The Storyteller

“Needs his milk,” Mrs. Ketow said. “You want to come in?”

A

“I’m not a social worker,” A

“If you ask me, you won’t see them again,” Mrs. Ketow replied and took a drag. “I saw them, him with a big backpack like he’s going on a trip and the little one, too. That was this morning … five or so … I get up early ’cause of these damn kids. They’re a lot of work, three kids. I’ll tell you … with three of them, I work a whole fuckin’ day … what about you? You’re young. You want kids? What do you want from life?”

“I want to find Abel and Micha,” A

But she couldn’t find Abel and Micha. There was no trace of them anywhere. She wasn’t a detective, and besides, those who don’t want to be found won’t be found …

At home, she avoided Linda’s questioning looks, mumbled something about studying, and went straight to her room. She knew that Magnus was angry that she’d refused to explain anything to her mother. But wouldn’t Linda have been more worried if she’d explained? Anyway, this was not about Linda.

A

Had it been a lie? Had Michelle really called? Were Abel and Micha with Michelle now? Or had Abel just run away with Micha because he knew that Marinke would take her from him sooner or later? If Marinke found out they’d fled, he’d send the police after them. Wherever they were heading, they would need a good head start. A

She had to call. She had to find out what he knew. She invented a complicated introductory sentence, saying she wanted to talk to him and to find out whether he’d returned to the Ta

But the voice that finally came through the telephone line belonged to a woman.

“I … I’d like to talk to Sören Marinke,” A

“I’m sorry but that’s not possible at the moment,” the woman answered.

“Would it be better if I tried again later?” A

“You won’t be able to talk to him today,” the woman said. “He’s not in the office.”

“So … do you know when he’ll be back?” A

“I can’t tell you. I’m sorry.”

“Is he ill?” A

“I’m afraid not. There isn’t anyone else. I’m sure he’ll get back to you once he’s in the office again. We’re hoping that will be tomorrow.”

“On his card his cell phone number is also listed,” A

The woman at the other end of the line sighed. “You can try, of course,” she said. “But you won’t have any luck. We tried the same thing.”

“I … I don’t understand …”

“Neither do I,” the woman replied. “Listen, honey, Mr. Marinke hasn’t come into the office today and he isn’t answering his phone, and I think he’s probably sick, but no one knows for sure where he is. So please be patient. Hopefully we’ll know more tomorrow.”

A

Had the whole world decided to disappear? Michelle, Abel, Micha, Sören Marinke? Had they all disappeared? Would she be the only one left in the end? With the blue light and the robins in the garden?

When she woke up the next morning, the first thing she did was dial Abel’s number. She knew it by heart now. Nobody answered. She left for school without eating breakfast. Maybe he was there. Maybe he was standing by the bike rack, his hands in his pockets, Walkman plugs in his ears … but he wasn’t there. It wasn’t just that there was no one at the bike rack. It was that there seemed to be a hole in the shape of a person. Abel’s absence was almost visible.

The others were talking about history. Dates of events buzzed above their heads like strange, shapeless winter bees. A

When the sheets of white paper, with the official school stamp—the only paper you were allowed to write on—were set in front of her at the begi

Final exams, A

Gitta looked from A

She tried to catch A

She wasn’t God after all; it wasn’t her job to save A

She looked over at He