The Vanishing of Katharina Linden

tobacco), and attempted to raise the spirit of Marion Voss.

Did he do this sort of thing on a regular basis? the police had asked him incredulously, and Boris had had to admit that yes, he had tried it after Katharina Linden had disappeared; when nothing happened he had hit upon the idea of using possessions in the ritual belonging to the missing girls. When the police had discovered the burned remains of a shoe and connected it with the disappearances, Boris had been struck with terror, foreseeing that his involvement would propel him to the head of the list of suspects.

Unfortunately he was not even able to offer any psychic clues to the murders since the spirits of the dead girls had refused to appear at all. Who could blame them? If the dead come back to tell us anything, they are unlikely to say it to a group of scruffy strangers smoking pot at midnight in a wood, one of whom, it seems, was also too drunk to stand up. Boris claimed that he had been trying to find out where the bodies were by asking the girls themselves, but later it went around that he had been trying to get them to tell him the following week’s lottery numbers. I have no idea which of these is true, but the latter story stuck to Boris and will probably pursue him for life.

As for me, I spent a long time secretly worrying about Oma Warner’s telephone bill. Up until Christmas Eve she had still not said anything, but I did not like the way that she glanced at me, eyebrows raised, whenever the phone rang and my mother said, “It’s for you, Pia.” I had visions of her waiting until we were all assembled for Christmas dinner and then announcing it in front of the entire family: Did you know that Pia ran up a thousand pounds on my telephone bill, and me a pensioner? I tried to avoid her, as though she were a walking time bomb. If we spent too much time together, she might say something.

In Germany everyone opens their Christmas presents on Christmas Eve, not Christmas Day, a fact that my mother had long bemoaned: she said it was ludicrous letting the children open their presents at eight o’clock at night and then expecting them to go straight to bed like lambs. But then my mother was not one to give her wholehearted approval to German customs.

When we assembled for the annual exchange of gifts, Oma Warner had still not said anything. I purposely sat as far away from her as possible. Still, it was not likely that I would get away without any contact with her at all. I had to get up and hand her the little parcel of scented soap that was purportedly from me and Sebastian, and she had to hand me her gift in return.

We didn’t often see Oma Warner at Christmas, so she usually sent me an envelope with a cheery card and a twenty-Deutschmark note inside it; she got the Deutschmarks from the travel agent in Hayes. I was not surprised therefore when she handed me a little envelope, slightly fat as though something were folded inside.

“Say thank you, Pia,” said my mother, and dutifully I parroted, “Thank you.”

Oma Warner waited until my mother was looking elsewhere and mimed stop at me, putting up one ring-encrusted hand. Stop, don’t open it. I tucked the envelope into the little pile of presents I had already opened. Later, when my mother was in the kitchen swearing at the turkey in two languages, I slipped upstairs to my bedroom.

Sitting on my bed, I tore open the envelope Oma Warner had given me. Out fell what I first thought was confetti, but then realized were the pieces of a red telephone bill, torn to tiny shreds. I sat on my bed with a lapful of ripped-up telephone bill, reading the card, which read, Happy Christmas to a favourite granddaughter, and really I did not know whether to laugh or cry.

That part of my life is closed now. After more than seven years in England, German words are becoming like an unfamiliar taste in my mouth. When I think of my conversations with Stefan, with my classmates, with Herr Schiller, sometimes I remember them in English. It’s strange to think that if I have children myself one day, then whenever they visit their grandfather they will speak to him in English and he will reply to them in English too, his accent strange in their ears. We will open our Christmas presents on December 25. We won’t celebrate St. Martin’s Day at all.

Thinking about my friends in Germany is always a little painful because I can’t help but remember the goodbyes, just as you can’t watch a sad film a second time without thinking about the ending. So I don’t often think about Bad Munstereifel, about Stefan, and Herr Schiller, and Oma Kristel. Or about Herr Duster, the last time I saw him, standing on the doorstep of our house in the Heisterbacher Strasse, with his Tyrolean hat in his gnarled old hand.

“Auf Wiedersehen, Herr Duster,” I had said, very politely, before he stepped out of my life forever. And he had looked at me very solemnly and said:

“Hans. Please, call me Hans.”

Glossary of German Words and Phrases

aber but

Abitur high school graduation examination

Ach, Kind Oh, child!

Alte Burg The Old Castle

Ach so! Aha! I see!

Angsthasen “Scaredy-rabbits”-the German equivalent of “scaredy-cats”

Apfelstreusel apple cobbler

auch also

Auf Wiedersehen Goodbye (formal)

Bis gleich! See you in a minute!

bitte please

Bitte schon You’re welcome

Blodmann stupid fool

Blodsinn stupid tricks, messing about

bose bad, angry

Burgermeister mayor

Danke Thank you

dein yours

doch yes, indeed

Dornroschen Briar Rose, the sleeping beauty

Du bist pervers You’re sick

Dummkopf blockhead, idiot

etwas seltsam something strange

Fachwerk half-timbering

Fettmannchen small coin (now obsolete)

Fettsack Fatso

Frau Mrs., Ms.

Fraulein Miss

furchtbar terrible

Gonsebraten roast goose

gerne willingly, gladly

Gott God

Grossmutter Grandmother

Grundschule Elementary school

Guten Abend Good evening

Guten Morgen Good morning

Guten Tag Good day

Gymnasium the most academic type of high school, offering the university entrance exam

Hasse hate