The Storyteller

“She’s on a trip,” Micha said. “Her name is Michelle. She’ll be back soon.”

Marinke nodded. “We were wondering whether it might be a good idea if you lived somewhere else in the meantime. Till she’s back from her, uh … trip.” He threw a glance at A

A

“She’s Abel’s girlfriend,” Micha explained, and although this was not the time for it, something inside A

“Abel,” Marinke said, taking a paper out of a folder to check something. “That would be Abel Ta

A

“No,” A

“This … Abel … it says here that he’s seventeen … if Ms. Ta

“That’s what Abel does,” A

“If these notes are correct, he’s taking finals and graduating in a few weeks. He can’t look after a little girl all day long at the same time.”

“Yes he can!” Micha exclaimed, jumping up from the sofa. “Sure he can! I don’t wa

“Please sit down,” Marinke said. “Let’s work this out together. Don’t you have any other relatives?”

“We do have Uncle Rico and Aunt Evelyn,” Micha replied, her voice hollow when she said it. “But I don’t like them. I don’t go there unless I have to. We stayed there once, at Christmastime. They don’t like kids. They hate it if you’re too loud and stuff. Uncle Rico got really angry about something. Sometimes he smacks people across the face and shouts. They live as far away as the moon, and I won’t go there. They wouldn’t want me anyway.”

“There’s the possibility of a foster family,” Marinke said. “See, Micha, if your mother’s not coming back soon, then you could just … I mean—until she does come back—you could live with another nice family. But that is not the most important thing at the moment. What is most important is that we find out who is responsible for you, I mean, legally …” He realized that both A

“Why are you here?” A

“To help,” Marinke replied, astonished. His eyes were green like the forest in summer, and they looked as if he meant what he said. She wondered if it was possible to explain things to him. No. He wouldn’t understand. Nobody would.

“We don’t need anyone’s help,” Micha said. “I’ve got Abel and Abel’s got me, and we’ve both got A

Heavens, A

“You need money to live on,” Marinke said.

“We’ve got enough money,” Micha said. “Sometimes we even go out for hot chocolate. And we bought a book, to celebrate.”

“And where do you get the money from?” Marinke asked.

“How do you know that Michelle Ta

“Someone called us,” Marinke replied. “A neighbor who’s been worried. And Michelle hasn’t picked up her social services check for a while.” He sighed. “I guess it would be better to talk to …” He nodded toward the kitchen … Finally.

The kitchen door opened, and Abel walked in, carrying a plate stacked high with pancakes. A

“Abel … Ta

“I know. You’re from the social services office,” Abel said. “I got that. But this is a totally u

“She … she called just now?” Marinke wrinkled his forehead. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

“I can’t force you to believe me,” Abel said with that icy voice he sometimes had, “but tomorrow, you’ll hear from our mother. I guess you have a phone number …”

Marinke leafed through his notes, then searched through his jacket pockets, and finally found a card, which he gave to Abel. “The telephone number’s on there, too,” he said. “Call me. I mean, in case your mother … is, uh, unable to make it for some reason. We can talk. We can talk about everything.”

Abel put down the card on the table and set the plate next to it.

“What would we talk about?” he asked. “About Micha, and about how she’s suffering here, without her mother … going hungry and all?”

“No, I just …”

“You’ll want to see the apartment, of course,” Abel said politely, his tone as sharp as a knife. “You want to know if we live in squalor. You just want to make sure that there aren’t forgotten children, starving in their beds, like in other places … the newspapers are full of those kinds of stories, aren’t they? The interesting thing is that the mothers of those kids are usually there.” He gestured toward the hallway. “Please. Look around. Poke your nose into our cupboards. Search for any evidence you want.”

“Abel …” A

“Okay,” Marinke said. “If you insist I conform to the stereotype, I’ll give you what you want to hear … naturally, I’m the bad guy from social services, who tears apart families for a living and puts children into unheated orphanages, where they’re forced to live on nothing but bread and water.” He shook his head, his voice still friendly. “I’m here to help,” he repeated. As he reached out to put a hand on Abel’s shoulder, Abel took a step back.

“Have a look around the apartment,” he said. It was almost a command.

“Okay, okay.” Marinke went into the hallway; Abel, Micha, and A

“What’s the point of this?” A

Marinke opened every door a few inches. It was obvious he didn’t want to snoop. The situation was uncomfortable enough. Micha opened the door to her room. “This is my room. Please look around … I’m sure you don’t have a loft bed like this,” she said. A