The Storyteller

“I think I can manage to read the numbers on the doors.” A

He frowned. “Maybe you’re right. You know that school near the old stadium? Behind the Netto market? You have to make the turn across from the gas station on Wolgaster Street. She’ll be somewhere between her school and number 18 Amundsen Street. Just give her the key; she’ll manage the rest by herself.”

“Hurry up,” A

Neither A

A

The supermarket parking lot and the elementary school looked different in the snow—cleaner, friendlier, and more peaceful somehow. A lot of small children were ru

“Excuse me,” she began. “I’m looking for Micha … Micha Ta

“Oh, Micha,” the young woman said. “Yeah, Micha’s in my class. Does she have to walk home alone?”

That’s none of your business, A

“Most days,” she answered. “Except Fridays.”

The young woman nodded. “Are you her sister?”

“No,” said A

“Yeah. Yeah, she has,” the woman said thoughtfully, and A

“Rudder,” A

“Well, you might meet her uncle out there,” the teacher said. Uncle, A

Without bothering to reply, A

• • •

Gitta was swearing between clenched teeth. She wasn’t doing well on this test. The French sentences formed knots in her head, knots she couldn’t untangle, as the deeper meanings behind the words escaped her. She’d screw up this test, she knew it. She hadn’t the foggiest idea what she was doing—and, come to think of it, why she was even bothering.

She looked up, looked for a crown of red hair among the other heads, bent over their tests. When she found it, she smiled. God, she really had better things to think about than French essays. These fucking tests. She needed a cigarette. He

Gitta narrowed her eyes and held his gaze. She thought of A

It was as if they were having a conversation with their eyes, in the middle of a French test, in complete silence.

I’m not blind, you know, Gitta said. I mean, I don’t know exactly what is going on between you two … A

Leave me alone, Abel said.

You leave A

Excuse me? Have you lost it completely now? I don’t even know her.

And she doesn’t know you. That’s the point.

What do you mean?

Gitta sighed. I told you. I’m not blind. I know a few things I’m definitely not go

He lowered his head again, looked at his test; he’d ended the conversation. Had he really read what her eyes had said to him?

After the test, she stood in the schoolyard with He

“Hey,” He

“That’s A

“Excuse me?” He

“Oh, nothing,” Gitta said lightly and laughed. “The test. The final exams. Anything. What ends well in life? You got another smoke for me?”

IN SUMMERTIME, SHIPS WERE PACKED TIGHTLY IN Wieck, where the Ryck met the sea, and the harbor was crowded with sailors and tourists. Now, in February, the village and harbor were nearly empty. Only fishing boats were left. The fish caught here were sold in Hamburg or Denmark, and the fish sold in the store a block behind the harbor came mainly from the Netherlands, delivered by trucks in the night: there seemed to be a global fish exchange.

Little red flags on poles, markers for the fishing nets, were leaning against the boats in stacks now, the flags waving tiredly behind the falling snow. The railing of the old drawbridge was freshly painted with the white of the snow. On the bank of the river where A

A