A Gift for All of Europe

A lone castle overlooking the city of St. Goarshausen stood atop a tree-filled hill. The castle also overlooked the River Rhine. There was also a high cliff on the other side of the river. It was called the Loreley Rock.

It was no April Fool’s Joke when Spring Break arrived. Max had suffered through a long cold winter. Spring signaled the arrival of all things exciting and new.

It would be a time for great change.

One morning, Max sat at the kitchen table with his mother. He ate raspberry muffins, topped with streusel. The crumbly mix of flour, butter, cinnamon, and sugar melted in his mouth. Frau Muller’s thought the streusel made her muffins the best. Max thought so, too.

As Max finished eating, Herr Muller joined him at the table for a quick breakfast.

“How long until we go to Frankfurt?” asked Max.

“As long as it takes,” answered his father.

Max had packed and repacked his clothes several times already. He had been waiting for this trip to Loreley Rock for quite some time. Now, he would have to wait for his father, too.

Herr Muller finished his shower and his packing, too. He joined Max, who had already taken his duffel bag to the car.

Herr Muller’s Porsche crossed the city to the A81, which connected Stuttgart to Frankfurt. Max rolled down his window as they sped down the Autobahn. Unlike the other roads, traveling the A81 was smooth and gentle.

Max rested his arm upon the door and then craned his neck outside. Wind rushed over his face. He stuck out his tongue and panted.

“What on earth are you doing?”

“I was wondering what it felt like to be a dog.”

“Well, you’re not a dog, so pull your head back inside the car and ride like a person.”

Max quietly sat back in his seat. He reached his arm out the window and waved it on the wind.
“Papa, can we take ßilver on our next road trip?”

“I suppose so,” said Herr Muller.

“That would be nice,” said Max.

The Porsche passed through a tunnel just outside of Frankfurt. Skyscrapers of all sizes crowded the A81. Herr Muller steered onto an onramp to one of the city streets. Max craned his neck all about, looking at Frankfurt’s modern skyline.

The car pulled up to a hotel. A parking lot attendant unloaded their duffel bags. The bellman took their luggage to the front desk, where Herr Muller checked into his room.

“Aren’t we going to Loreley Rock?” asked Max.

“Of course we are. I wanted to check in first.”

After they went to their room and unpacked, they returned to the Porsche, which waited outside. The road exited the concrete tunnels of Frankfurt and wound through the countryside. In no time at all, they were on their way to St. Goarshausen. Before too long, the autobahn rode parallel to a river.

“Is that the Rhine?”

Herr Muller nodded.

The road by the river carried them through the hills to the small village of St. Goarshausen. They rode up the hill to the high cliff overlooking the Rhine. Herr Muller parked his car at the entrance and walked with Max up the dirt path.

“It’s not what I imagined.”

“What did you expect?”

“Lots of wrecked ships.”

“Those have all been cleared away.

The Rhine narrowed where it met the mountains. Burg Katz sat high on the hill overlooking St. Goarshausen. The pointed rooftops of the village lined the shore.

“Why would they put a castle so far from the city?”

“Take a look around,” said Herr Muller.

Max shielded his eyes as he scanned the horizon. He could see for kilometers in every direction.
“With the castle high on a hill, there wouldn’t be any surprise attacks. Also, guards in the watchtowers could control the ships that used the Rhine.”

“Why would they do that?”

“The Rhine flows all the way from Switzerland to the North Sea. During the middle ages, the river was the best way to transport goods. It was like the Autobahn of the Germanic Tribes.”

“Germanic Tribes?”

“Groups of men ruled small areas of land. That’s where different coats of arms came from. Each coat of arms represented a certain king or prince. There was Bavaria and Saxony and Prussia. Those tribe names survive today.”

“Why didn’t we keep the tribes?”

“In a way, we did. Before there was Baden-Württemberg, near the Black Forest, there was Baden and there was Württemberg. These tribes banded together to form states. States banded together to form countries.”

A passenger ship came around the bend. It churned the waves as it slowly turned the corner. Max could see how passing ships might wreck. It was the most dangerous place on the Rhine. He looked along the shore. A dark bluee statue sat at the bottom of the cliff.

“She’s all the way down there,” said Max.

“Don’t worry, we’ll go for another ride.”

They hopped into the Porsche and rode down to the statue. Max walked up to the Loreley statue and studied it.

“She’s beautiful.”

The mermaid looked just as Max had imagined. She had long, flowing hair, like a fairy-tale princess. A Powerful murmr of waves came from the shores of the Rhine. As a ferry turned mid-stream, it leaned far to one side, rolling against the waves. Now Max knew how the myth began.
They walked up and down the coast, but Max refused to ride the ferry. When they returned to the hotel, Max worked on his report for Reading class.

“Are you hungry?” interrupted Herr Muller.

“A little.”

“What would you like?”

“How about a hot dog?”

“We are in Frankfurt, so I guess a frankfurter would be okay.”

Herr Muller called room service, ordering two plates of hot dogs and fries. Max worked on his homework while he laid on the bed. His plate sat at one corner, his reading book at the other. He watched television while he ate and studied. Soon, it was time for bed.

The next morning, Max and his father slept in til the last minute. The ride home was leisurely, too. Herr Muller cruised down the Autobahn in the right lane. Max laid back in his seat, watching the leafy green treetops passing overhead.

When the car began passing through tunnels, Max knew he was in Stuttgart again. He sat upright and looked at the red roofs atop old brick buildings. He thought Stuttgart must be the most beautiful of Germany’s cities. As they approached the house, Max noticed a bird making a nest on the platform above the house.

“Look, papa! It’s a stork!” said Max.

“That’s no stork.”

“What is it, then?”

“I cannot say for sure, but I think it’s a purple heron.”

Max raced inside to tell his mother, but nobody was home. Johann had written a note and left it on the kitchen table.

‘Went to the hospital with Grand-papa and mama. – Johann’

They raced to the hospital. Luckily, Frau Muller had a false alarm. The stork would not be delivering a baby brother today.

Everyone returned home. Max told his mother about the curse of the Purple Heron. Max figured it was the purple heron’s fault. Frau Muller said it was Herr Muller’s fault. Herr Muller wasn’t sure what to think.

By the end of the week, Max had lots to think about. Foremost on his mind was his report for Reading class. On Monday, he met with Herr Warschauer to make a request.

“I’m having problems with my report.”

“How so?”

“I think science is magic,” said Max.

“What do you mean?”

“My father builds cars all day long. A long time ago, there were no cars. Wouldn’t princes and princes have considered that to be magical?”

“I suppose so.”

“And what about trains? They zoom across the country as quick as a flash. I think that’s magic.”
“That’s possible.”

“Even when my baby brother is born, that’s magic, too.”

“Then what is a fairy tale?” asked Herr Warschauer.

“A fairy tale is…”

“Max, I think you already know the answer. Fairy tales are about solving the problems of life.”
“May I change my story list?” asked Max.

“Why?”

“My father and I went to Loreley Rock over Spring Break. I think it’ll help if I read fairy tales about mermaids.”

“There aren’t any fairy tales about Loreley, but there are some about Nixies. It’s a myth based on so many traditions. The Irish have mermaids. In the Pacific, they’re called Sirens or Sirena. The Germans have the Rhine Maidens, and of course, there’s Loreley.”

Herr Warschauer walked to the bookcase. He ran his fingers over a row of book spines before picking out a very certain book.

“Wish I knew the meaning - A sadness has fallen on me. - The ghost of an ancient legend - That will not let me be.”

“What is that?” asked Max.

“That is a poem about Loreley Rock.”

“What does it mean?” asked Max.

“It means all things are magical, if we allow them to be. There are two fairy tales about Nixies. You can read them, if you’d like. You don’t have to change your reading list, just add two more.”

“Danke Schöen, Herr Warschauer,” said Max.

He closed his book and tucked it into his backpack. On his way home, he thought about princes and princesses and mermaids and gingerbread houses.

At home, the little gray dog waited by the door. Without the magical ability to speak, ßilver said it all with tail and tongue.Max put a leash on his dog and decided it would be a magical day for a walk – and so they lived, tucked in a small house, in a small city, along the roads of the Autobahn, very happily ever after.