Goddess of the Sea

A comedy about war-torn Nazi Germany.
I'm helping an artistic wealthy Jewish family hide their treasured collection of ... giant toothbrushes as Nazis plan to invade and pillage their rural mansion. As we wind our way through the palatial abode, room after opulent room unfolds. The wife of the family is hidden from view until the very last room . She is finally found sitting in a chair reading poetry next to the most gorgeous Bosendorfer that has ever been crafted. This thing practically has elephantine halos hanging from it. It takes up almost the whole parlor. She complains she hasn't been playing or writing lately, black clouds covering her inspiration. Her husband assures me that she's a wonderful pianist, but seems a bit uninterested in motivating her at the moment, what with the purge going on.
We bury a giant toothbrush in the woods, only to look back on the house to see that the Naziees have arrived. What's more, the lady of the house has haphazardly buried her own prized giant toothbrush, whose head is sticking up out of the otherwise pristine garden mulch.
We reenter the house in hopes of saving her, or the toothbrushes?
I'm sitting at the kitchen counter with one of the daughters as the Nazi soldiers arrive, looking at a yellowing biography of Sergei Rachmaninoff, his dreamy visage winking at us out of the black & white photograph. The Nazis overhear me babbling to the child about the genius of Rach and the beauty of music, and decide that we can live. We hold our breath until they miraculously leave the premises. Then we flee, leaving the wife behind to mope.

We fight our way through the darkening forest and eventually make it to the sea. Swimming without any lifejackets or flotation device at all, swimming for our lives, I know it cannot last. We've all managed to keep our heads above water, but it's dark and the sea is getting choppy. Just as I'm about to give up hope, a woman's head, about the size of a stretch Humveee, pops up out of the water. Waves splash open to reveal down to her shoulders. Is she a colossal statue?
She stops the frantic storm for a moment to reveal herself, standing ten stories tall. Without a word, but a smile, she fetches for us a boat from the bottom of the ocean.

We sail with grateful hearts through a treacherous night of storming, to awake floating down a mountainous stream. It leads right onto a road of some sort. I leave the others behind to investigate. The mountain sits next to a bustling town. I'm spat out into the courtyard of a Greek apartment building; old women sewing in their laps and throwing scraps to their dogs. Next down the road is a market with fruits and everyone speaking Spanish. Trying to locate myself in the world, I figure we could have made it to Spain, but it's highly unlikely. Suddenly, with a shock of disappointment, I read on a little placard: Welcome to Reading, PA.