“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.

Yes you who must leave everything that you cannot control

It begins with your family but soon it comes round to your soul

Well I’ve been where you’re hanging I think I can see how you’re pinned

When you’re not feeling holy your loneliness says that you’ve sinned

.

“Sisters of Mercy,” she whispered, nearly sleeping. “Leonard Cohen.”

The question of whether or not Abel would acknowledge her presence didn’t come up since Abel didn’t show up at school. She looked out the window every five minutes, waiting for a dark figure to appear at the bike rack, his hands dug deep into his pockets, his black hat pulled down low over his face, white noise in his ears. There was no one. A few other students also seemed to be looking for Abel during the break, hovering by the bike stands, trying to look inconspicuous. Clients, Anna thought, and she felt like smiling for a moment. She didn’t smile.

Abel had said that he would send Michelle to Sören Marinke’s office today. Had Michelle really come back? And if so, where had she been? She tried to call him twice. When she tried to call a third time, the line was dead.

“What’s the matter?” Gitta asked at lunch. “You look as if you’re nauseous.” She put her hands on Anna’s shoulders and looked at her closely. “Little lamb,” she said, “tell me what happened. You’ve hardly said a word since yesterday morning. Let’s skip class this afternoon and have a cup of coffee at the bakery instead.”

Anna let Gitta lead the way. And, actually, it calmed her down a bit to drink hot coffee, even if it tasted like lemon with artificial coloring.

“So,” Gitta began. “Everybody is talking. I say, let ’em talk. Let ’em fill their dirty mouths and minds with rumors.”

“I’ve been wondering why you, of all people, didn’t talk,” Anna said, not sarcastically but frankly. “Why you didn’t help to spread the rumors?”

“Little lamb, it might astonish you to hear this, but I am actually your friend, remember?”

“Hmm …,” Anna said.

“Now,” Gitta leaned across the table and lowered her voice, “what happened?”

“He’s gone,” Anna replied and heard how miserable she sounded. “Abel’s gone.”

“But you’re together, aren’t you? I mean, did the two of you …?”

“That’s not the issue! This isn’t a matter of passing a do-you-want-to-go-out-with-me-mark-with-an-x-yes-no-maybe note. And it isn’t a question of who did what with whom. Doesn’t anyone understand that? It’s the other things that matter! Abel has disappeared!”

“Nonsense,” Gitta said matter-of-factly. “Just because he wasn’t at school today, that doesn’t mean he’s disappeared. He’s gotta be somewhere.”

“He doesn’t answer his phone.”

“Maybe he wants to be alone.”

“Gitta, his mother has been gone for a while—nobody seems to know where she is—and yesterday he said she’d called, that she’d come back, and now he’s gone. And somebody has …” She stopped herself. No, she thought, Rainer Lierski was really none of Gitta’s business.

“Again, and in the right order,” Gitta said. “Is there a little sister or not? Or has she disappeared, too?”

Anna nearly knocked over her coffee cup. Of course. Micha. Something must have happened to Micha.

“That,” she whispered. “That just might be it.” She stood up and slid into her coat. “Gitta, I’m sorry. We’ll talk another time. I’ve gotta go.”

• • •

She pushed the buzzer for their apartment three times, waited for a while, then pushed again—three more times. Nobody answered. Anna covered her face with her hands, took several deep breaths, and tried to think. Then she noticed that she was doing what Abel usually did. And it helped. She knew now what she would do. She lowered her hands and tried the apartment on the ground floor. Someone buzzed Anna into the hall; Mrs. Ketow stood in her doorway, in the same tracksuit she’d had on the last time. She was carrying a child in her arms, a screaming and overfed baby with a dull look in his eyes. When she saw Anna, Mrs. Ketow stuffed a pacifier in the child’s mouth, and he was quiet.

“What a sweet child,” Anna said, though she didn’t think so at all.

Mrs. Ketow nodded. “I look after my children well. The oldest is three—they’re all foster children.” She rocked the baby in her arms and looked Anna over. “Why are you here?”

“Do you know where Abel and Micha are?”

“Those two? Gone,” Mrs. Ketow said. “Not that I’m surprised. I’ve always known that things couldn’t possibly end well for those Tannateks. It’s not the little girl’s fault—she’s a sweet child, that one—but the brother, he’s a different story. Do you go to school with him? If I were you, I’d keep away from him … but now they’re gone anyway …”

“What do you mean by gone?” Anna asked.

“I mean gone … done a moonlight skedaddle, the both of them,” Mrs. Ketow said, and for a moment Anna was relieved, for wherever Abel and Micha were, they had gone there together. Nobody from the office for shells and sisters had taken Micha away. The baby spat out the pacifier and started screaming again, an unnerving, high-pitched wail. Anna picked up the pacifier and Mrs. Ketow wiped it pretend-clean on her tracksuit trousers, but this time the baby didn’t want to be pacified.