“I’ll try my best,” Marinke said seriously. “But to do that, I have to find out a few things.” He dug another card out of the pocket of his leather jacket and gave it to Anna. “Maybe you’ll feel like calling me. After you’ve thought about things for a while. Maybe there are some things you could explain to me.”
“Sounds like lines you picked from a cheap detective story,” Anna said as she got onto her bike.
Marinke laughed. “Unfortunately, it’s quite an expensive detective story. My job, I mean. Considering the workload. And … tell your friend that I’m not so easily intimidated. In my job, I’m often in contact with people who are much more dangerous. The bar where they shot Rainer Lierski … you know, the Admiral … I know all the regulars there … unfortunately.”
“Wait,” Anna said. “You knew Rainer Lierski?”
Marinke nodded. “Another client of ours. He disappeared into thin air for a while, but then reappeared, and there were problems right away. I can’t say I’m sad he’s gone.” For the first time, his smile was grim, not friendly. And for the first time, it seemed genuine. He brushed a snowflake from the sleeve of his suede jacket. “In the end, he probably picked a fight with the wrong person.”
“Or with the right one,” Anna said. She thought about Marinke’s remark while she pedaled as fast as she could down Wolgaster Street. She wondered whether she should help him. Whether she should call. Whether he might be helpful in spite of his too-friendly smile and his you-can-call-me-Sören attitude. If Abel had money, she thought, if he didn’t have to work nights, if he didn’t have to miss all those classes to be with Micha … wouldn’t everything be better? No, Abel said in her head. Keep out of this. All of you, keep out. We don’t want charity. Leave us alone. That’s final.
When she got home, Magnus was waiting in the car with the engine running and her flute and music on the passenger seat. She was late for her lesson. She couldn’t concentrate. She made a lot of mistakes. She fell asleep in the car on the way back, her head on her arms. She dreamed of Sören Marinke.
In her dream, he was sitting at a table in the Mittendrin, playing cards with Hennes and Bertil. Of course, this dream was utter nonsense. The minute Anna stepped through the doorway into it, she knew it was nonsense. Knaake stood behind the bar, watching the three players; at the very back of the room, on a long table, a coffin was open. Anna saw that it was filled with flowers, tiny white springtime stars. Anemones nestled between beech-tree leaves. It was like a scene in a kitschy Italian Mafia movie. Micha stood next to the coffin in her pink down jacket, hugging Mrs. Margaret. Anna craned her neck but couldn’t see the body. Rainer Lierski, she thought. Or was it someone else? Was it the body of a woman under the flowers and leaves? In a dream, anything is possible … She looked around. If everybody who played a role in this story was here … Wait, where was Abel?
“We’re back,” Magnus said, stroking her hair, and she jumped. “Anna, we’re home.” She blinked. He was still sitting behind the steering wheel; he didn’t move to get out of the car.
“Shouldn’t we go in?” Anna asked uneasily.
“No,” Magnus said. “I mean, yes, but in a minute. I’d like to know some things first.” He didn’t look at her; he was staring ahead. “Where were you? Were you where you’ve been spending more time lately? I’ve decided to ask as not asking gets me nowhere …”
“And if I don’t say anything now?”
“Anna, your mother’s worried.”
They sat quietly for a while. A long while. Then Anna got out. Magnus could have locked the car from the inside, forced her to answer, but he wouldn’t do that. She felt his eyes on her as she opened the door. “I’m going to bed,” she mumbled. “I had a late night last night. I’m too tired for supper.”
As she lay in bed, she remembered that her last history test was on Friday. She should have spent today studying. She searched for her notebook and took it back to bed with her. But the words kept running into each other … like wet ink, like water in an icy winter ocean, like the blueness of eyes that could be very cold if they wanted to be. If you have to go, go. Your lesson is more important. Go.
She gave up. She found Knaake’s number and called him. It was eight thirty; it should be okay to call a teacher at eight thirty, shouldn’t it? And definitely a lighthouse keeper …
“This is Anna,” she said. “I’m sorry I’m calling so late … I just wanted to … you have the telephone numbers of everyone in your intensive class, don’t you?”
“I should,” Knaake answered. He sounded tired, as if he’d had enough of his students for the day and had just sunk into an armchair. She heard music in the background. She knew the tune … she wondered from where. “I need Abel Tannatek’s number.”
“Excuse me?”
“His cell phone number. Do you have it?”
“I do, but … hold on … I’ll look … but I have to go upstairs.” The music grew more distant. “Why don’t you have his number? I mean, he’s your boyfriend, isn’t …”
“Jeez,” Anna said, sounding almost angry. “It seems like as of today I’m officially married to him or something. I mean, I don’t live in his pocket …”
“Anna … why ‘as of today’?”
“Because today everyone was talking about the fight he almost had with Bertil last night.” How good it felt to tell someone!
“Was there a fight?”
“Don’t you listen to the rumors?”
“No,” Knaake said. “I guess I don’t. I just thought that the two of you … that it’s been quite some time that you’ve been … forget it. It’s none of my business. I have his number here. Do you have a pen?” As she took down the number, she realized that she was smiling.
“Okay, Anna … keep an eye on him, will you? I’m worried.”
“Me too,” Anna said.
“If he carries on like this, he won’t make it through finals. And I think it’s important that he pass them. Or am I wrong?”
“No,” Anna said. “It’s important. How well do you know him?”
“Not well at all,” Knaake answered. “He asked me to help him find a job … something for after seven … I mentioned I’d worked as a research assistant when I was at the university … maybe he imagined he could do the same thing. But for something like that, you’ve really got to be a student at the university … I don’t know … sometimes he seems to be dreaming up things that just aren’t practical. It’s more important that he studies for his exams.”
“How’s he doing in your class?” Anna asked. “I mean … are there any problems?”
“I’m not allowed to tell you. Don’t you guys talk about grades?”
“No.”
Knaake sighed. “Well, I’m not worried about my class. It’s his other classes. He won’t get credit if he’s never there; that’s the bottom line. In literature, he’ll get the highest grade I give, and it’s rare that anyone does.”
Anna nodded. She’d known that, of course. “He wants to be a writer. Later. Books, I think.”
“Later …” Knaake said. “Well, for now he’s got to pass his finals.”
“I know,” she said.
There wasn’t anything more to say.
She took a deep breath and dialed Abel’s number. She wanted to say so many things … I didn’t plan to run away like I did today. It was bad timing. And … did Michelle really call? And … are you going to act like you don’t know me again tomorrow at school? And … what should I tell my parents? And … what was the point of the scene today with the social worker? And … I dreamed of Marinke and of a coffin full of anemones … but actually … maybe she didn’t want to say any of this. Maybe she just wanted to hear his voice and to know that everything was all right.
She let the phone ring fifty-seven times.
He didn’t pick up.
It was strange, but only after Anna had given up and turned off the lights, only when it was absolutely quiet and she was lying between the sheets alone, only then did the tune come back to her. The tune she’d heard through the lighthouse keeper’s telephone line. And suddenly, she remembered the words to that melody; she knew them from one of Linda’s old LPs.