“Bertil,” Gitta said. “Stop it. That’s horrible. I don’t even want to think about things like that. How come we’re even talking about slaughterhouses and death?”
The air in the garden wasn’t as blue anymore; something reddish had seeped into it. Anna thought that Bertil was trying to look taller and had ended up looking smaller instead—without realizing it.
“Death is definitely something you should think about from time to time,” he said. “Most people don’t, you know. And then they die, and it’s too late. Then there’s no time left to think … have you ever seen someone die?”
“No,” Anna said. The other two shook their heads. “What about you?” asked Frauke.
Bertil nodded. “Our dog. If you watch your dog die, it’s like watching a family member. Him and me, we kind of grew up together. In the beginning, he was friendly, but then he became aggressive. It wasn’t his fault—it was in his blood; the breed is just like that, no matter how you train them, but my father learned too late. The dog thought it was his job to protect us … he attacked a jogger when we were out on a walk. If my father hadn’t stopped him, he’d have killed the guy. Unforgivable. A child would have been killed instantly … my father shot the dog in our yard.”
For a while no one spoke. They were so quiet, the robins came back.
“I saw his eyes,” Bertil said. “When he died, they were golden. He knew that he was dying. In the end, he knew.”
“Golden,” Anna murmured. “A dog with golden eyes.”
“A Weimaraner,” Bertil said. “He had a silver coat and golden eyes. A beautiful dog. Some have blue eyes, though …”
“Let’s go back inside,” Frauke said. “It’s frickin’ cold out here.”
“And next cigarette break, we’re not discussing death …,” Gitta added on the stairs, with forced cheerfulness. “Instead, let’s talk about the very beginning of life.”
“Why, Gitta,” said Frauke, “are you going to become a midwife after all?”
“I’m not talking about midwifery,” Gitta replied. “I’m talking about sex.”
Later, in the growing darkness, they stood in front of the house, talking about meaningless things. Bertil was the first to leave. He had borrowed his parents’ car. He had turned eighteen quite a while ago and, unlike Gitta, had convinced his parents to pay for his driver’s license.
“Gitta’s right, what a freak,” Frauke repeated. “What was it he said about shooting people? Is Bertil Hagemann not who we think he is?” She lowered her voice. “Like, is he secretly a serial killer?”
“Bertil Hagemann just doesn’t like being Bertil Hagemann,” Gitta said matter-of-factly. “He was just acting. And he’s looking for a girlfriend. Desperately.” She looked at Anna. “Face it, little lamb. You won’t be getting rid of him anytime soon. But Anna’s got a university guy, you know.”
“I don’t have a university guy,” Anna said and congratulated herself for her angry tone—it sounded very convincing. “I only had a cup of coffee with him. In the student dining hall.”
That wasn’t really a lie after all.
“How sweet,” Frauke said. “He invited you for a coffee?” She sighed. “We shouldn’t be thinking about math and physics and death. We should think about love instead. I’ve been wondering who to fall in love with for sometime now … there’s Hennes von Biederitz, but somehow that seems unimaginative. I mean, everybody’s in love with Hennes von Biederitz.”
Gitta cleared her throat.
“Just recently, I considered falling in love with someone, experimentally,” Frauke went on dreamily. “Somebody absolutely absurd. André.”
“Who is André?” Gitta and Anna asked at the same time.
“The Pole,” Frauke answered. “Our peddler with the pretty little pills. Isn’t his first name André?”
Anna bit her tongue.
“I’m a little afraid of him.” Frauke gave a little shudder, like a child on an amusement park ride. “But maybe he’s one of those guys with, you know, a rough exterior that conceals a heart of gold … if he wasn’t running around in those cheap clothes from the Polish market … actually, he’s quite a hot guy.” Anna felt nauseated. She was thankful when Gitta put on her helmet and got on her scooter. But Gitta didn’t leave.
“Don’t do that, Frauke,” she said. “Don’t fall in love with that one. I already dissuaded someone else. I know a few things about our Polish friend that you don’t.”
“Things? What kind of things?” Frauke asked, wide-eyed.
Gitta shrugged. “Not G-rated,” she said, winking, and Anna knew that she was making something up, like she’d done when they were children.
“A man with a secret,” Frauke whispered. “And such beautiful blue eyes. Dahling.”
“Gee, don’t forget to invite me to your thirteenth birthday party,” Anna said, teasing.
And that was the moment the call came.
Before heading inside with her cell phone, Anna saw Gitta ride away on her scooter and Frauke get onto her bike. At first, she didn’t understand who was talking to her. The connection was bad. It was a woman—or maybe a child. The woman or child was afraid of something.
“Anna?” she asked. “Anna, is that you?” A child. It was Micha. Anna didn’t know where Micha’d gotten her number, but that wasn’t important. She sat down on one of the old carved wooden chairs in the hall and put her finger in her other ear to hear better. “Micha?” she said. “Micha, is that you?”
“Yes,” Micha answered. “I …” She seemed not to be holding the telephone properly; there was a lot of noise in the background. Something seemed to fall and possibly break. The island, Anna thought. The island is sinking; the rocks are bursting.
“Micha, I don’t understand you!” she shouted. “Say it again! Louder!”
“… not, what should I do?” Micha’s voice said, and now it was clearer. “I locked the bathroom door with the key. They’re fighting, Anna. I can hear them. Mrs. Margaret is in the living room, but I guess she can’t do anything either …”
“Who is fighting?” Anna asked. “Micha … Slowly … Where are you?”
“In the bathroom,” Micha repeated. “I have to help him, but I’m afraid. I can’t. Anna, I don’t dare open the door … There’s a note stuck to the mirror … It says ‘Anna’ and ‘Emergency’ with your number on it, so …”
“What?” Anna asked and thought, this isn’t the moment to feel happy, but she couldn’t help it. Micha was crying now; she could hear her. She also heard more things breaking or being thrown or falling into the winter sea. She tried one last time. “Micha, who is there in the apartment with you? Has your mother come back?”
“No,” Micha sobbed. “She hasn’t, and she never will. She’s gone for good. He said that. He said that I have to live with him now; he doesn’t have a red gown, but still … Anna …”
“I’m on my way,” Anna said.
For a moment, she considered calling the police. But the note on the bathroom mirror didn’t say Emergency and the number of the police, it said Emergency and Anna—and surely not because Abel thought Anna would put the police on his trail. The police would ask questions: questions about Michelle Tannatek, questions about who was looking after Micha, questions about custody. And even if Rainer Lierski didn’t get custody of Micha, even if they locked him up, which didn’t seem likely … even then, Anna thought while struggling to get her coat on, even then they’d take Micha from Abel. And there wouldn’t be fairy tales anymore or hot chocolate at the pier or meals in the student dining hall … gotten with a fake ID.