At some point, after we had been on the dreary highway for a century, they suddenly both turned around and looked at me.
“But you’re not saying anything,” said Ines.
“No,” I said.
Then Paul turned the radio on, and we listened to the sad songs in the language I didn’t understand.
By the time we got to the Ribbeks’ house, it was already dark.
It was a big house, a little bit outside of town, and in the distance there was a sound like a waterfall.
“That’s the ocean,” said Paul.
“The ocean?” I asked.
He nodded and heaved my suitcase out of the car.
“Ines,” he said. “Can you believe it? Achim just brought a bunch of rocks with him. What’s he going to wear?”
Ines shrugged her freckled shoulders. “Rocks,” she answered.
It was warm and bright inside. Ines made fried eggs, and Paul carried my small, green suitcase up a very narrow, steep wooden staircase.
Upstairs, he opened the door to a room with just one bed, even though it was big enough that at the orphanage four people would have slept in it.
“This is your room,” said Paul. He groaned and set the suitcase down, and as he did, his face looked so tortured that I couldn’t help but smile a little.
Downstairs in the kitchen there was a big, old table full of termite holes. I sat down on a chair carefully.
“Why did you want a kid?” I asked.
Ines set three plates with eggs and bread on the table.
“You like fried eggs?” she asked. Apparently she hadn’t heard my question.
“Fried eggs are my favorite,” I answered, to make her feel good. But during the meal I could scarcely keep my eyes open.
I yawned even though I knew that it wasn’t polite. I felt embarrassed.
But then Ines yawned.
A moment later, Paul joined in.
And we all laughed.
Later, lying in bed in my striped pajamas, I remembered my question again. It was right when Paul came in to say goodnight—just the way Maria and the other women at the orphanage had done.
“Why did you want a kid?” I whispered as he leaned over my bed.
Paul sighed.
“You know,” he said finally, “we had one once. A little boy.”
“And?” I whispered in the darkness. “Where is he now?”
“When he was four, he walked out into the street at the wrong moment.” Now Paul was whispering too. His voice sounded a little hoarse.
“A truck hit him. He died immediately.”
I didn’t know why, but I reached for Paul’s hand. “How old would he have been now?” I asked.
“Eleven,” whispered Paul. “Just like you.”
That night, for the first time, I padded over the soft carpet down the hall, looking for the bathroom. I didn’t want to turn any lights on since I didn’t know where the right switches were. There was a little green lamp plugged into the wall. That would have to do.
It was so strange to use a toilet that didn’t have five other kids waiting in their stalls next to it! On the way back to my room, I forgot the way.
The hall went around a corner. Somehow I found a door and stood in front of it for a while, listening to the sounds coming from inside. It had to be the Ribbeks’ bedroom because I heard someone snoring softly and someone else breathing calmly.
Behind another door I found a broom and a bunch of junk. The next door had to be the one to my room. I really wanted to crawl back under the blankets and leave the darkness of the hallway behind me.
The door was right next to the little green lamp. You couldn’t miss it.
I reached out for the handle—then I stopped in my tracks and hesitated for a moment. I was certain that I had left the door open behind me. Of course it was possible that a gust of air had made it swing shut, but there was something else that kept me from opening it: It was definitely not the right door. The one to my bedroom had a rectangular frame and a red plastic handle like all the other doors in the house. But the door in front of me was rounded at the top like the doors in palaces and castles. Instead of a plastic handle, it had a nicely curved, shiny silver handle with plant-like flourishes. And there was no keyhole.
I ran my hand over the wood—it was rough and cracked.
It simply couldn’t be. I was absolutely certain: This door hadn’t been there a few hours ago.
I pressed my ear against it and listened.
And then I heard the sobbing.
It swelled from time to time; sometimes I could barely hear it, and sometimes I thought that Paul and Ines had to be able to hear it in their room.
I wasn’t the only one who was unhappy. Right here, behind this door, there was someone else who was also feeling that way.
But who could it be? I raced down the hall till I came to an open door—my door—and I leapt into bed, hid under the blanket, and pulled Lucas close.
CHAPTER 2
In which I create shards and
someone is standing at the window
Funny, I thought, when I woke up. Why hadn’t the alarm clock gone off?
Usually it rang until I was awake enough to turn it off. And why was it so quiet in the house?
“Hey, Karl,” I said drowsily, “are you awake? What time is it? We’re missing our breakfast shift... Karl?”
Karl didn’t answer.
I opened my eyes and saw why he wasn’t answering me. Because he just wasn’t there, that’s why. And I wasn’t in my bed at the orphanage, and there was no alarm clock and no breakfast shift.
The bed I was sleeping in belonged to the Ribbeks, and the room did too, and the house and everything.
I sat up on the edge of the bed, letting my legs dangle, and wrapped my arms around Lucas the toy dog, who I was actually already too old for.
And all of a sudden I felt cold and stiff with fear.
What was going to happen today? What did Paul and Ines expect of me? Would I mess anything up?
The daylight crept through a blue window shade with stars on it and made its way over the wooden floor to the bed. As if it secretly wanted to take over the whole room.
It was a nice room.
On the floor there was a colorful, woven rug, and on the walls next to a big, old wardrobe there were a bunch of wooden shelves full of books. They looked like books for adults, but still, they made the room seem cozy. I imagined how in the winter you could take a book and lie on the colorful rug and read while it was snowy and freezing cold outside ...
Next to the book shelves there were more empty shelves. There were just a couple of shells and stones lying on them. They were waiting, those shelves. For someone to fill them.
And then I felt a little colder and even more anxious.
I knelt down in front of my suitcase in my pajamas and took out everything that I owned. The wardrobe opened its jaws and swallowed my clothes. I put an article of clothing into every compartment so it looked like more.
But when I stepped back, the wardrobe looked just as empty as before.
With great care, I set my four CDs, three books, and my mp3 player on the shelves. They looked back at me sadly and hungrily.
I sat down on the bed and squeezed Lucas hard against my eyes so no tears would come out. Everything was nice and pleasant and wonderful; it was just me—I just didn’t fit in here.
They were going to notice and give me back.
After I got dressed, the wardrobe was even emptier.
I stood in the hallway and listened. There was music playing downstairs. It didn’t sound sad like the music on the radio. Instead it was music you wanted to dance to.
I brushed my teeth until you could see your reflection in them.
Then I wanted to go downstairs to where the music was, but something made me hesitate.
Because on the way to the stairs, I passed the door. The door with the frame that made a half circle at the top.
Now I sa
w that it was the only door on this side of the hall. To the left and right of it there were two large windows, and through those windows I saw the yard with its fruit trees and behind that, far in the distance, a streak of blue: the ocean.
But that was impossible.
I opened one of the windows and stuck my head out. I could see the second window. Between the two there was only the side of the house and, climbing up it, a plant with light and dark flowers.
Astonished, I pulled my head back inside. There was no room behind this door.
It led right into midair. Why would you need a door without a room? I touched the handle. It was silvery and cool to the touch.
At that moment the music downstairs cut out and I heard Ines curse at the record player. Right after that it starting playing again, a different song this time, not quite so wild and lively—but I was already on my way downstairs. Maybe I’d open the door later.
Ines was in the kitchen watching a huge cooking pot.
“Good morning, Achim,” she said and nodded toward the pot. “Jam. Whenever a record starts skipping, I run over to it, and the jam boils over. As soon as I’ve cleaned everything up, the record starts skipping again.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t make jam and listen to music at the same time,” I said.
“Maybe not. Did you sleep well?”
“Hm-hm,” I said. The music stopped.
She waved wearily.
“Nevermind. How does breakfast sound?”
“Hm-hm,” I said.
She just smiled, pulled a drawer open, and said, “Here are the breakfast dishes, and there’s the silverware. Could you ...? I have to watch the jam.”
I nodded and stood in front of the open drawer helplessly.
Had Ines already had breakfast? She must have eaten with Paul. And I had slept too late. But what if they wanted to eat again?
“What’s going on?” asked Ines. “What are you thinking?”
“Uh—nothing,” I said and decided to take two plates and two knives. Luck was on my side: Ines said she wanted to eat too.
“What do you like to drink with breakfast?” she asked and looked into the refrigerator. I stopped to think. What did Ines drink? I wanted to do everything right.
“Cocoa?” she suggested. “Juice? Tea?”
I shrugged my shoulders. She was rummaging through the refrigerator. “And what would you like to eat? I mean, honey or sausage or nutella or cheese or ...?”
I shrugged my shoulders again. What did Ines eat?
She sighed. “Well, what did you eat in the orphanage? Sweet stuff or salty stuff?”
I looked down at my shoes, thinking that I was annoying her and that I had already started to mess everything up.
“Something on bread,” I answered miserably.
We had a sort of hectic breakfast. Because of the jam, Ines was constantly jumping up, taking off the lid, and stirring, and at the same time she was also making herself some coffee.
I would have been happy to help, but I didn’t dare ask.
So I sat there and drank my juice and ate my bread very slowly, so that I wouldn’t have to say anything. If you don’t say anything, you can’t be wrong.
The juice tasted like it had been sitting in the refrigerator for a long time. A little sour and sort of fizzy. I really wanted some of the cocoa from the orphanage, but I didn’t say anything. If Ines was already so busy with the record player and the jam and making coffee and everything, then she probably couldn’t keep track of how long the juice had been in the refrigerator—and besides, I didn’t have to drink that much of it.
“Listen, Ar—Achim, I have to get going. To the flower shop. Paul is already at work. He’ll be home at five. We’ve been trying to take off work for a while, but it hasn’t quite worked out yet, and we wanted to come and get you as soon as you said that we could, and ...”
She trailed off and looked into her cup of coffee intently. Had she lost something in it? Something that had sunk into her coffee?
“It’s all a little … awkward, I know,” Ines said finally. “We thought that at first... you could stay with our neighbors during the day. Till school starts. They’re nice people, really...”
Her voice trailed off again. I started to feel sorry for her. Apparently she felt bad that she and Paul couldn’t look after me the whole time.
“I’m not a little kid anymore,” I said quietly. “I can stay here and take care of myself.”
“Oh, Ar—Achim.” Ines looked up from her coffee cup and smiled at me. “But all alone! Where everything is still so new to you! I told the neighbors a long time ago, you know. They have two kids, a boy and a girl. The three of you will definitely have fun together... they could show you around...”
She stood up and pointed out the window. “It’s that house over there, with the green roof. You just take the path … you’re really grown up already,” she added and gave me a smile. “You definitely won’t get lost.”
I shook my head.
“Good,” said Ines. “I’m giving you a house key. You should take good care of it.”
I nodded.
She took the jam from the stovetop, pressed a key with a red ribbon into my hand, and pulled on a bright yellow windbreaker.
“Okay, bye, Ar—Achim.”
I stood in the kitchen with the key in my hand for a while.
The red ribbon was dangling off it like a dog’s tongue.
Bye, Ar—Achim.
Well, okay, I thought. She has so much to do at the same time. She can’t remember my name all the time too.
I washed the dishes, very carefully, so that nothing broke, and afterwards I went back upstairs.
Because I had no intention of going to the neighbor’s house and going to see the parts of the neighborhood that they wanted to show me.
I wanted to see what was behind the door.
There couldn’t actually be anything behind it.
When I pressed the handle down, I expected the door to swing open into empty space and reveal the yard below. What else.
Well, what else?
The old wood creaked when I pushed against it, and the hinges squeaked.
No light came through the crack that now opened between the door and the wall. No, quite the opposite: behind the door it looked darker than it was in the hall.
I realized how alone I was. If only Karl were here with me!
I took a deep breath, pushed the door open a little more, and slipped inside.
It closed almost silently behind me.
I looked around.
I found myself in a circular room with walls made of large, rough stone blocks. I could see five windows. A strange, hazy light was coming in through blue curtains, as if the room were underwater. The floor was also made of stone, and it was cold. You could feel how the cold rose from them like fog and crept up along the walls. I pulled my hands into my sleeves and noticed that I was shivering.
There were paintings hanging on the walls. I went closer to get a better look at one of them and was shocked.
The painting showed a high wall made of black and white stones. In front of that, there were trees with strange blossoms and leaves, and between their trunks was a small figure wearing my clothes.
Could a painting of me be hanging here? But what was that wall and that yard?
And what kind of room was this, where the painting was hanging?
It was in the Ribbeks’ house, but it didn’t belong with the rest of the house. It wasn’t cozy and comfortable like the rest of the house. It didn’t fit in.
“A secret room,” I said to myself quietly. “It’s a secret room. The house seems to have adopted it, but it can always give the room back.”
And really, the room didn’t fit in with the rest of the house at all!
There was nothing in it except an iron bed, an iron table, and a single iron chair. No shelves with shells, no wardrobes to fill.
The furniture had feet, as if it didn’t like the room eithe
r and would have liked to run away. I had seen furniture with lion’s feet in old pictures. But these were bird’s feet.
I walked up to one of the windows and pulled aside the blue curtain.
On the outside wall there was a strange vine, blooming with alternating dark violet and bright white flowers. I looked down at it.
Actually, the yard was supposed to be down there, with the fruit trees, and in the distance a blue streak of ocean.
But there was no yard, there were no fruit trees, and no ocean either.
I looked down onto an endless expanse of rolling hills with tall grasses swaying in the wind. And the trees growing far below were a kind I had never seen before. Yes, far below: the ground wasn’t just a single story below like it should have been. It was five, six, or maybe seven stories below, and I almost started to feel dizzy.
And there were birds all over the trees and in the grass. A thousand birds, maybe more. Now and then a flock of them would fly up and loop around to land on a different hill.
They were as many different colors as you can imagine. White and blue and green and flamingo pink and brown and gray. Some of them were even colors that birds aren’t supposed to be, like yellow and black striped.
I was so mesmerized by all the colorful tail feathers and wings that it was a long time before I noticed what I should have noticed immediately: The window that I was looking down from didn’t have any glass, but had bars instead. Strong bars, made of the same iron as the table and the bed in the secret room.
I shook them a little, but they didn’t budge. They were anchored firmly into the wall above and below.
It reminded me of a castle we had visited once—and then I understood. The round room, the bars, the landscape so far, far below: I was in a tower.
And the bars were there to keep someone trapped in this tower.
I flew more than ran back to the door. It opened easily. I stood panting in the hall for a while, staring at the silver handle.