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“No,” A
Bertil nodded. “Our dog. If you watch your dog die, it’s like watching a family member. Him and me, we kind of grew up together. In the begi
For a while no one spoke. They were so quiet, the robins came back.
“I saw his eyes,” Bertil said. “When he died, they were golden. He knew that he was dying. In the end, he knew.”
“Golden,” A
“A Weimaraner,” Bertil said. “He had a silver coat and golden eyes. A beautiful dog. Some have blue eyes, though …”
“Let’s go back inside,” Frauke said. “It’s frickin’ cold out here.”
“And next cigarette break, we’re not discussing death …,” Gitta added on the stairs, with forced cheerfulness. “Instead, let’s talk about the very begi
“Why, Gitta,” said Frauke, “are you going to become a midwife after all?”
“I’m not talking about midwifery,” Gitta replied. “I’m talking about sex.”
Later, in the growing darkness, they stood in front of the house, talking about meaningless things. Bertil was the first to leave. He had borrowed his parents’ car. He had turned eighteen quite a while ago and, unlike Gitta, had convinced his parents to pay for his driver’s license.
“Gitta’s right, what a freak,” Frauke repeated. “What was it he said about shooting people? Is Bertil Hagema
“Bertil Hagema
“I don’t have a university guy,” A
That wasn’t really a lie after all.
“How sweet,” Frauke said. “He invited you for a coffee?” She sighed. “We shouldn’t be thinking about math and physics and death. We should think about love instead. I’ve been wondering who to fall in love with for sometime now … there’s He
Gitta cleared her throat.
“Just recently, I considered falling in love with someone, experimentally,” Frauke went on dreamily. “Somebody absolutely absurd. André.”
“Who is André?” Gitta and A
“The Pole,” Frauke answered. “Our peddler with the pretty little pills. Isn’t his first name André?”
A
“I’m a little afraid of him.” Frauke gave a little shudder, like a child on an amusement park ride. “But maybe he’s one of those guys with, you know, a rough exterior that conceals a heart of gold … if he wasn’t ru
“Don’t do that, Frauke,” she said. “Don’t fall in love with that one. I already dissuaded someone else. I know a few things about our Polish friend that you don’t.”
“Things? What kind of things?” Frauke asked, wide-eyed.
Gitta shrugged. “Not G-rated,” she said, winking, and A
“A man with a secret,” Frauke whispered. “And such beautiful blue eyes. Dahling.”
“Gee, don’t forget to invite me to your thirteenth birthday party,” A
And that was the moment the call came.
Before heading inside with her cell phone, A
“A
“Yes,” Micha answered. “I …” She seemed not to be holding the telephone properly; there was a lot of noise in the background. Something seemed to fall and possibly break. The island, A
“Micha, I don’t understand you!” she shouted. “Say it again! Louder!”
“… not, what should I do?” Micha’s voice said, and now it was clearer. “I locked the bathroom door with the key. They’re fighting, A
“Who is fighting?” A
“In the bathroom,” Micha repeated. “I have to help him, but I’m afraid. I can’t. A
“What?” A
“No,” Micha sobbed. “She hasn’t, and she never will. She’s gone for good. He said that. He said that I have to live with him now; he doesn’t have a red gown, but still … A
“I’m on my way,” A
For a moment, she considered calling the police. But the note on the bathroom mirror didn’t say Emergency and the number of the police, it said Emergency and A
And no pink down jacket flying across the schoolyard on Friday afternoons, eager to be caught in someone’s arms and whirled about.
By the time she had arrived at this thought, she was riding down Wolgaster Street, which seemed endless today, like a steadily growing plant. No matter how fast A
The whole way she tried to convince herself that nothing had happened, that everything was fine, that Micha had been exaggerating, that the whole thing was a misunderstanding, that you couldn’t believe everything a six-year-old child said— Amundsen Street was deserted in the halfhearted snow flurry. The door of block number eighteen was wide open. A