“‘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.’
“When she heard this, the little queen kneeled down and put her arms around the dog.
“‘Why do you say YOU?’ she asked. ‘What about you? Are you leaving us?’
“‘Yes,’ the silver-gray dog replied. ‘I’ll try to detain them for a while.’
“He struggled free of the little queen’s embrace, and, with a great leap, he jumped—no, he flew—through the air toward the black ship.”
“WHAT HAPPENED NEXT?” MICHA ASKED BREATHLESSLY.
“I don’t know what happened next,” Abel said. “Maybe it hasn’t happened yet. We’ve got to wait. And now, we’re there.”
They had left the snow-covered beeches behind and were standing at the end of Hain Street again, in front of the little Russian store at the corner. Abel unlocked his bike. “The lock has nearly frozen,” he said. “It’s really damn cold.”
“Let’s go home and have hot apple juice with cinnamon,” Micha said. “And make pancakes. The weather’s just right for pancakes. And you still have to show Anna how to make them. How to flip them in the air … and everything.”
“Maybe Anna would rather go home now,” Abel said. “Maybe she has to study for her next exam or practice the flute or …”
“Should Anna go home?” Anna asked.
Abel shook his head slowly. “Come with us.” And then a grin crept onto his face. “It’s probably high time you learn some important things, like how to flip a pancake in the air.”
The gray staircase was almost familiar now, the beer bottles piled in front of a door, the sharp teeth of the steps, the uneven banister. They hadn’t gotten any farther than the first floor when the door downstairs opened.
“Abel!” Mrs. Ketow called. “Wait!”
“Go ahead,” Abel said to Micha as he bent over the banister. Below, Mrs. Ketow’s plump figure stood, tracksuited as always, holding onto the banister with one hand, trying to bend her head so she could look up at Abel.
“I just wanted to say … about Michelle … I know she ain’t comin’ back, right? I know she ain’t comin’ back.”
Abel narrowed his eyes and looked at her. “How do you know?” he asked and started to walk back down the stairs very slowly. Anna followed him.
“I could tell the authorities. But I don’t,” Mrs. Ketow said in a lower voice. “I know a lot, I do.”
Abel stood in front of her now. She was a lot smaller than he was. Her tracksuit was stained; her stringy hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, which exposed her broad and somehow featureless face. One strand of hair, above her temple, was dyed bright red. Anna wondered what Mrs. Ketow would look like twenty pounds lighter. If she would be pretty. If she had been pretty, way back. From the apartment behind her, Anna heard children shouting.
“I know why the social worker keeps coming to your door,” Mrs. Ketow went on. “Want to take the little one from you, don’t they? You can’t keep her, Abel, you know that. I just wanted to say, no worries. I have three foster children already, but that’s okay, I could take a fourth one; there’s room enough here. The little one, she could stay here, in this house. It’d be better for you—you could always see her; I’d let you—she’d just live with me. She’s older than the others, so it’d work out pretty well. I’d tell those social workers … I don’t have problems with them people …”
Abel took another step forward, and Mrs. Ketow stepped back.
“Give your friends from the social services office my best,” he said coldly. “And tell them Michelle will be back.” He looked dangerous again, a huge gray wolf in the stairwell, baring its teeth, and even though they were invisible teeth, Mrs. Ketow saw them.