The Storyteller

  “‘Island of the Blind White Cats,’ read the lighthouse keeper, and he scratched his head with his glasses. ‘It is forbidden for strangers to hum ashore.’

  “‘That’s a spelling mistake,’ the rose girl said. ‘They must have meant that strangers are forbidden to come ashore.’

  “The little queen began to hum a tune, the first one that came into her head, just to test things out. And, instantly, a white cat appeared and came racing toward her like a living snowball, shouting, ‘Quiet! It’s forbidden to hum ashore! Can’t you read? You’re startling our weavers and spinstresses, and that leads to the most awful mistakes in the fabrics they’re producing.’

  “The little queen and her friends followed the white cat inland, where many white cats were sitting at spinning wheels and handlooms, or, in their case, paw looms. They seemed to have been spinning threads and weaving fabric all day long. The threads were made out of their own white fur, which clearly grew rapidly. But because the white cats were blind, they couldn’t see where their pieces of fabric began and where they should have ended. They just spun and wove, on and on. The white layers covered the whole island, poured into the sea, and floated on the waves in huge white drifts.

  “‘Oh, could you spare some of that lovely white material?’ the little queen asked excitedly. ‘Just a little bit, so that we can make a few warm clothes?’

  “‘Well, you’ll have to pay for it, of course,’ one of the cats said.

  “‘Our fabric is the best and most durable,’ another of them added.

  “‘It protects against the rain, snow, and fire,’ a third one remarked.

  “‘Everything has its price,’ all three said.

  “‘Oh, but we don’t have anything we could give to you,’ the little queen sighed. ‘You see, our clothes aren’t made for the icy winter here. Don’t you see how urgently we need your fabric?’

  “‘How could we see that?’ an elderly cat asked crankily. ‘We are blind. Visitors tell us our fabric is beautiful, though. They say that if you look at it for a long time, rainbows spring from its folds. But we have never seen that ourselves.’

  “‘Oh, you poor creatures!’ the little queen exclaimed.

  “They sat down to take a closer look at the fabric that covered the island; and, indeed, after a while, a rainbow shot up in front of them, gleaming and sparkling in all the colors of the world. A second one followed, and then a third. The rainbows began to swirl into each other, as if they were threads themselves. They danced and spun around; they formed spirals and knots up there, in the clear, cold winter air—blue, green, yellow, orange, pink, red, violet—and everyone got a bit dizzy looking at them.

  “‘How beautiful!’ the little queen said finally. ‘Isn’t it so sad the cats are blind?’

  “‘Glasses,’ the lighthouse keeper murmured. ‘Maybe they aren’t blind after all; maybe glasses are all they need. I left my own glasses on the ship …’

  “‘I’ll go and get them!’ the little queen said. She picked up one of the white cats to carry it with her, for the cats looked so soft and nice, but the cat complained. ‘Come on, you can warm my hands till we reach the ship,’ the little queen said. ‘Like a muff made of white fur.’

  “‘If you insist,’ the cat said begrudgingly.

  “On the beach, the silver-gray dog with the golden eyes was pacing to and fro nervously.

  “‘Just imagine … this fabric can create rainbows!’ the little queen shouted, out of breath. ‘Oh, if only we had clothes made of such fabric!’

  “The silver-gray dog just growled. ‘Don’t put that fabric on,’ he said. ‘Little queen, don’t do it! Ever! Whoever wears that cloth sees nothing but rainbows and forgets about danger!’

  “‘Oh, you! You just don’t like anything!’ the little queen said. ‘Think of the rose girl … you wanted to bite her when she first joined us!’

  “‘I will go and see what the others are doing,’ the silver-gray dog snarled. ‘So we don’t lose them to rainbows.’

  “The little queen climbed aboard the ship and put the cat down on the deck, where it curled into a ball on the planks and fell asleep instantly. She looked for the lighthouse keeper’s glasses everywhere, but she couldn’t find them. At last, when she was on her knees searching under one of the benches, someone knocked on the rail very politely. The little queen looked up, and there was a man there, clad from head to toe in glittering white fabric.

  “‘Come aboard,’ the little queen said. ‘Is it true that one sees only rainbows when one is wearing that fabric?’

  “The man didn’t answer. He plopped down on the bench. ‘Oh, little queen,’ he said. ‘I am so tired! I have come far, far across the water, just to see you.’

  “‘To see me?’ the little queen repeated, surprised.

  “At that moment, the man reached out and grabbed her, pulling her closer. His grip was strong. The little queen gave a cry of fear and pain. Only now did she see that the man had a blond mustache.

  “‘Your diamond heart is more beautiful than all the rainbows in the world,’ he whispered. ‘And it is mine, rightfully mine. For you owe your very existence to me. I am your father.’ His white gown slid to the floor; the little queen saw the blood-red coat he was wearing beneath. And the next second, the red hunter lifted her up, as if she weighed no more than a sheet of paper. But then he stepped on a rose branch the rose girl had lost, and thorns pricked through the sole of his boot. He lost his balance and fell, swearing loudly.

  “When he sat up, the little queen saw the silver-gray dog racing toward the ship. The rose girl and the lighthouse keeper were behind him. The red hunter stood up. He had let go of the little queen as he fell, and now she fled into the cabin and slammed the door. Then, there was a terrible noise from outside, on the ship’s deck. Some things fell down, and wood splintered; she heard the heavy breathing of two people and pressed Mrs. Margaret to her breast.

  “Finally, she glanced through a crack in the wood of the cabin door. Outside, two bodies were rolling over the planks between toppled-over benches and torn sails. It wasn’t a dog that was fighting with the red hunter. It was a wolf. A big gray wolf. The red hunter sprang to his feet and swung his rapier, from which he cast dangerous, glowing sparkles.

  “‘Oh, my sea lion, my dog, my wolf!’ the little queen whispered. ‘He will kill you!’

  “But she couldn’t do anything; she was too frightened. And she felt very ashamed of herself.

  “She saw that the wolf’s fur was dark with blood in some places. Then the wolf collapsed and lay on the floor very still. The red hunter put his rapier away. He kicked the wolf with his boot one last time, stepped over it, and walked to the rail. Caressing the wood, he smiled contentedly. ‘This could be my ship,’ he said. ‘I will not sail her, though. She is too green. I will take nothing from here but the little queen’s heart. I will cut it from her body with my rapier …’

  “The little queen wanted to cry. Now, she thought, I’ll die after all, and I still don’t know anything about death. But then something unexpected happened. The big gray wolf moved. It stood up very slowly, very silently, and approached the red hunter from behind. When it was directly behind him, it stood on its hind legs and laid its paws on the railing, on either side of the red hunter; the red hunter turned his head. In his eyes there was nothing but surprise; there was no time for fear. The wolf sank its teeth into the hunter’s neck.

  “The little queen covered her face with her hands. She sat like that, all alone, in the darkness of the cabin, until the rose girl opened the door and took the little queen into her arms.

  “‘The red hunter is dead,’ she whispered. ‘You don’t have to be afraid any longer. We were hiding in the folds of the white fabric and didn’t see what happened. Did you?’

  “‘I don’t know,’ the little queen replied. ‘I didn’t see anything.’

  “Outside on the deck, the white cat blinked at them lazily. She had been asleep until now. The lighthouse keeper ra
ised the sails that hadn’t been torn, and they sailed on. A little while later, the sea lion poked his head out of a wave.

  “‘Little queen!’ he said. ‘The black ship still hovers on the horizon! There are more hunters there, more greedy hands. Don’t ever forget that.’ With those words, he dove down, back into the deep water. He left a red trace of blood behind.”

  Abel ran his fingers through Micha’s hair. She was sleeping. “I didn’t realize she had fallen asleep,” he whispered. “How long has she been sleeping?”

  “About since the rainbows,” Anna replied.

  He sighed. “I’ll have to tell the story again.”

  “Yes,” Anna said quietly. “Do that. Maybe a different version, though. Without blood and teeth and the cutting out of hearts. Tell her … tell her a version in which she doesn’t look through the door.”

  Abel nodded. “But the rose girl was wrong,” he whispered. “It’s wrong not to be afraid.”

  “Abel …” Anna began. “You … you didn’t kill him, did you? Rainer?”

  He looked up. His eyes were so dark they weren’t blue anymore. Unless it was a shade of blue at night. “No,” he said. “I wish I had.”

  He stood and lifted Micha up to carry her to her bed. She looked almost dead, lying in his arms like that. As if someone had cut out her heart with a rapier and left only her body. But her heart was still there … still there dreaming, Anna thought, dreaming of rainbows.

  Anna swept up the pieces of broken dishes in the kitchen while Abel undressed the sleeping Micha and got her into her pajamas. She heard him struggle with a sleeve and curse, the way a father curses a frustrating chore—lovingly and without anger in his voice. She shook her head. None of the pieces fit together.

  “And now we’ll do something about that wound,” she said when Abel closed the door to Micha’s room. “Do you have tweezers? Disinfectant?”

  “Wait for me in the living room,” Abel said. But she followed him and stood at the doorway of the tiny bathroom, watching him pull a cardboard box from the top of a cupboard and search around inside it.

  “We could use alcohol,” she began, and Abel gave a start.

  “Didn’t I say to wait in the living room?” He hadn’t realized that she’d followed him. Suddenly, he sounded angry, and she didn’t understand why.

  She took a step back, out of the bathroom and into the hall. “In case you don’t want me to see my phone number on the mirror,” she said with a smile. “I know it’s there; Micha told me. She couldn’t have called me otherwise.”

  He gently pushed her toward the living room and followed, closing the bathroom door behind him.

  “Yeah, that,” he said. “That’s a little embarrassing. It’s just that the apartment is such a horrible mess at the moment. Here.” He gave her a pair of tweezers and a small bottle of old disinfectant. “What will you do?”

  “I thought I’d drink the disinfectant and stuff the tweezers up my nose,” Anna said. “What do you think I am going to do? Sit down. Those splinters can’t stay in the wound.” She could hear that she sounded like Magnus when he was talking to his patients, who usually replied, “Yes, Doctor Leemann.” And, “Do what you think is right, Doctor Leemann.”

  Abel took the tweezers and said, “I can do that myself. We do own a mirror, though that might surprise you. You should go now. Sorry about the number on the mirror … she shouldn’t have called you.”

  “Abel.” Anna tried to toughen the Magnus part inside her. “Sit down. There, on the sofa.”

  “It’s late, Anna … they’ll be waiting for you at home … in that house where the air is always blue … they’ll be worried.”

  “It’s not late. I’ll call them later. Sit down on the sofa.”

  Helplessly, he held up his hands and sat down. Anna sat next to him, adjusted a floor lamp that had miraculously survived the fight, and looked at the wound on Abel’s temple. She didn’t understand how cups and plates could break into so many tiny pieces. Maybe if you were pushed into them. Maybe if you were pushed into them again and again. She fished the splinters, one by one, out of his skin and flesh, her mind with thoughts about the past, with the history of the apartment, with Abel and Micha’s story. He was gritting his teeth, swearing under his breath. “Hold still,” Anna said. “You know how lucky you are that nothing happened to that eye?”

  “I know somebody else who was damn lucky,” Abel said. “Rainer Lierski. He was damn lucky to walk out of here on his own two feet.”

  Then he fell silent. As Anna retrieved splinters, a seemingly never-ending task, like working on an assembly line, she suddenly noticed how close she was to Abel. Unbelievably close, daringly close.

  She smiled. “Why do you have a buzz cut?” she asked, just to ask something matter-of-factly.

  “The trimmer only does buzz cuts,” Abel replied. “It’s old. I don’t want to waste money on a barber.”

  “That’s the only reason?”

  “That’s all. Plus, people here leave you alone if you have a buzz cut. And if you’re wearing a Böhse Onkelz sweatshirt. I don’t want any trouble.”

  “But … politically … you’re not … you’re not like skinheads?”

  “A Nazi?” Abel asked and started to laugh. “I’m not dumb.”

  “And … the white cats … the fabric of the white cats … the rainbows …”

  “Today is question day,” Abel said. “But with Anna Leemann, it’s always question day, isn’t it? You want to know everything.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Everything. About the world.” She sounded like a child again. So what.

  “It’s just that it’s not always answering day,” Abel murmured. And, after a while, “The white fabric is exactly what you think, of course. But that’s not what you want to know. You want to know why I’m selling.” He turned his head, and she pulled away the tweezers, which had almost touched his eye. “I don’t take the stuff I sell, Anna.”

  “And I’m the queen of Sheba.” Anna laughed.

  Abel didn’t laugh. “It’s true. I’m dealing it, that’s all. It brings in cash. Michelle has … I got my contacts through her, a long time ago. It’s always good to have contacts. I can’t afford to take anything. I need a clear head. Because of Micha. You understand? And because of school. I want to pass. It’s hard enough, when I miss so many classes …”

  “And when you sleep so much,” Anna said. He picked up their hot chocolate glasses and carried them to the kitchen. When he came back, the glasses were clean and he was carrying a bottle of vodka. He put the glasses on the table in silence and poured. Then he sat down again, taking one of the glasses in both hands, the way Micha had held her hot chocolate. He was sitting farther away from her than he had before. Not that much, though. He didn’t say anything more about a clear head.

  “Why do you think I sleep at school? What do you think I do at night that I’m so tired?” he asked seriously. “Tell me what you think. I’m sure everybody thinks something.”

  “Well, I … I don’t know,” Anna said, picking up the other glass. “Maybe you’re selling white cat’s fur in the clubs?”

  He laughed. “Yeah,” he said, relieved. She didn’t understand his relief. “Well, yeah. But I have legal work, too. If you have contacts … I’m helping out in two bars out here. Sometimes in town, too.”

  “You asked Knaake for a job. Our lighthouse keeper.”

  Abel nodded. “The lighthouse keeper. Yes. Sometimes it gets to me, and I think I should do something totally different to earn money. Something that doesn’t have anything to do with bars and clubs and … something that’s got to do with thinking. Thinking is something you can do at home, too. I dunno … like maybe I could be a research assistant for someone at the university … that kind of thing … Micha shouldn’t be by herself so much. She doesn’t realize because she’s sleeping, but after what happened today … I don’t know if Lierski’ll come back.” He downed the rest of the vodka in one swig and set the glass back onto
the table with a thud. “If he touches Micha, I’ll kill him.”

  Anna emptied her glass. She didn’t like vodka. “Could I have another one?” she asked.

  While pouring, Abel moved closer, and she wondered whether it happened accidentally. Probably. He seemed too lost in his own thoughts to even notice. “Back then … back then, I couldn’t defend myself against Lierski,” he said. “But now I can. I’m as strong as he is. I …”

  Anna reached over to take his right hand, and he pulled it away. “Defend. Yeah, I understand,” she said. “You hurt your wrist. Maybe it’s broken.”

  “Oh, come on,” Abel said. “It just got too close to a chair’s leg.”

  “Can you move it?”

  “The chair’s leg?” Abel tried to laugh. He tried to move the hand. “Sure, I can. Shit. No.”

  “You should see a doctor,” Anna said.

  “Crap.”

  Anna took his hand to gauge the swelling. “Let’s at least put something cold around it. Frozen peas work pretty well.”

  “Do I have to eat them?”

  “No, you just have to inject them into a vein,” Anna said. How good it felt to laugh! How good it felt to sit on the sofa, to be close to each other, just for a little while, and to laugh. He hadn’t pulled his hand away, not this time. The moment stretched into an eternity, a moment in which nothing happened; their laughs died down, dried out. They just sat there, and that was enough; nobody had to do or say anything …

  Anna’s cell phone rang, and Abel started, jumping up as if he’d just remembered something urgent he had to do. It was home. A blue number, full of roses. Anna sighed.

  “Not that it’s any of my business,” Linda said, “but where are you?”

  “I got kidnapped by a serial killer,” Anna answered. “You can transfer the ransom to Gitta’s account.”

  “I see.” Linda was trying hard to sound casual. “When does she plan to release you?”

  “Gitta,” Anna said to Abel, “when do you plan to release me? Right now, I think,” she said into the phone. “I’m on my way.”