Read Online The Storyteller by Antonia Michaelis - Free Book Online
Authors: Antonia Michaelis
Ads: Link
anyone at school about Micha,” he said. “Not even Gitta. None of those friends of yours. If you tell anyone …”
“You don’t know me,” Anna said. She didn’t try to pull her arm free because she knew that that was what he expected. She held still. Her fear of him had drowned in the sea he had invented, with the island and the white mare and the castle with one single room. Strange.
“You have no clue,” she repeated. “I don’t hang out with those people much. They’re not my friends. And … Abel? Put the hat back on. You look much more frightening when you’re wearing your black hat.”
Later, she lay on her bed and looked out the window, down into the backyard garden. The rose was still in bloom.
She had just walked out. She had made the comment about the hat and walked out. She hadn’t even said good-bye to Micha; she had behaved like some stupid girl in a chick flick.
But she had been so angry that he thought she was like the others. Of course, she was like the others—a little. Surely everybody was, at eighteen. But how could she avoid telling Gitta …
She grabbed the phone off the antique nightstand she had once,on a too-gray day, painted green. She dialed Gitta’s number—to get it over with.
“Gitta?” she said. “Remember we were talking about Abel?”
“Who?”
“Tannatek. Abel is his first name … whatever. And you said maybe it’s not true that he has a little sister and everything was a lie …”
Gitta, stuck in the middle of a formula she was trying to understand or at least learn by heart for a physics test, was slow to react. “Yeah … I remember,” she said finally. “Your fuck buddy.”
Anna wasn’t going to let Gitta annoy her, not this time. Gitta was ridiculous. She had something to tell Gitta, and she was going to tell it. “You were right,” she said. “He doesn’t have a sister. It was a lie.”
“Excuse me, what? How do you know?”
“Never mind,” said Anna. “You were right about something else. You said I was in love with him … it’s true. Was true. But now I am in love with someone else.”
“That’s good,” Gitta said. “Little lamb, you know I’d love to talk longer, but physics is calling …”
“Sure.” Anna cut her off and hung up. She covered her face with her hands and sat like that for a while, in self-made darkness. She would have to invent a crush now, for Gitta. But on whom? Bertil, Anna thought. But if Gitta told Bertil, he would be happy about it, and it wouldn’t be fair to him. One of the university students maybe. She got up and took her flute from the music stand. When she held it to her ear, just to check, she heard the white noise, like the sound of a radio between channels. She lifted the flute to her lips and played the first notes of “Suzanne” into the white noise, or fromthe white noise, or entwined with the white noise: “Suzanne takes you down—to her place near the river—you can hear the boats go by—you can spend the night beside her …”
What an old song. Where did someone like Abel’s mother get a cassette of Leonard Cohen?
Michelle
—he’d called her Michelle. How had Michelle, who didn’t speak a word of English, who at most learned Russian at school—like they did back then—how had she come by that particular cassette? And where, Anna wondered all of a sudden, was Michelle?
Anna was standing in front of the glass door leading out to the fading light of the garden when her mother came home. She’d been staring at her own figure reflected in the glass: the outline of her narrow shoulders, her long dark hair—a see-through person full of winter shrubs. People told her she was pretty; grown-ups said it with the approving tone they seemed to reserve for young girls whom they also considered “nice” and “well-bred.” Adults were always quick to tell her how much she looked like her mother, and how little like her father. Though Anna thought that on the inside she was much
“You don’t know me,” Anna said. She didn’t try to pull her arm free because she knew that that was what he expected. She held still. Her fear of him had drowned in the sea he had invented, with the island and the white mare and the castle with one single room. Strange.
“You have no clue,” she repeated. “I don’t hang out with those people much. They’re not my friends. And … Abel? Put the hat back on. You look much more frightening when you’re wearing your black hat.”
Later, she lay on her bed and looked out the window, down into the backyard garden. The rose was still in bloom.
She had just walked out. She had made the comment about the hat and walked out. She hadn’t even said good-bye to Micha; she had behaved like some stupid girl in a chick flick.
But she had been so angry that he thought she was like the others. Of course, she was like the others—a little. Surely everybody was, at eighteen. But how could she avoid telling Gitta …
She grabbed the phone off the antique nightstand she had once,on a too-gray day, painted green. She dialed Gitta’s number—to get it over with.
“Gitta?” she said. “Remember we were talking about Abel?”
“Who?”
“Tannatek. Abel is his first name … whatever. And you said maybe it’s not true that he has a little sister and everything was a lie …”
Gitta, stuck in the middle of a formula she was trying to understand or at least learn by heart for a physics test, was slow to react. “Yeah … I remember,” she said finally. “Your fuck buddy.”
Anna wasn’t going to let Gitta annoy her, not this time. Gitta was ridiculous. She had something to tell Gitta, and she was going to tell it. “You were right,” she said. “He doesn’t have a sister. It was a lie.”
“Excuse me, what? How do you know?”
“Never mind,” said Anna. “You were right about something else. You said I was in love with him … it’s true. Was true. But now I am in love with someone else.”
“That’s good,” Gitta said. “Little lamb, you know I’d love to talk longer, but physics is calling …”
“Sure.” Anna cut her off and hung up. She covered her face with her hands and sat like that for a while, in self-made darkness. She would have to invent a crush now, for Gitta. But on whom? Bertil, Anna thought. But if Gitta told Bertil, he would be happy about it, and it wouldn’t be fair to him. One of the university students maybe. She got up and took her flute from the music stand. When she held it to her ear, just to check, she heard the white noise, like the sound of a radio between channels. She lifted the flute to her lips and played the first notes of “Suzanne” into the white noise, or fromthe white noise, or entwined with the white noise: “Suzanne takes you down—to her place near the river—you can hear the boats go by—you can spend the night beside her …”
What an old song. Where did someone like Abel’s mother get a cassette of Leonard Cohen?
Michelle
—he’d called her Michelle. How had Michelle, who didn’t speak a word of English, who at most learned Russian at school—like they did back then—how had she come by that particular cassette? And where, Anna wondered all of a sudden, was Michelle?
Anna was standing in front of the glass door leading out to the fading light of the garden when her mother came home. She’d been staring at her own figure reflected in the glass: the outline of her narrow shoulders, her long dark hair—a see-through person full of winter shrubs. People told her she was pretty; grown-ups said it with the approving tone they seemed to reserve for young girls whom they also considered “nice” and “well-bred.” Adults were always quick to tell her how much she looked like her mother, and how little like her father. Though Anna thought that on the inside she was much
Similar Books
