The Storyteller

“The green ship sailed on through the storm with its one remaining white sail, and the black ship stayed behind, tied up like a big beetle in a spider’s web.

“‘The silver-gray dog!’ the little queen shouted against the wind. ‘He’s still on the black ship! We have to help him!’

“She wanted to turn the yellow rudder, to turn the ship, but on her way to the rudder, she stumbled over the white cat, who had fallen asleep on the floor again, and fell. The rose girl helped her up. Now the ship swayed to and fro gently, for the storm was dying down.

“The last high wave carried something in its glittering embrace. It was a body. For a moment, they saw it clearly, before the sea pulled it down into its bottomless depths.

“‘The jewel trader!’ the rose girl whispered. ‘He’s dead!’

“‘Like the red hunter,’ said the little queen. She put her arms around the rose girl and began to cry, and her diamond heart hurt inside her. ‘So does everybody have to die?’ she sobbed.

“When the water was perfectly still again, something else floated toward them in the light of the setting winter sun. Another body. The body of the sea lion. The asking man and the answering man fished it out of the sea with their long arms. They carefully laid it on the planks, where it turned into the body of a dog, and the little queen dropped down next to him. He was breathing, but he didn’t open his eyes.

“‘My poor dog!’ the little queen whispered. ‘What happened on the black ship?’

“‘Let him sleep,’ the rose girl said. ‘He needs rest.’ She carried the dog in her arms down into the cabin and put him to bed on the polar bear skins. On his left foreleg, the fur was missing in two shiny, circular patches, like burns.”

“Two?” A

A

He nodded. “Cigarette burns. Cigarettes get pretty hot at the tips.” He pulled the sleeve back down.

“But who … who did that?”

“Is that important?” She looked at him. He sighed. “I did … Content now?”

“No,” she said. “Why? Why do you do it?”

“Has Micha been sleeping for long?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m not answering any questions,” he said, smiling. “I’m not one of the answering people. I’m the storyteller.”

She got up and walked over to the old record player to put on one of the LPs she’d found in Linda’s Leonard Cohen collection. She turned the volume very low so as not to wake Micha, returned to the sofa, and leaned against Abel.

Travelling lady, stay a while until the night is over

I’m just a station on your way I know I’m not your lover

.

Well I lived with a child of snow when I was a soldier

And I fought every man for her until the nights grew colder

She used to wear her hair like you except when she was sleeping

And then she’d weave it on a loom of smoke and gold and breathing …

“What does that mean?” A

Abel ran his fingers through her hair again, and his hand wandered down and stayed on her throat. “It means everything,” he whispered back. “And nothing.”

And why are you so quiet now standing there in the doorway?

You chose your journey long before you came upon this highway …

Travelling lady, stay a while until the night is over

I’m just a station on your way I know I’m not your lover …

“I thought about not coming back,” Abel said suddenly. “Of disappearing. Somewhere.”

A

“Are you sure?”

“Well, did she?”

“I told you I’m not answering any questions.”

She took his hand in hers and made it glide lower, under her T-shirt. It was a surprisingly hesitant hand; it very nearly fought against hers. Then the hand lay on her left breast, and she wondered if she could somehow manage to get rid of her bra without destroying the moment. In movies, these things happened so naturally; people were never wearing impractical clothing; there were never any hooks and eyes or buttons to get in the way.

“A

“Isn’t it enough if I’m sure?”

“But Micha …” He gave up and kept his hand where it was. And then he kissed her. And she thought, this is our third kiss, and wondered if it would be possible to count all the kisses in a lifetime or if there would be too many after a while. Though, with Abel, there wouldn’t be much danger of losing track. She tasted blood in his mouth—her lips must have cracked with the cold—or was she just imagining that? She tasted the sea, in which he had been floating unconscious, as a sea lion, inside a fairy tale. She tasted the picture of a black net and of the sails that fell down like withered leaves … she wondered if she would ever meet him alone, without Micha.

With that guy, you’ll only have a relationship based on fucking, she heard Gitta say. Anything but, she thought. Oh, Gitta, anything but …

And then she heard the door—and voices in the hall. Never had a kiss ended so abruptly. A

“I shouldn’t be here.”

“Of course you should,” she said.

Micha woke up and yawned. “What’s going on?” she asked sleepily.

“We gotta go,” Abel said.

He looked around, in a panic, as if he wanted to run out into the yard and flee over the roofs. He pulled his hand from A

The living room door opened, and Magnus and Linda came in at almost the same time. Linda stopped, surprised. Then she smiled.

“I see,” she said, and now, she wasn’t smiling anymore; she was laughing, a gentle, blue laugh. “Does that explain it?”

“What?” A

“Your secretiveness,” Magnus answered, shaking his head, setting his bag onto an armchair. “Yep, looks like that explains it.”

Abel didn’t say anything; he looked from Linda to Magnus and back again, like an animal in a trap, his eyes flickering nervously.

“This is Abel,” A

“Hello, Micha,” Linda said.

Magnus put out a hand, and Abel understood, with minimal delay, what was expected, and shook it. He still hadn’t said a word.

“Nice to meet you,” Magnus said in his low bass voice. “Are you at school with A

Abel nodded.

“I need some coffee urgently,” Magnus declared and turned toward the kitchen. “Anyone care to join me?”

“Micha probably doesn’t drink coffee,” Linda said. “Maybe hot chocolate would be the better choice?”

“Hot chocolate is a very good choice,” Micha said. “You have an awfully nice house. And so many books! I have been swinging in A

“Micha,” Abel said and took her hand. “We have to go now.”

“Why do we have to go?” Micha asked. “Is it that late? We don’t have an appointment, do we? We could just …”

“Come on.” Abel pulled her in the direction of the door.

“Abel …” A

“Thank you for the offer of coffee,” Abel said putting on his parka. “But we actually do have an appointment. We totally forgot about the time.”

He helped Micha into her pink down jacket with the artificial fur collar, and before she could say any more, he shoved her out the door. Then he shut the door behind them.

A