The Storyteller

A

And then Abel opened the door.

His fist was raised, and she ducked instinctively.

“A

“Yeah, me too,” A

Abel nodded. “Can I come in?” He nodded again. A

“You can let go of me now,” Abel said. “Micha, hey! It’s all right! It’s just A

“If I absolutely have to,” Micha said, and Abel laughed.

A

The hall looked as if a search or a bombing or possibly both had taken place there. Jackets had been pulled down from their hooks, and, on one side, the coatrack had been ripped out of the wall entirely. The floor was covered with toys, shattered plates, pieces of a broken glass bottle. Abel stepped over all of this and led A

“Hot chocolate?” A

The kitchen looked like the hall. One door of the wall cupboard above the sink had been pulled from its hinges; a pot of basil was lying on the floor in front of the window, the plant crushed, the soil scattered; and, in one corner, there were the pieces of what had once been the contents of a whole cupboard. The word rage had new meaning here, A

Abel didn’t look much better than the apartment. His left eye was starting to swell, and his right temple was covered with blood, as if he had fallen from his bike—or maybe from an accelerating car—onto a gravel path. “What …?” A

Abel nodded toward the heap of broken plates and cups in the corner. “I took a fall.”

“I hope you didn’t fall alone?”

“Oh no,” Abel said, not without pride, adding chocolate powder to the milk. “Believe me, there’s someone else who looks just as bad as I do.”

She realized that he was stirring with his left hand. When he had opened the door, he had raised his left fist. He held the right one awkwardly.

“Micha,” he said, “you two could clean up the living room a bit, what do you think?”

Micha grabbed A

A

“He doesn’t have to,” Micha said, sniffling.

“Yes he does,” A

“And from what, anyway?” Micha asked, wiping her nose on A

“You know what,” A

Five minutes later, the three of them were sitting at the living room table. The table was missing a leg now. They were drinking their chocolate from water glasses because there weren’t any unbroken mugs left.

“Abel,” A

“Later,” said Abel.

“But getting that treated is more important than hot chocolate.”

“No,” he said, and A

Micha lay down on the sofa, exhausted from fear and crying and relief, her head on Abel’s knee; and A

“You remember that white cat we saw yesterday?” Abel asked. “When we were walking at the harbor in Wieck? The white cat you wanted to take home with you?”

“I remember,” Micha whispered and yawned, “she was all dirty and disheveled, but she didn’t want to be petted by me … I remember.”

“That’s good. The green ship sailed through the waves for a long time, and day by day, the little queen and the rose girl became colder. The wind was bringing snow now, real snow.

“‘Your roses are already starting to wilt,’ the sea lion said to the rose girl. ‘Not only where I tore them but everywhere else on your body, too. They will wither. And you will freeze in the cold wind.’

“But the rose girl wasn’t the only one to feel the cold. Mrs. Margaret and the little queen were shivering, too, now that they were standing on deck.

“‘Maybe it’s the black ship,’ the little queen said. ‘It brings the cold with it! It comes closer and closer without ever reaching us. Isn’t that weird? I almost wish it were here and something would happen at last!’

“‘Something is happening,’ the sea lion said, lifting his head out of the waves as far as he could. ‘Look there! There’s the next island.’

“‘It’s all covered in snow,’ the rose girl said. But she was mistaken.

“A little later, they anchored the ship, and there on the shore of the island stood an information board.

“‘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 spi