The Storyteller

“You didn’t see us,” she said to A

“I was … lost in thought,” A

“What were you thinking about?”

“You,” A

“Are we go

“We won’t buy anything here,” A

Micha looked at Abel, and Abel seemed to be thinking. Finally he nodded. “Just today,” he said.

The “gleam of hope” didn’t sell just hot chocolate; it also carried clothes made of felt as well as wooden toys. Half the people working there were mentally handicapped, though there was probably a more correct word for it. When A

“We’ve never been here,” Micha said. “I like it. We could come every day.”

“Down the road,” Abel said. “When I’ve finished school and am working more … then we can come here every day.”

“Are you going to stay here?” A

“We’ll see,” Abel said. “Maybe we’ll go away. I don’t know yet.”

And A

“This cake is very pretty,” Micha remarked.

A

“In the sky above the green ship,” Abel said as he drank a little of his chocolate, “the sun was shining brighter than before. The black ship had fallen behind. But it never vanished completely. And despite the sun, the air didn’t get any warmer. The rose girl’s leaves withered, one after the other, and one night as she stood on deck all by herself, the last one fell. She was completely naked.

“‘Oh, if only I could spin a thread of moonlight! If only I could spin a thread of the froth on the waves to make clothes!’

“Single snowflakes fell from the night sky and snuggled in her dark hair, and she sighed and said, ‘Oh, if only I could spin a thread of snow to make clothes!’

“Then she sat down on the deck and waited to freeze to death.

“At that moment something dark emerged from a corner—something very big—and the rose girl was frightened. It was the wolf. The big gray wolf who had killed the red hunter. She had seen it, even though she hadn’t told the little queen. Now the wolf approached her slowly; she saw that he was limping, dragging his right front paw. And she saw his teeth. When the wolf was very close, she realized he was still bleeding from a wound on his flank. ‘From the rapier of the red hunter,’ the wolf said, looking at her with his golden eyes.

“‘But how is it possible that you’re still bleeding?’ she asked. ‘It’s been a long time since we threw the red hunter’s body into the sea. And the sea lion that swims along next to the ship in daytime doesn’t have any wounds.’

“The wolf didn’t reply. ‘You’re shivering,’ he said. ‘Do you believe that you could spin a thread of my blood? To make clothes from?’

“The rose girl tried hard to believe. And the moment she did, the wolf’s blood turned into a red thread that started weaving itself into a soft, red fabric. The thread was pouring out of the wound, yard up yard, and the fabric’s folds covered the rose girl, covered her and warmed her until she didn’t feel the cold of the winter night anymore. A piece of fabric draped itself around her face, and when she swept it aside, she saw that the wolf had gone.

“The rest of the night the rose girl spent sewing. Her needle was a rose thorn she had taken from one of the dried branches. There was enough fabric to make warm clothes for all of them—for the rose girl and the little queen and the lighthouse keeper and Mrs. Margaret. Only the white cat, who constantly slept, didn’t need warm clothes. She was much too disinterested in the world to feel the cold.

“When the morning came, they stood on the deck of the ship, clad in red velvet, and the lighthouse keeper looked through his glasses and called out: ‘There! I can see two islands, very close! We can go ashore on one of them and stretch our legs a little!’

“The little queen wondered where he had found his glasses. Hadn’t she gone back to the ship alone, to get those glasses? And hadn’t she almost been caught by the red hunter because of it? She pushed the thought away and watched as the lighthouse keeper and the rose girl secured the ship’s lines to a pole on one of the islands. The island was full of people, waving and shouting questions: ‘Where does the moon come from?’ ‘What’s the meaning of life?’ ‘Why is it impossible to turn a yogurt container inside out to eat the last bits?’

“‘This,’ the sea lion explained, ‘is the island of questions, little queen.’

“The little queen jumped ashore, and the asking people caught her in their arms. But they didn’t set her down. They lifted her up, above their heads, and carried her away, all the while shouting more questions. In the end, they started shaking her impatiently in hopes she would answer.

“‘Where does someone go when he dies?’ ‘When does fear end?’ ‘Where are all the single socks that disappeared in the washing machine?’

“The little queen didn’t know the answers to any of their questions.

“‘Help me!’ the little queen cried fearfully. ‘They will tear me to pieces!’

“Then the silver-gray dog appeared between the asking people. He snapped left and right with his teeth, and the asking people stepped back. ‘Why is he doing that?’ they asked. ‘Where does he come from? Is he good or bad?’

“The silver-gray dog plucked the little queen from their arms, like a bird from the air. Suddenly, she was sitting on his back, and he was ru

“‘Cast off!’ the sea lion called from the waves. ‘Quick! Too many questions can be dangerous!’

“So they pulled away from shore and headed over to the second island. But one of the asking people had managed to jump aboard and climb over the rail. ‘Can I come with you?’ he asked. ‘Are you sailing toward the mainland? What does the mainland look like?’

“‘Shut up,’ the white cat said. ‘How is anyone supposed to sleep when you’re asking so many questions!’

“They now approached another island, where there was also a crowd of people waiting and waving. The travelers could see that they were shouting something, but their words didn’t reach the island of questions.