

Christmas time… This was a fun time, encouraging, good times with my daughter and her friends from the university; increasingly comfortable relations all around; but I'm going to skip over this period in order to touch on some other experiences with her.

]

It surely sounds a little melodramatic to say it this way, but it deserves some specific attention. It was during this period that I gave serious thought to her beauty and spent time and energy trying to perceive and understand what made her so very attractive to me.

It is perhaps a simple-minded observation, but most men are very susceptible to visual images, and thus a beautiful woman attracts their attention with ease. Anyone doubting here need only glance at the media for confirmation. There are, nonetheless, a number of significant variables. Neither the man nor the woman can avoid presenting to the other a visual image on a continual basis if they spend any time together at all. What the media does not bother to emphasize is that, even while men see the superficial with ease, a gentleman senses the depth of a girl's beauty as well, for it is, to coin a phrase, ‘more than skin deep.' Depth and quality are anything but uniform across the population, even so, and shallowness and sham here are sins for which no surface gloss and glimmer can possibly recompense.

Precisely what a girl need do to improve depth and quality is an elusive puzzle. Some seem to manage it in abundance with hardly a thought; others appear to have no clue though they struggle and seek.

Christine and I drove over the mountains to spend a day in Leavenworth, a little town in the Cascades that plays up its Bavarian motif and strives hard to present a South German / Tirolian cultural experience to the tourists. It was a delightful day and we both enjoyed the time and the adventure together, and she chatted with me about memories of Switzerland, which in the east around St. Gallen is not a great deal different than nearby Bavaria and the Austrian Tirol just to the east. The point I want to make here came to the fore without any warning in the middle of the day, in a very routine, nothing extraordinary situation, but was nonetheless very clear and poignant… and thus extraordinary in its own way.

It happened like this.

Leavenworth is high, it was mid-December, the temperature was just below freezing, and it had started to snow… big, downy flakes, floating leisurely to the ground. We had been window-shopping after a delicious luncheon and had found several nice items… a couple of books, an Adventskranz for our dining room table, some traditional tree ornaments, and a needlepoint kit that was one she had always wanted to do as a girl at school. We enjoyed walking in the falling snow together, and felt unhurried. I thought her to be more beautiful that I could imagine, the kind of inner beauty that makes a girl just seem to glow even at mid-day. It was all posture and carriage, and attitude and character… and a soft voice and that bright twinkle in her eye, but I don't know how to describe it otherwise. Well, she had the sweetest smile that seemed to touch me somewhere deep inside. After browsing to our hearts' content, we crossed the street to the car in the parking lot and I had to set some of the packages down to get at my keys in my pocket.

That's when it happened.

She stood there, bundled up in her coat, the collar up around her ears and her hair loose and tumbling down behind. She was hugging herself against the chill, standing patiently in the snow in her sling-back pumps, her feet and legs getting colder all the time. She waited for me to get my keys out and unlock the door, and when I looked at her I saw immediately that she was looking at me… the smile and the twinkle were there, but there was a certain, special something that she had added… a depth of feeling in those pretty eyes of hers, and… something else I could not identify then and can just barely grasp now after the fact… I think she saw me in that moment as a man, an interesting and attractive companion.

Well, maybe.

That something special in those dark eyes, however, stopped me in my tracks. The door open for her now and my arm out to her, the snowflakes drifting down softly, and her big brown eyes met mine. There was just a moment when our hearts seemed to beat to the same rhythm, and then she dropped her eyes, a little shy, I think, and I pulled her into my arms and hugged her before helping her into the car.

So, you see, it is not easily expressed in words – I have still not managed to capture it – this matter of what a man finds attractive in a woman and how a woman responds to a man… far too subtle an emotion, and much deeper than the media would lead us to believe… and quite remarkable in its wonder and impact.

The very essence of the matter, it seems to me, is that she was totally open and honest and unaffected in her mannerisms. That she was a very beautiful girl physically seemed never to be a focus of her attention; she did not flaunt or tease, she was never on parade, she did not prance and seek public attention. With her beautiful bust line so prominent a feature of her trim figure, not to be so was, I thought, a very special feature of her personality. It was almost as were a piece of her psyche not functioning… there was no show, no pretence, no façade. I have come to think of this now as an important element in her beauty of person. She was not a superficial, pretentious person. Things of the mind and personality and character were most meaningful for her, not surface things… and, therefore, there was simply Christine… a sweet, gentle, kind, inquisitive and very engaging young lady.

Two further examples might illustrate this.

I learned quickly during our drives along the highways, like to California and return, that truck stops and the local roadside food marts were a mistake. Firstly, no matter how she dressed she attracted too much attention. It was not specifically her dress; it was her… the total package. She did not dress seductively nor carry herself suggestively, but neatly and with a sense of classic beauty that was just amazing. She held herself erect and her posture was excellent; she did not slouch and I think it never occurred to her for a second to ever be other than lady-like. Her bust was full, youthful, and prominent, but not flaunted. Her curves were readily evident, but never on display. At the same time she was not aloof, but always courteous, quick to help, friendly. She was not a model on a runway, and not above speaking to people and being pleasant. Above all, while always feminine, she was not ever sexy… well, the way I define ‘sexy.' How a girl manages that so consistently is still a mystery to me, but it certainly has to do with inner character and integrity.

I think generally that her care in dressing nicely was interpreted by many men as being pretentious and that translates very easily in the minds of many men to be a come-on, a sexual invitation, if not a subtle statement of availability… even a challenge to conquer.

She was, for example, approached in a 7-11 one evening by a fellow in a motorcycle jacket and a beard, who evidently didn't realize she was with me, and he reacted as if I was cutting in on his territory when I spoke to her. That itself was soon resolved but what impressed me mostly was that she had no sense of having been the target of a pick up attempt. He was simply a nice man who spoke to her and she wanted to be pleasant with him. Her freshness and personality were always a tremendous draw but she had no experience and learning to allow her to understand the threats with which the world would confront her at virtually every turn.

Then came the first day at Bangor. Tennis was not a problem and she was quite serious about teaching me and did so without being too serious. She seemed to recognize that I was not destined for nor desired to aspire to stardom on the courts and playing was just a game and good exercise. However, I knew my greatest challenge would be in the pool. There she was a different girl altogether and it was a very revealing day for us both… and there is a pun there.

The Subase pool issues swim gear for all, and the conservative, dark blue tank suit for the ladies is a statement in feminine modesty. Once again, however, her irrepressible allure was not only in the perfection of her body's curves and contours, nor in her dress, nor in this case very nearundress, but every bit as much in her manner and attitude. Her long hair was tucked up under her cap, and I missed that… but she was a vision of loveliness, loveliness beyond imagining! Her carriage and poise were delightfully feminine and very reserved. She smiled shyly when she saw me already in the pool waiting for her. I stood in the waist deep shallow end near the steps and held out my hand to her and she came willingly into the refreshingly cool water.

She was, it turned out, familiar with swimming pools from her school days, but this was very different for her. The presence of several young sailors in the pool at the deep end was something new for her and she was very timid at first. There were two families with children, having an uproarious good time and making a lot of noise in the shallow end, and that helped break the ice.

Nevertheless, after only a moment's appreciation of her in her bathing suit I knew I was in trouble big time. Conservative though the suit was, it fit her as if it were painted on. Her breasts filled her suit, her waist was slender and her hips and legs were perfect. She was just an eyeful of beautiful girl!

After splashing a while together and laughing a little we got started with lessons in the deep water. Getting her to float with my hand under her back for a little support was a serious challenge. It was a challenge for me… she was so very beautiful I could hardly resist the inclination to take her in my arms. Her body was just perfect, and very tempting.

At one point, having managed her assignment well before getting a face full of water, she spluttered and splashed and in water over her head reached out for me and in a second there she was… arms around my neck and close to me, my one arm under her back the other under her legs, my hand on her bottom holding her close. She was suddenly quiet and pensive, and didn't know what to do. I just held her, making the very most of an opportune moment and enjoying it immensely.

Finally I spoke to her softly, "You are a very pretty young lady, Christine, and very nice to hold in my arms like this. Are you comfortable?" Even in her shyness and chagrin, her eyes were bright with excitement and her cheeks were rosy.

She nodded quickly but was silent and still for a moment, and then kissed me on the cheek very lightly. "I've never been in theSchwimmbad with a man before." Only a truly innocent and trusting young girl could have managed to say that with the lightness and simplicity that made her voice so very feminine.

That part of her psyche very definitelywas operating, as subsequent experiences came to show.

Lesson time was over and, happy as I was to hold her like that, I welcomed the chance to leave her for a good swim to burn off the emotional tension. Six or eight laps down and back, I soon lost track and it didn't make any difference anyway. I had never been a really powerful swimmer, but my own version of the Australian crawl was fairy well polished. With the fire she kindled in my boilers and the high pressure steam she fed to my turbines, I felt like I could sail on forever.

She was waiting for me innocently at the edge of the pool, like one of the legendary Lorelei, the beautiful maidens and their melodious song beckoning the sailors along the Rhein… mystically alluring, spectacularly beautiful, and sweetly enchanting.

"You are a magnificent swimmer, Dace." Her eyes just danced with adoration. "Will you teach me to swim like that?"

Like the seamen before me on the river, I was headed for the rocks, and loved it.

That was the most important point, I think. She really was innocent; innocent of guile and honest with herself and me. That is perhaps the best evaluation. And her honesty and innocence kept her beauty fresh and vibrant, never glazed over with the hard gloss and vivid tintings of make up and the media. Still, in retrospect, her own hormones were working on her equilibrium, and just as my daughter had in the past year or so, she was struggling with natural urges and feelings within her she didn't understand and were in the main all new to her, yet pressing and demanding. To whom could she turn for answers to her questions?

She had only me.

Once I had worked out this analysis for myself, my head was a little clearer, and the conclusion was strengthened as the days went by and we talked of all kinds of things.

]

So, the winter months passed. They were full because we kept them full. They were quiet… relative to the danger… because we kept them quiet, though by our industry and studies we made the time productive and interesting and exciting.

We worked together in the kitchen cooking and dealing with food. She had a knack, I discovered, for just putting interesting things together… colors, textures, tastes… but was herself learning new things at nearly every turn. The selection of foodstuffs on the grocer's shelves was incredibly diverse in comparison with the littleLebensmittelgeschäft where she and her mother had done their shopping on the outskirts of Sankt Gallen. I had never considered working in the kitchen a big deal. It certainly was no fun alone. Now, especially after I suggested that the kitchen be one of her places to decide and direct, doing the pots and pans for her was no longer a chore at all. We scouted together the local shops for food products from Europe with which she was familiar – and there are a couple of nice places in Seattle and the surrounding area that import a lot of things – but she was also anxious to explore all the options and choices available in the big supermarkets. She gathered a good half dozen cooking and recipe books, and her diligence in coming up with delicious meals was just amazing. She could spend an hour in Safeway or QFC exploring and reading and planning and creating and not think a thing about it.