The Storyteller

  “On the island of the rich man, there was a palace made of blue glass, blue like the ice on a frozen rivulet in a winter wood. And in the windowpanes the wind was singing:

  “‘What do you think this island can give? Love, joy, and light, a reason to live? Surely, there is no island that can give you more than that of the rich man.’

  “Inside, in the warmth behind the thick glass of a greenhouse, orange and lemon trees were growing, along with high date palms and banana trees, in huge, delicately decorated pots. A nice warm fire danced in the fireplace, and there was a letter on the sofa, pinned down with a golden paperweight.

  “‘Dear travelers,’ the lighthouse keeper read aloud. ‘Please go ahead and take some of the fruit in my greenhouse. I’ll be gone for a while. I got a message in a bottle this morning saying that there is a beggar woman living on that nearby island. I had never realized it was inhabited. Now I’m on my way there. I’ll fix the island of the beggar woman. Everything I touch becomes fertile and beautiful. I don’t know why; I just seem to have the right touch …’

  “‘Oh!’ the little queen sighed. ‘He’s gone. He’s sailed away on his own ship to visit the island of the beggar woman! He must have passed us on the way, but we didn’t see him.’

  “‘The beggar woman could just stay and live in the palace from now on,’ the rose girl said.

  “The beggar woman sat down between the orange and lemon trees. She looked a little lost.

  “‘Don’t forget to water the trees,’ the little queen said.

  “‘Yes …’ the beggar woman replied distractedly.

  “‘And don’t forget to clean the windows from time to time, so the light can get in and make the trees grow!’

  “‘Yes …’

  “They took a basketful of fruits with them and went back aboard their green ship.

  “‘Now she is happy,’ the little queen whispered, pressing Mrs. Margaret so hard she became a little flat and grumpy. ‘We helped her.’

  “But the rose girl and the lighthouse keeper stood at the stern and looked back toward the island of the rich man. So the little queen looked back, too. And she saw that the palace appeared a little gray all of a sudden, as if it were losing its colors. The orange trees were already losing their oranges and had started to wither. On the island of the beggar woman, though, the dead tree seemed to have fresh green leaves now.

  “‘That’s the rich man with his lucky hands,’ the lighthouse keeper said.

  “‘And the beggar woman with her unlucky ones,’ the rose girl added.

  “‘Oh no!’ the little queen cried out. ‘Maybe they have to meet so that everything turns out all right?’

  “‘Now will you all stop shouting?’ the blind white cat said. ‘I want to sleep. You can’t change things. That’s life. Poor stays poor and rich stays rich, and those two, they will never meet.’

  “And that was when the little queen saw the black ship. It was sailing between them and the islands, so they couldn’t see the palace or the gray house anymore. The black ship shut out the daylight, towering over them like a mountain range made of dark masts and sails and ropes, very close. They heard the wind in its rigging, the ever-singing wind:

  Rail black and black the planks,

  Black the stern, the bow, the flanks

  We’re the ones who never fail

  Black our mast and black our sail

  We don’t fear a storm or rain,

  Who’s not slaying will be slain,

  We are never hesitating,

  Lying in the shadows, waiting

  For the perfect time to strike

  And destroy what we don’t like.

  You will soon be in our grip,

  This is the hunter’s ship.’

  “‘Will they kill us?’ the asking man asked at the bow.

  “‘In the Elisenhain, between the hazelnut bushes,’ the answering man answered from the stern, without any context, as usual. The little queen clung to the rose girl’s sleeve. The shadow of the black ship was touching the rail. Two black figures—an overweight woman in a tracksuit and a man who seemed younger than she—were standing there, looking over at them. Behind them, the little queen could see two more people, an elderly couple.

  “Suddenly, the silver-gray dog landed beside them.

  “‘Listen,’ he said very quickly. ‘If there is no other way, you must use the airship. It’s under the polar bear skins in the cabin. If you take it out and bring it on deck, the wind will inflate the balloon. The cabin can be turned into a gondola—you’ve just got to fasten it to the balloon with the hooks you’ll find there … but use the airship only in the case of an emergency. It will drift with the wind. And the wind has been blowing away from the mainland ever since we set out. If you use the airship, you might be safe from the hunters, but you may never reach the mainland.’

  “When she heard this, the little queen kneeled down and put her arms around the dog.

  “‘Why do you say YOU?’ she asked. ‘What about you? Are you leaving us?’

  “‘Yes,’ the silver-gray dog replied. ‘I’ll try to detain them for a while.’

  “He struggled free of the little queen’s embrace, and, with a great leap, he jumped—no, he flew—through the air toward the black ship.”

  “WHAT HAPPENED NEXT?” MICHA ASKED BREATHLESSLY.

  “I don’t know what happened next,” Abel said. “Maybe it hasn’t happened yet. We’ve got to wait. And now, we’re there.”

  They had left the snow-covered beeches behind and were standing at the end of Hain Street again, in front of the little Russian store at the corner. Abel unlocked his bike. “The lock has nearly frozen,” he said. “It’s really damn cold.”

  “Let’s go home and have hot apple juice with cinnamon,” Micha said. “And make pancakes. The weather’s just right for pancakes. And you still have to show Anna how to make them. How to flip them in the air … and everything.”

  “Maybe Anna would rather go home now,” Abel said. “Maybe she has to study for her next exam or practice the flute or …”

  “Should Anna go home?” Anna asked.

  Abel shook his head slowly. “Come with us.” And then a grin crept onto his face. “It’s probably high time you learn some important things, like how to flip a pancake in the air.”

  The gray staircase was almost familiar now, the beer bottles piled in front of a door, the sharp teeth of the steps, the uneven banister. They hadn’t gotten any farther than the first floor when the door downstairs opened.

  “Abel!” Mrs. Ketow called. “Wait!”

  “Go ahead,” Abel said to Micha as he bent over the banister. Below, Mrs. Ketow’s plump figure stood, tracksuited as always, holding onto the banister with one hand, trying to bend her head so she could look up at Abel.

  “I just wanted to say … about Michelle … I know she ain’t comin’ back, right? I know she ain’t comin’ back.”

  Abel narrowed his eyes and looked at her. “How do you know?” he asked and started to walk back down the stairs very slowly. Anna followed him.

  “I could tell the authorities. But I don’t,” Mrs. Ketow said in a lower voice. “I know a lot, I do.”

  Abel stood in front of her now. She was a lot smaller than he was. Her tracksuit was stained; her stringy hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, which exposed her broad and somehow featureless face. One strand of hair, above her temple, was dyed bright red. Anna wondered what Mrs. Ketow would look like twenty pounds lighter. If she would be pretty. If she had been pretty, way back. From the apartment behind her, Anna heard children shouting.

  “I know why the social worker keeps coming to your door,” Mrs. Ketow went on. “Want to take the little one from you, don’t they? You can’t keep her, Abel, you know that. I just wanted to say, no worries. I have three foster children already, but that’s okay, I could take a fourth one; there’s room enough here. The little one, she could stay here, in this house. It’d be better for you—you could a
lways see her; I’d let you—she’d just live with me. She’s older than the others, so it’d work out pretty well. I’d tell those social workers … I don’t have problems with them people …”

  Abel took another step forward, and Mrs. Ketow stepped back.

  “Give your friends from the social services office my best,” he said coldly. “And tell them Michelle will be back.” He looked dangerous again, a huge gray wolf in the stairwell, baring its teeth, and even though they were invisible teeth, Mrs. Ketow saw them.

  “Michelle … I mean, she was okay,” she said, stepping back farther. “We got along well, smoked a cigarette together from time to time …”

  “I’m not Michelle,” Abel said. “Why don’t you take care of the foster children you already have—that’s what social services is paying you to do.” With these words, he turned and went up the stairs, this time without stopping. On the fourth floor, he unlocked the door to the apartment, slipped off his shoes, and covered his face with his hands for a moment, standing there in the hallway, just breathing. Anna stood beside him, helpless. She wanted to do something, to say something, something helpful, but nothing came to mind. The only thing that did come to mind was that she had seen Mrs. Ketow already today. Aboard the black ship. Abel lowered his hands and looked at her.

  “Pancakes?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  And then she was sitting next to Micha on the narrow windowsill in the kitchen, while Abel mixed the batter for the pancakes. The kitchen was filled with the smell of sugar and batter and hot oil; the window fogged up. Anna drew a ship on it with her finger, and Micha drew a dog at the bow. From the old cassette player on the kitchen table, Leonard Cohen was singing:

  Oh the sisters of mercy they are not departed or gone

  They were waiting for me when I thought that I just can’t go on …

  And they brought me their comfort and later they brought me their song

  Oh I hope you run into them you who’ve been waiting so long …

  Mrs. Ketow was far away.

  “See, when they start coming loose at the edges, then you shake the pan a little and throw the pancake in the air,” Abel explained. “Look, like this …” Anna slid down from the windowsill. She stood behind him to get a closer look and, for a moment, placed her chin on his shoulder. She would have liked to have stood like this a little longer, but Abel stepped back and flipped the pancake, which turned over in the air. When he caught it in the pan again, Micha clapped her hands.

  “Abel,” she said, “can do everything in the world.”

  And Anna thought, if you could just flip your way through finals!

  “Wait,” Micha said. “I think I heard something. Maybe …”

  Anna followed her to the hallway. The doorbell was ringing, obviously for the second time now. “Maybe it’s her,” Micha whispered.

  “Who?” Anna asked.

  “Michelle,” Micha said. “She always loved Abel’s pancakes. Maybe she smelled them and came home.” She ran to the door and opened it wide before Anna could say or do anything. Anna wanted to believe that Michelle really would be standing in the doorway and everything would be okay. If only she could believe hard enough …

  The person standing in the door was not Michelle, of course. It was a man whom Anna had never seen before. He wore a suede jacket lined with sheepskin, a knitted sweater with a brown pattern, and jeans. A silver ring shone in his left ear, and a broad smile brightened his three-day stubble. Under his arm he was carrying a black leather folder.

  “How nice you finally got around to opening the door,” he said, putting his foot against it so that Micha couldn’t close it again. He took hold of her hand to shake it, then he shook Anna’s hand, and then he came in and closed the door behind him.

  “I don’t know who you are,” he said to Anna, “but my name is Sören Marinke. I’m from the social services office. I’ve been here before, but no one would ever let me in. I think it’s high time we talk.”

  Now, sinking into it, Anna noticed that the sofa in the living room was too soft, as if it could suffocate you. It was silent now in the kitchen. She knew Abel was listening.

  Marinke sat in one of the armchairs, opposite Anna and Micha.

  “Well,” he began, leaning forward in the armchair and putting his hands on his knees like someone who plans to discuss something in a very direct way and then immediately enact it.

  “You’re Micha, aren’t you? Micha Tannatek? I’m Sören Marinke. You can just call me Sören …”

  Micha shook her head. “Why would I do that?” she asked, and Anna had to bite her lip not to laugh. Marinke looked somewhat irritated. “Micha … I’m here about your mother.”

  “She’s on a trip,” Micha said. “Her name is Michelle. She’ll be back soon.”

  Marinke nodded. “We were wondering whether it might be a good idea if you lived somewhere else in the meantime. Till she’s back from her, uh … trip.” He threw a glance at Anna. “Are you related somehow?”

  Anna shook her head. “I’m just a … a friend.”

  “She’s Abel’s girlfriend,” Micha explained, and although this was not the time for it, something inside Anna jumped up and down with childish joy. She was … really, she was? She was Abel’s girlfriend?

  “Abel,” Marinke said, taking a paper out of a folder to check something. “That would be Abel Tannatek … Micha’s half-brother, is that correct?”

  Anna nodded. Marinke obviously noticed another note because he quickly added, “I’m very sorry about … about Micha’s father. But we have to find a solution. Micha’s mother … do you know her? Do you know where she is?”

  “No,” Anna said. “Nobody seems to be sure.” She wondered if she should have lied. If she should have said, sure, I know her, she’s just gone for a while, she does this from time to time …

  “This … Abel … it says here that he’s seventeen … if Ms. Tannatek is really coming back in a few days, well … when you’re seventeen, you should be able to live by yourself for a few days. It would be silly to try to find a placement for him, too … we would … I mean, I would turn a blind eye to that … but the little one definitely needs someone to look after her.”

  “That’s what Abel does,” Anna said. She wondered why Marinke hadn’t asked where Abel was. He probably knew perfectly well that Abel was home and that he could have asked him these questions directly. Did he hope to get information out of her first, maybe information that Abel wouldn’t have given him?

  “If these notes are correct, he’s taking finals and graduating in a few weeks. He can’t look after a little girl all day long at the same time.”

  “Yes he can!” Micha exclaimed, jumping up from the sofa. “Sure he can! I don’t wanna go anywhere else! I never ever want to live with anyone else anywhere!”

  “Please sit down,” Marinke said. “Let’s work this out together. Don’t you have any other relatives?”

  “We do have Uncle Rico and Aunt Evelyn,” Micha replied, her voice hollow when she said it. “But I don’t like them. I don’t go there unless I have to. We stayed there once, at Christmastime. They don’t like kids. They hate it if you’re too loud and stuff. Uncle Rico got really angry about something. Sometimes he smacks people across the face and shouts. They live as far away as the moon, and I won’t go there. They wouldn’t want me anyway.”

  “There’s the possibility of a foster family,” Marinke said. “See, Micha, if your mother’s not coming back soon, then you could just … I mean—until she does come back—you could live with another nice family. But that is not the most important thing at the moment. What is most important is that we find out who is responsible for you, I mean, legally …” He realized that both Anna and Micha were staring at him, and he started to fidget in his chair uneasily. He glanced toward the kitchen. “The thing is,” he went on in a low voice to Anna, “you see … I understand that the brother is not interested in our help. Like many people. I could go so far as to
have the police pick Micha up from school, but I don’t want to do that. For me, personally, this job is much more than just a job, I … I’d like to find the best solution for everyone … and to me, the best solution seems to be that we find out where the mother is. Maybe you want to think again about whether you know where she is …”

  “Why are you here?” Anna asked.

  “To help,” Marinke replied, astonished. His eyes were green like the forest in summer, and they looked as if he meant what he said. She wondered if it was possible to explain things to him. No. He wouldn’t understand. Nobody would.

  “We don’t need anyone’s help,” Micha said. “I’ve got Abel and Abel’s got me, and we’ve both got Anna, and we don’t need anyone else besides that.”

  Heavens, Anna thought, please don’t let me start crying now.

  “You need money to live on,” Marinke said.

  “We’ve got enough money,” Micha said. “Sometimes we even go out for hot chocolate. And we bought a book, to celebrate.”

  “And where do you get the money from?” Marinke asked.

  “How do you know that Michelle Tannatek’s on a … trip?” Anna asked quickly.

  “Someone called us,” Marinke replied. “A neighbor who’s been worried. And Michelle hasn’t picked up her social services check for a while.” He sighed. “I guess it would be better to talk to …” He nodded toward the kitchen … Finally.

  The kitchen door opened, and Abel walked in, carrying a plate stacked high with pancakes. Anna was confused. Did he want to prove that Micha wasn’t starving? It was strange to see him standing there in the doorway, like a big brother from a fairy tale, holding a mountain of pancakes, when, except for the fact that he was carrying pancakes, he didn’t really look like a fairy-tale brother at all. He had rolled up his sleeves, as if to make clear that he could throw Sören Marinke out of the apartment if he wanted to. The red scar on his left upper arm was shining, and he was having difficulty controlling his emotions. Threatening … that was the word. He looked threatening—like he’d looked in the student lounge, or in the Mittendrin, when he had stood face-to-face with Bertil. The plate with the pancakes was a ridiculous stage prop in his hand.