The Storyteller

• • •

And then, after sixth period, and a deadly boring biology class, she found the doll.

Later she often wondered what would have happened if she hadn’t found it. Nothing, probably. Everything would have stayed as it was. Forever. A

The older students had their own lounge, a small room cluttered with two old tables, too-small wooden chairs, old sofas, and an even older coffee maker that usually didn’t work. A

She’d never have found the doll if she hadn’t been waiting for Bertil.

She’d never have found the doll if she hadn’t taken all her stuff out of her backpack to search for the worksheet … and if a pencil hadn’t rolled under the sofa in the process … and if …

She bent down to retrieve the pencil.

And there was the doll.

Lodged in the dust beneath the sofa, it lay among gum wrappers and paperclips. A

She sat on the floor in front of the sofa, holding the doll in her lap. As A

“Where did you come from?” she whispered. “What are you doing in this room? Who lost you here?”

She was still sitting on the floor when a group of students came rushing in, and, for a moment, she had the odd sensation that she should protect the doll from their eyes. Of course it was nonsense. As she stood, she held the doll up. “Does anybody know whose this is?” she asked, so loudly that the doll seemed to start at the sound. “I found it under the sofa. Has anybody lost it there?”

“Hey,” Tim said. “That’s my favorite doll. Man, I’ve been searching for her for days!”

“No, stupid, it’s mine!” He

“Hmm,” Nicole said, nodding, “well, there are people who do it with dogs, why not with children’s dolls?”

“Lemme see, maybe it’s mine,” Jörg said, taking the doll from A

“Give it to me!” someone shouted, and suddenly the doll was flying through the air. As A

“Stop it!” she yelled. “Stop it! Now! She belongs to some little kid and you can’t … what if she falls apart … she belongs to someone! You’re behaving like you’re in first grade!”

“It’s the stress of finals,” Tim said apologetically. But he didn’t let go of the toy. “See if you can catch her,” he challenged, and then he really sounded like he was six. A

Bertil with his too-thick glasses. He gave her back to A

“The janitor,” Bertil said gently, before he left. “Maybe the janitor has a child … it’s possible, isn’t it?”

“It’s possible,” A

But as soon as he turned to go, she knew she shouldn’t have smiled at him. Behind his glasses, he had pleading puppy-dog eyes, and she knew exactly what their expression meant.

When the others had gone—to their afternoon classes, to the coffeeshop, into town—when the student lounge was empty and quiet, A

She looked at the row of trees outside the window. She saw the branches, heavy with ice crystals, wave in the breeze—and then she caught sight of the figure perched on the radiator by the window. She jumped. Had he been there the whole time, sitting motionless?

It was Ta

At the moment, she couldn’t remember his Christian name. She was all alone with him. And she was afraid. Her hands gripped the doll.

He cleared his throat. And then he said something surprising. “Be careful with her.”

“What?” A

“You’re holding her too tightly. Be careful with her,” Ta

A

“It was me,” he said. “I lost her. Understand?”

“No,” A

“Of course not.” He looked at the doll for a moment; he was holding it—her—like a living being. He tucked her into his backpack and returned to the radiator. He pulled out a single cigarette, then, obviously remembering that he was not allowed to smoke in the lounge, shrugged and put it back in his bag.

A

Ta

She stood there until he had to say something.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you for what?” she asked. She wanted an explanation. Any kind of explanation.

“Thank you for finding her,” he said and nodded to his backpack, from which the hand of the doll seemed to be waving.

“Well, hmm, oh,” said A

“You look as if you were pla

“It’s cold.”

“In here?” A

He was still looking at her. And then he peeled off the hat, very slowly, like a ritual. His hair was blond and tousled. A