“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Anna said, looking into his eyes. “Do you know her? Maybe from … a long time ago?”
“No,” said Knaake, and he began to search his pockets for something that probably wasn’t there. A memory, perhaps. She left him standing there alone, alone with his “No.” She wondered what it meant.
After sixth period, there was a figure standing in the schoolyard who wasn’t Abel … and who was obviously cold—a small figure in a pink down jacket. When she saw Anna, she started running toward her, and Anna caught her in her arms. The pink down jacket smelled of the wind and sea, and a little of cheap Polish tobacco, too.
“Micha,” Anna said. “Micha, where have you been, the two of you? I was at your place, looking for you … I tried to call … what happened?”
“We were on an outing,” Micha replied, but she seemed to know that it wasn’t normal to go on an outing on a weekday. “Abel made us leave really early; we were on a bus and then on a train. We went to that island, you know the one … Rügen. I didn’t have to go to school, because when you’re on an outing, you don’t have to go to school, do you … well … we had hot chocolate, and I hiked very far, with a backpack and everything … and a picnic … Where is Abel?”
“Here,” Abel said from behind Anna, pushing her aside very gently and putting an arm around Micha. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, they let us go early today,” she explained eagerly. “But I didn’t want to wait for you. Mrs. Milowitch always asks me questions … I like her, but she asks the same things that Mr. … that Mr. Matinke did. Things about Mama. So I came here, instead, even though it’s really far to walk. I’m a good hiker.”
“I think,” Abel said, “that today we won’t go to the student dining hall. We had our outing yesterday, and that was enough for a while. The train and everything … it was expensive. We’ll just go home and think about yesterday, okay?”
“Okay,” Micha said, looking down at her feet. “But … but couldn’t we go somewhere else? I don’t like being at home. I’m afraid Mr. Matinke will be at the door, and that he’ll take me away with him. Yesterday, I couldn’t sleep because I kept thinking about it. I dreamed that he had a net, like the kind you use to catch butterflies, except that it wasn’t to catch butterflies—it was to catch me. Like in our fairy tale. He was hunting for a diamond heart—that’s why he wanted to catch me.”
Abel kneeled in the snow in front of her and looked into her eyes. “He’ll never do that,” he whispered. “I promise you that he’ll never do that. You’ll see. We’ll invent something in the fairy tale to make him disappear.”
“You could come with me,” Anna said, hesitating. “Home, I mean. If you want to. Micha, you look cold. We have a fireplace to warm you. And I’ll be able to find something for lunch, I’m sure.”
“No,” said Abel.
“My parents aren’t there,” Anna explained. “Not during the day. My mom comes home in the evening. You could …”
“No,” said Abel.
“A fireplace!” Micha looked at him. “That must be really nice, don’t you think? If there’s snow outside and a fire inside, like in that book we read, and we could make hot chocolate …”
“No,” Abel said.
“That’s so unfair!” Micha stamped her little foot. “Yesterday, you wanted to go to Rügen, so we went; I’ve been hiking with you, in the cold, and I haven’t complained, or not really that much … and today I want to see Anna’s fireplace. Why can’t we do something I want to do for a change!” She stamped her foot again, her eyes flashing so combatively that Anna nearly laughed out loud. “You go home and wait for the Matinke guy,” she added, crossing her pink down-jacket arms. “And I’ll go by myself with Anna.”
Abel covered his face with both his hands, took a deep breath, and then looked at Anna. The dark, disturbing thing in his eyes had retreated a little, as if he had pushed it away with all his force. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Anna didn’t look over her shoulder as they left the schoolyard. But she guessed at least a few people were watching them. Bertil, for example. She pictured him walking his family dog on the empty beach of Eldena, pushing up his slipping glasses from time to time, alone, like the day before and most days, in the ice-cold air, in the wind, next to the frozen sea.
• • •
“You’re right,” Abel said in the hall. “The air is blue. I never really believed it.” He smiled.
He hadn’t said a word on the way here, but now he smiled.
“Yes,” Anna said, “yesterday, I nearly drowned in it.”
Micha was looking at the coatrack in the hallway, with its tiny wooden animal heads from some country they’d traveled to. Anna had forgotten which one it was. Finally, Micha found something that might have been a dog, stroked it gently with her forefinger, and hung her pink jacket on the hook next to it.
“You didn’t choose the dog?” Anna asked.
“If I put my jacket over him, he won’t be able to see anymore,” Micha replied with great earnestness. “And he has to see, doesn’t he … he’s jumped aboard the black ship.”
“Didn’t Abel tell you more of the story on your outing?” Anna asked.
Abel shook his head.
“But we built a snowman,” Micha said. “Oh, Anna, is that your living room? It’s so beautiful.”
“Yes,” Anna said. She watched as Micha pulled off her socks and walked over the Turkish kilim in bare feet, following the patterns, to and fro, through an endless labyrinth. Then she gave up on that game and ran to the glass door leading out to the little garden. “There are robins!” she exclaimed. “Loads of them! And two real rose blossoms! Like on the rose island in our story! But there weren’t any robins there. The robins have come to look at the roses, haven’t they? Oh, Abel, aren’t they pretty?”
Anna looked at Abel. He was still smiling.
“It’s very different … from your place,” she said. “Is that bad?”
Abel took her hand in his. “Thank you,” he said. “For history. For everything. You saved me. I had … I couldn’t remember anything, but I remembered when I read what you wrote.” He searched his pocket and took out the ten-euro note that she had filled with tiny writing from top to bottom.
“Are you crazy?” Anna whispered. “You didn’t destroy that thing?”
He shrugged. “I almost did, but then I couldn’t. I think I’ll keep it. It’s the only thing I …” He stopped. “Micha, I’m not sure you should be jumping on that sofa.”
“It’s okay,” Anna said. “I used to jump on it a lot when I was little. And I still do sometimes. That’s what sofas are for.”
“And your parents?”
“They only jump very rarely,” Anna said, grinning, as she kneeled in front of the fireplace. “I promised you a fire, I think. And something for lunch …”
“Those logs in the basket look quite tasty,” Abel said. “I guess they’re not totally done, though.”
When the flames were crackling in the open fireplace, it was as if all the worries and fears of the last twenty-four hours were burning to ashes, too. They sat in front of the fire, talking about how to prepare the logs for lunch, and Micha marveled at the sparks flying up from the pinewood. Everything was good. Anna wanted to ask Abel why he had gone to Rügen with Micha, why he hadn’t answered his phone, why he hadn’t told her anything before he left, but she didn’t. Instead, she went to the kitchen and warmed up leftover quiche, which Linda had made the day before. She whistled as she got out the plates. When she came back to the living room, Abel and Micha were sitting on the floor together. They were both bent over a book Magnus had given Linda for Christmas, a picture book full of photos of the desert.
“I … we …” Abel closed the book carefully.