The Vanishing of Katharina Linden

together. I remember seeing Katharina Linden at the fountain as we reached the junction in the center of town. It must have been at about a quarter to three.

A little farther on I remember seeing Frau Linden, who was dressed as a clown in a kind of multicolored romper suit and a green curly wig. She was holding Nils-the younger of Katharina’s two brothers-by the hand. Nils was dressed as a ladybug, and looked thoroughly disgusted at the whole proceedings; he was swinging on her arm and complaining vociferously about something.

Perhaps that is why Frau Linden failed to notice her daughter’s disappearance at first; she was preoccupied with the much younger Nils. And, after all, Bad Munstereifel was a small town-everyone knew one another, and even during Karneval there were enough friendly faces around that you needn’t worry about your children. Or so everyone thought.

When the procession had reached the Werther Tor, we wandered back to the fountain where we’d passed Katharina Linden, and sat on the edge of the stone basin, full of candy and feeling contented in a slightly queasy way. The crowds were dispersing, and the floats had been replaced with a squat street-cleaning machine that growled over the cobblestones like an oversized vacuum cleaner, followed by a team of bored-looking men dressed in orange overalls and armed with trash bags.

I looked away, up toward the archway leading into the St. Michael Gymnasium, and saw a flicker of color as someone dressed in a clown suit came hurrying out. It was Frau Linden, minus Nils. She moved quickly across the Salzmarkt and out of my line of vision. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but I was a little surprised when several minutes later she appeared from the alley at the side of the Rathaus, and came hurrying down the street toward us. I dug Stefan in the ribs with my elbow to make him look up.

“What?”

I nodded in the direction of Frau Linden, who was now making a beeline for us. I was formulating some silly remark when I saw her expression. Her face, normally warm and kindly, had a frigid, set look to it that sat oddly with her emerald-green wig. Instinctively sensing that something was wrong, I got to my feet as she came up to us.

“Have you seen Katharina?”

Her voice was taut, vibrating as though it would suddenly break and shatter her composure. I looked at her uncertainly.

“We saw her earlier on,” I told her.

“Where?” There was an unstable urgency in her voice. I found myself leaning backward, thinking that she might take me by the shoulders and shake me; she had that sort of look.

“Here,” I said. “By the fountain.” From her face I could see this was not the answer she wanted; I suddenly felt hot all over, as though I had told her a lie.

“Did you see where she went?” snapped Frau Linden.

“No,” said Stefan, and Frau Linden shot him a look, as if she had only just noticed him.

“No, sorry,” I said, echoing Stefan. We looked at each other uncomfortably.

Frau Linden suddenly seemed to sag a little, as though the energy that had drawn her toward us had drained out of her. Now she did reach out with one hand and touch my shoulder.

“Are you sure?” she asked me. “Are you really sure you didn’t see where she went?”

“No,” I said, then, realizing that this sounded ambiguous: “No, I didn’t see where she went.”

“She’s probably gone around to Marla’s or something,” suggested Stefan, trying to be helpful.

“She hasn’t,” stated Frau Linden bluntly. She looked about her in a preoccupied manner, as though she had left Katharina somewhere like a forgotten bag of shopping.

Then her arm dropped to her side, she turned and hurried back up the Marktstrasse, without even bothering to say goodbye. Stefan and I exchanged glances. This was odd behavior from an adult.

“Komisch,” observed Stefan.

“Yes,” I agreed, shrugging.

It was getting chilly standing there in my gingham dress, and the curt exchange with Frau Linden had dissipated my holiday mood.

“I’m going home,” I said, and after a pause, “Do you want to come?”

Stefan just nodded. We picked up our bags of loot and set off for my house. I was sliding my key into the lock when my mother opened the door from the other side.

Typically for my mother, she did not waste time greeting Stefan and asking him all those mundane adult questions such as How is school going? or How is your mother? She launched straight in with “Has either of you seen Katharina Linden?”

We looked at each other. Had all the adults gone mad?

“No,” we both said in unison.

“Are you quite sure?”

“We saw her at the fountain earlier on, but she’s gone now,” I said. “We told Frau Linden that.” I looked at my mother doubtfully. “Why is everyone looking for her, anyway? What’s she done?”

“She hasn’t done anything,” said my mother. “She’s just disappeared.” She eyed me and Stefan dubiously, obviously reluctant to say anything that would alarm us. “Well, she’s probably just gone home with a friend,” she said eventually. “I’m sure she’ll turn up.”

“Frau Linden said she’d already tried Marla Frisch’s house,” I pointed out. There was a silence. “Where’s Papa?” I asked.

“He’s out,” said my mother. She sighed. “He’s helping the Lindens look for Katharina.”

“We can help too,” suggested Stefan. He pulled the Spider-Man balaclava off his head to reveal sandy hair sticking up every which way in untidy clumps. His face looked eager; I wondered if he was letting the Spider-Man outfit go to his head. “We can look for her. We know loads of places, don’t we, Pia?”

My mother shook her head. “I think it would be better if you both stayed in now,” she said. “Let the grown-ups look for Katharina.” Her voice was mild, but the tone was unmistakably firm. Abruptly, as though changing the subject, she said, “Do you two want some hot chocolate?”

Five minutes later, Stefan and I were contentedly enthroned on the long bench behind the kitchen table, our mouths ringed with chocolate. For the time being, Katharina Linden was forgotten.

Chapter Seven

It was fully dark when my father finally came home. He was still in his Scarecrow outfit, although his brown face paint was all smeared, as though he had been wiping the back of his hand across his face like a little child. As he stood stamping his feet on the doormat, my mother came out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a tea towel.

“And?” was all she said.

My father shook his head. “Not a sign of her anywhere.” He bent to unlace his shoes, breathing heavily. When he straightened up, he said, “Someone thought they saw her up near the Orchheimer Tor, but it was another child in a similar costume. Dieter Linden’s still out looking, but I don’t think he’ll find much now it’s dark.”

I was listening to this from the kitchen table, where I was working my way through my supper: gray bread, a slice of cheese, and a smear of Leberwurst. My father’s choice of words struck me as odd even at this stage: he didn’t think Herr Linden would find much, as though he were not looking for a person but a thing, or worse, pieces of a thing.

“I wonder what-” my mother began, then glanced back into the kitchen to where I was sitting and hastily added, “I expect she’s gone home with one of her friends and forgotten to call her mother.” Then she and my father went through into the living room and closed the door.

Their voices resumed, but at such a low level that I couldn’t have made sense of any of it unless I had pressed my ear to the door, which would have been far too risky. I looked down at my piece of Leberwurst- coated bread, with a neat semicircle bitten out of it in the shape of my teeth. I wondered whether