The Storyteller

“Sometimes Micha tells fairy tales, too,” Abel said, tousling her pale, snow-blond hair. “But, today, I’m not going to tell you anything about the invisibles in the woods. Instead, I’ll tell you about the island of the beggar woman.”

“The island of the beggar woman?” Micha asked.

“Yes,” he said. Then he linked arms with A

“The island of the beggar woman was the next island the ship came to,” Abel said. “There was just a single building on it: a tiny gray house that looked strangely ragged. The wind whistled through the crevices in the walls, and you could hear it far out at sea:

“‘Don’t you have some coins for me?’ it whistled. ‘This house is all I own, you see, the curtains made of waves and foam, this is the beggar woman’s home.’

“Next to the little house there was a bare tree, and the wind was whistling through its leafless branches, singing: ‘Don’t you have some bread for me? This tree is all I own, you see. It has no apples, has no pears; instead it grows a thousand cares.’

“The wind whistled in the cold chimney: ‘Don’t you have some warmth for me? This hearth is all I own, you see. There’s no coal, no flames in it, my dreams are all I’ve ever lit.’

“‘Let’s go ashore!’ the little queen exclaimed. ‘We have to bring that tree back to life and light a fire in the cold fireplace! Maybe my diamond heart can help the beggar woman! It has to be good for something, a heart of diamond!’

“So they went ashore, and the beggar woman came ru

“‘Oh!’ she exclaimed, ‘I’ve always wanted a queen to visit my island! I can offer you nothing, though, for nothing is all I own … Do you see the island out there, on the horizon? That’s the island of the rich man. On clear days, you can see his palace. I’ve been writing letters to him for years, putting them into the bottles that wash ashore here. I’ve thrown a hundred bottles with letters into the sea, hoping the waves would carry them over to his island … In each and every letter, I have asked him for help, but I’ve never got an answer …’

“The little queen laid her hand on the dead tree, and she asked her diamond heart to give it back its life. But the tree stayed cold. ‘It’s me,’ the beggar woman said sadly. ‘Whatever I touch turns gray and cold … I just don’t have the right touch for things.’

“‘Come aboard with us,’ the little queen said. ‘We’ll take you to the island of the rich man.’

“The beggar woman gave a deep sigh, for it is not easy to leave one’s home, even if it is only a cold hearth and dead tree.

“But finally she allowed the rose girl to help her over the rail, and the green ship cast off. The rose girl saw the sea lion shake his head as he swam along next to them. ‘We don’t have time,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Don’t you see that the black sails are much closer again?’

“He dove down into the waves, which were full of ice splinters; through the clear water, before he disappeared, the rose girl saw a circular wound on his right flipper.

“On the island of the rich man, there was a palace made of blue glass, blue like the ice on a frozen rivulet in a winter wood. And in the windowpanes the wind was singing:

“‘What do you think this island can give? Love, joy, and light, a reason to live? Surely, there is no island that can give you more than that of the rich man.’

“Inside, in the warmth behind the thick glass of a greenhouse, orange and lemon trees were growing, along with high date palms and banana trees, in huge, delicately decorated pots. A nice warm fire danced in the fireplace, and there was a letter on the sofa, pi

“‘Dear travelers,’ the lighthouse keeper read aloud. ‘Please go ahead and take some of the fruit in my greenhouse. I’ll be gone for a while. I got a message in a bottle this morning saying that there is a beggar woman living on that nearby island. I had never realized it was inhabited. Now I’m on my way there. I’ll fix the island of the beggar woman. Everything I touch becomes fertile and beautiful. I don’t know why; I just seem to have the right touch …’

“‘Oh!’ the little queen sighed. ‘He’s gone. He’s sailed away on his own ship to visit the island of the beggar woman! He must have passed us on the way, but we didn’t see him.’

“‘The beggar woman could just stay and live in the palace from now on,’ the rose girl said.

“The beggar woman sat down between the orange and lemon trees. She looked a little lost.

“‘Don’t forget to water the trees,’ the little queen said.

“‘Yes …’ the beggar woman replied distractedly.

“‘And don’t forget to clean the windows from time to time, so the light can get in and make the trees grow!’

“‘Yes …’

“They took a basketful of fruits with them and went back aboard their green ship.

“‘Now she is happy,’ the little queen whispered, pressing Mrs. Margaret so hard she became a little flat and grumpy. ‘We helped her.’

“But the rose girl and the lighthouse keeper stood at the stern and looked back toward the island of the rich man. So the little queen looked back, too. And she saw that the palace appeared a little gray all of a sudden, as if it were losing its colors. The orange trees were already losing their oranges and had started to wither. On the island of the beggar woman, though, the dead tree seemed to have fresh green leaves now.

“‘That’s the rich man with his lucky hands,’ the lighthouse keeper said.

“‘And the beggar woman with her unlucky ones,’ the rose girl added.

“‘Oh no!’ the little queen cried out. ‘Maybe they have to meet so that everything turns out all right?’

“‘Now will you all stop shouting?’ the blind white cat said. ‘I want to sleep. You can’t change things. That’s life. Poor stays poor and rich stays rich, and those two, they will never meet.’

“And that was when the little queen saw the black ship. It was sailing between them and the islands, so they couldn’t see the palace or the gray house anymore. The black ship shut out the daylight, towering over them like a mountain range made of dark masts and sails and ropes, very close. They heard the wind in its rigging, the ever-singing wind:

Rail black and black the planks

,

Black the stern, the bow, the flanks

We’re the ones who never fail

Black our mast and black our sail

We don’t fear a storm or rain

,

Who’s not slaying will be slain

,

We are never hesitating

,

Lying in the shadows, waiting

For the perfect time to strike

And destroy what we don’t like

.

You will soon be in our grip

,

This is the hunter’s ship.’

“‘Will they kill us?’ the asking man asked at the bow.

“‘In the Elisenhain, between the hazelnut bushes,’ the answering man answered from the stern, without any context, as usual. The little queen clung to the rose girl’s sleeve. The shadow of the black ship was touching the rail. Two black figures—an overweight woman in a tracksuit and a man who seemed younger than she—were standing there, looking over at them. Behind them, the little queen could see two more people, an elderly couple.

“Suddenly, the silver-gray dog landed beside them.

“‘Listen,’ he said very quickly. ‘If there is no other way, you must use the airship. It’s under the polar bear skins in the cabin. If you take it out and bring it on deck, the wind will inflate the balloon. The cabin can be turned into a gondola—you’ve just got to fasten it to the balloon with the hooks you’ll find there … but use the airship only in the case of an emergency. It will drift with the wind. And the wind has been blowing away from the mainland ever since we set out. If you use the airship, you might be safe from the hunters, but you may never reach the mainland.’