Lorie, With a Comb, On the Starboard Bow

They say she plants herself on a rock in the middle of the Rhine and calls men to their doom with her irresistible song. You've heard of the Lorelei, right? An enchanting creature with long, golden hair and a golden comb to match? She sings in her golden voice and sailors steer their boats right over a cliff. You may think it's just fairy-tale fluff, but I'm a witness to her misdeeds. She killed my husband.

You see, we were camping in the German countryside, close to the banks of the Rhine, about halfway between Düsseldorf and Bonn. Well, I can't really say we were camping. I mean, we were just too close to civilization, and we were in an RV, parked among a crowd of families and couples with similar arrangements. He'd wanted to do the roughing it thing, just a tent and a campfire made by rubbing two sticks together, but I pitched a fit. Camping is one thing, sleeping on the ground with nothing between me and the nocturnal fauna is another.

I won that argument because he got his way about where to go on summer vacation. Let me tell you, I was nowhere close to happy about vacationing where I would find no one to talk to. Those people don't speak English. Henry was a high school German teacher, and he tried to get to Germany every once in a while, to keep up his language skills. He was in love with the whole idea of German since his freshman year of high school...beer gardens and wienerschnitzel. That's why I could talk him into setting up camp so close to two fairly big cities, and why he didn't mind going shopping in Düsseldorf with me, at least before the blonde bitch parked next door. My Henry always enjoyed conversation and meeting new people. Why, one time he talked to a shopkeeper for over 15 minutes. I have no idea what they were saying, of course, but they laughed and talked while I shopped for sausage.

But then she came. She was one of those disgusting women who look beautiful right after they wake up. She always wore a filmy white peasant top made of muslin that left her shoulders bare, short denim shorts and gold sandals. Every morning, she emerged from her R.V. to sit at a nearby picnic table to comb and braid her long blonde hair so she could lace those sparkly gold ribbons through it. She always sang while she combed, and of course, she was singing in German. We ate our brötchen as she serenaded. He loved it. I found it distracting. I usually finish three or four steamy novels while on a two week vacation, and it's hard to read when someone's trilling in a foreign language nearby. I had to read the same page three times one morning. Of course, I didn't mind too much, cause it was a juicy page, you know what I mean? It wasn't bad enough she was singing, Henry felt obligated to tell me what she was singing about. Something about deer and twilight and difficult dreams. I asked him why he didn't go talk to her about it, I just wanted to get back to Dirk and Ramona because I'd fallen asleep the night before on a paragraph where she'd been bathing in a clear brook and he happened to walk by while hunting. I dreamt that she'd been shot in the head by an arrow, but that was because I'd dropped one of my pretzels on the pillow and it lodged on my left cheek. Anyway, he did go over there and talk to her, leaving me alone with my novel and coffee.

I probably should have tried to find a brook or something myself. Camping is hell on my hair. But why fix yourself up out there in the wilderness where no one's going to see you anyway? I don't even take my make-up when I go camping. When am I ever going to see these people again? Never, right?

Well, one day as I returned from the grocery store with more beer and pretzels, Henry informed me that Lorie (yes, I swear that was her name) had invited us to go on a boat trip down the river the next day. We'd float from nearby Cologne to Bonn, and maybe stop and see a castle (Henry called it a schloss) or two, and ride back on the same boat. It was going to take all day. I told them to go on along without me. I wasn't interested in schlossing. Ramona had just been captured by Dirk's lifelong enemy, Keven. I couldn't wait a whole day to find out what dastardly deeds Keven might perpetrate before Dirk could realize he loved Ramona and ride to her rescue.

Dirk. Now there was a man. I couldn't imagine him ever dragging his ladylove to some RV parking lot in the middle of a foreign country, then leaving her to fend for herself while he chased castles with the camper next door. It wasn't really poor Henry's fault, though. She was, after all, a pied piper with breasts. So the next day, my Henry kissed me goodbye and followed the Lorelei to the Rhine. I settled in for a long day with Dirk, Ramona and Keven.

It was past our normal bedtime when I finished the novel. Of course, Ramona had ridden off into the sunset with Dirk, after he'd rescued her from the villainous Keven and Keven had suffered a horrible fate suitable for villains. But Henry didn't come back that night, or the next morning, or ever.

At first I thought maybe they'd been a little over enthusiastic, toured too many castles and missed the return boat. I didn't worry too much that first night. I didn't start worrying until the next day went by with no sign of either of them. By then, it was too late to do anything or call anybody, and I was three chapters into a new novel where Darla was running from the evil, but wickedly handsome, Brent. I tried my best to finish it before I went to sleep that night, because I knew I'd have to start a search the next morning.

By the time I woke up and finished the last chapter, it was afternoon. I tried to make myself presentable and found a way to Bonn. The first thing I had to search for was someone who could speak English, but that turned out to be the easiest part of the whole ordeal. An American in Bonn on business happened to be having a late lunch at a street café and noticed the title of the novel I was reading, "Molten Streams of Lovers". He invited me to sit down and have a bite with him, but I told him I had to find my missing husband. One thing led to another and I explained about Henry's daytrip down the Rhine with Lorie of the long golden braids as I fortified myself with pie and coffee.

Dirk, I mean, Robert, told me about the legend of the Lorelei. He thought the whole Lorie-Henry story left little room for my hopes of ever seeing my husband again. Of course, I knew this was just his way of hiding his passion for me. He really wanted to press me against a wall with his hard, muscular physique and say "Ramona" oops "Sally, my darling, forget him! I'm the man you want!" as he covered my face and neck with passionate kisses. But he was a gentleman and helped me find the right people to ask about Henry's whereabouts. I couldn't find out anything, even with Robert's help. I stayed in Bonn for two days, waiting. Then, when no Henry was forthcoming and nowhere to be found, I packed my "Molten Streams" and overnight bag and Robert accompanied me to the campground, helped me check out of RV Himmel, and played interpreter for me at the airport. I flew home marveling at Robert's self-restraint while I read "Fountains of Firelust". Being such a gentleman, he didn't even kiss me goodbye at the airport. The poor guy. How much pain and regret he must have suffered since then.

I've been waiting over a year now, back here in the good old U.S.A., and still no sign of Henry. The principal at his old high school told me Henry sent a letter of resignation shortly after I got back. I know it couldn't have been Henry's handwriting. My poor Henry followed the golden voice of the Lorelei over the cliff. I can't prove this to the government's or insurance company's satisfaction, so I'll have to wait seven years before I can claim any life insurance money. Why won't they just take my word for it? Now, I'm going to have to get a job to keep up with the rent. The landlord doesn't want to hear anymore about the Lorelei and my poor Henry either. Nobody believes me, but I know there is such a thing as the Lorelei. I've seen her.