“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.

“Michelle … I mean, she was okay,” she said, stepping back farther. “We got along well, smoked a cigarette together from time to time …”

“I’m not Michelle,” Abel said. “Why don’t you take care of the foster children you already have—that’s what social services is paying you to do.” With these words, he turned and went up the stairs, this time without stopping. On the fourth floor, he unlocked the door to the apartment, slipped off his shoes, and covered his face with his hands for a moment, standing there in the hallway, just breathing. Anna stood beside him, helpless. She wanted to do something, to say something, something helpful, but nothing came to mind. The only thing that did come to mind was that she had seen Mrs. Ketow already today. Aboard the black ship. Abel lowered his hands and looked at her.

“Pancakes?” he asked.

She nodded.

And then she was sitting next to Micha on the narrow windowsill in the kitchen, while Abel mixed the batter for the pancakes. The kitchen was filled with the smell of sugar and batter and hot oil; the window fogged up. Anna drew a ship on it with her finger, and Micha drew a dog at the bow. From the old cassette player on the kitchen table, Leonard Cohen was singing:

Oh the sisters of mercy they are not departed or gone

They were waiting for me when I thought that I just can’t go on …

And they brought me their comfort and later they brought me their song

Oh I hope you run into them you who’ve been waiting so long …

Mrs. Ketow was far away.

“See, when they start coming loose at the edges, then you shake the pan a little and throw the pancake in the air,” Abel explained. “Look, like this …” Anna slid down from the windowsill. She stood behind him to get a closer look and, for a moment, placed her chin on his shoulder. She would have liked to have stood like this a little longer, but Abel stepped back and flipped the pancake, which turned over in the air. When he caught it in the pan again, Micha clapped her hands.

“Abel,” she said, “can do everything in the world.”

And Anna thought, if you could just flip your way through finals!

“Wait,” Micha said. “I think I heard something. Maybe …”

Anna followed her to the hallway. The doorbell was ringing, obviously for the second time now. “Maybe it’s her,” Micha whispered.

“Who?” Anna asked.

“Michelle,” Micha said. “She always loved Abel’s pancakes. Maybe she smelled them and came home.” She ran to the door and opened it wide before Anna could say or do anything. Anna wanted to believe that Michelle really would be standing in the doorway and everything would be okay. If only she could believe hard enough …

The person standing in the door was not Michelle, of course. It was a man whom Anna had never seen before. He wore a suede jacket lined with sheepskin, a knitted sweater with a brown pattern, and jeans. A silver ring shone in his left ear, and a broad smile brightened his three-day stubble. Under his arm he was carrying a black leather folder.

“How nice you finally got around to opening the door,” he said, putting his foot against it so that Micha couldn’t close it again. He took hold of her hand to shake it, then he shook Anna’s hand, and then he came in and closed the door behind him.

“I don’t know who you are,” he said to Anna, “but my name is Sören Marinke. I’m from the social services office. I’ve been here before, but no one would ever let me in. I think it’s high time we talk.”

Now, sinking into it, Anna noticed that the sofa in the living room was too soft, as if it could suffocate you. It was silent now in the kitchen. She knew Abel was listening.

Marinke sat in one of the armchairs, opposite Anna and Micha.

“Well,” he began, leaning forward in the armchair and putting his hands on his knees like someone who plans to discuss something in a very direct way and then immediately enact it.

“You’re Micha, aren’t you? Micha Tannatek? I’m Sören Marinke. You can just call me Sören …”

Micha shook her head. “Why would I do that?” she asked, and Anna had to bite her lip not to laugh. Marinke looked somewhat irritated. “Micha … I’m here about your mother.”