studied mechanical engineering and lived in America. He takes a step to one side to make room for the Volvo, which any moment now will emerge from thin air in the spot where it was parked before. Sebastian grips his forehead. The truck behind him shakes and rattles like a beetle before takeoff, angles its nose to oneside, and rolls toward the exit. Vera Wagenfort. Wagen fort . Car gone. Jokers, jokers everywhere. All will be revealed.
A family is returning to its yellow Toyota. Two children climb into the backseat. The girl is Liam’s age.
Sebastian’s phone rings.
[5]
THIS TIME HIS BODY does not require specific instructions—it reacts before it has received any orders. Lips, tongue, and teeth crash together and scream into the mobile.
“What do you want? I can get anything!”
A hand lands over his mouth and stops him from speaking; it is his own hand. There is an uncertain pause on the other end of the line. A woman clears her throat.
“Herr Professor, I’ve been instructed to give you a message. A single sentence. I’ve been told you will understand. Are you ready?”
“My son,” Sebastian groans.
“Excuse me, I don’t know what this is all about. I just have to make sure that you understand the sentence. Shall we continue?”
It is the woman’s friendliness that does it to him. He never knew that pain could come from so deep within the human body. He never knew how it could claw at his throat, desperately trying to reach his brain. Vera Wagenfort takes a breath. Then she says it.
“Dabbelink must go.”
The sun has set behind the treetops and taken the shadows with it to preserve them till the next day. There are still a few cars parked here and there, but not a soul in sight. A random wind races over the ground, chasing empty paper cups in circles and flapping his trousers.Sebastian looks at his watch as if he had an important appointment and no time for further chat. Just after nine thirty. The time tells him nothing. He has never felt so alone.
“Would you repeat that?” he asks.
“I’ve been told to add this when questions are asked: ‘Then everything will be all right.’ Did you get that?”
“You can’t do this,” Sebastian says. “I’m begging you.”
“Apart from that, you probably know the rules: No police. Not a word to anyone. Not even to your wife.”
There is a pause, as if they are in the middle of a difficult personal conversation and don’t know how to continue. The caller’s voice is not unpleasant. Sebastian imagines her to be a healthy young woman. Perhaps, he thinks, we would get along well under different circumstances.
“Go into the restaurant in the service station,” the woman says, rustling her piece of paper. “Are you still listening?”
“Yes.”
“There is a service station and a restaurant where you are right now, isn’t there?”
“Yes.”
“Sit down near the counter. Get a beer and a newspaper. It might be a while before I call again. Keep your phone on.”
“Wait!” Sebastian shouts. “I will—We can—”
The buttons on his phone have always been too small for his fingers. At last he finds the list of calls received. Two calls from “Unknown number.” He would have liked to ring back and explain that he has absolutely no experience with such things, that he needs a few tips. He also wants to ask why he of all people has been chosen. What he should do now. And how. And when. Just as Vera Wagenfort suspected, the rules are actually clear to him. They are shown several times a week on television in those badly lit thrillers Sebastian has never been able to stand. Absurdly, none of the films ever taught you what you were supposed to think and feel in such a situation. They also did not teach you what to do with a three-word sentence. It is alwaysthree-word sentences that change the life of a human being in a decisive manner. I love you. I hate you. Father is dead. I am pregnant. Liam has disappeared. Dabbelink must go .
A family is returning to its yellow Toyota. Two children climb into the backseat. The girl is Liam’s age.
Sebastian’s phone rings.
[5]
THIS TIME HIS BODY does not require specific instructions—it reacts before it has received any orders. Lips, tongue, and teeth crash together and scream into the mobile.
“What do you want? I can get anything!”
A hand lands over his mouth and stops him from speaking; it is his own hand. There is an uncertain pause on the other end of the line. A woman clears her throat.
“Herr Professor, I’ve been instructed to give you a message. A single sentence. I’ve been told you will understand. Are you ready?”
“My son,” Sebastian groans.
“Excuse me, I don’t know what this is all about. I just have to make sure that you understand the sentence. Shall we continue?”
It is the woman’s friendliness that does it to him. He never knew that pain could come from so deep within the human body. He never knew how it could claw at his throat, desperately trying to reach his brain. Vera Wagenfort takes a breath. Then she says it.
“Dabbelink must go.”
The sun has set behind the treetops and taken the shadows with it to preserve them till the next day. There are still a few cars parked here and there, but not a soul in sight. A random wind races over the ground, chasing empty paper cups in circles and flapping his trousers.Sebastian looks at his watch as if he had an important appointment and no time for further chat. Just after nine thirty. The time tells him nothing. He has never felt so alone.
“Would you repeat that?” he asks.
“I’ve been told to add this when questions are asked: ‘Then everything will be all right.’ Did you get that?”
“You can’t do this,” Sebastian says. “I’m begging you.”
“Apart from that, you probably know the rules: No police. Not a word to anyone. Not even to your wife.”
There is a pause, as if they are in the middle of a difficult personal conversation and don’t know how to continue. The caller’s voice is not unpleasant. Sebastian imagines her to be a healthy young woman. Perhaps, he thinks, we would get along well under different circumstances.
“Go into the restaurant in the service station,” the woman says, rustling her piece of paper. “Are you still listening?”
“Yes.”
“There is a service station and a restaurant where you are right now, isn’t there?”
“Yes.”
“Sit down near the counter. Get a beer and a newspaper. It might be a while before I call again. Keep your phone on.”
“Wait!” Sebastian shouts. “I will—We can—”
The buttons on his phone have always been too small for his fingers. At last he finds the list of calls received. Two calls from “Unknown number.” He would have liked to ring back and explain that he has absolutely no experience with such things, that he needs a few tips. He also wants to ask why he of all people has been chosen. What he should do now. And how. And when. Just as Vera Wagenfort suspected, the rules are actually clear to him. They are shown several times a week on television in those badly lit thrillers Sebastian has never been able to stand. Absurdly, none of the films ever taught you what you were supposed to think and feel in such a situation. They also did not teach you what to do with a three-word sentence. It is alwaysthree-word sentences that change the life of a human being in a decisive manner. I love you. I hate you. Father is dead. I am pregnant. Liam has disappeared. Dabbelink must go .
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