1.      THE CHRISTMAS PRESENT       or the chapter in which the little girl finds that her grandmother is the most mysterious person in town    “A witch lives in that house!” whispered the superstitious inhabitants of the little town, but when the old lady happened to appear among them, they quickly held their tongues. Nothing ever escaped her stern glance, and as for saying something to her face—a person that daring hadn’t come along yet. Not that she concerned herself with inane chatter. She would usually pass a group of gossipers at a brisk stride, greeting them with a nod—as you do in small towns where everyone knows each other’s affairs—throwing them only a brief glance. But everyone who was pierced by a look from her dark, intense eyes froze instantly: That witch knows everything! The excitement triggered/generated by her presence in the town didn’t bother the old lady in the least She had lived here since childhood, longer than anyone could possibly have imagined. Dirty looks and slanderous words from the townsfolk were as much a part of her life as the frigid winter wind from the mountains, or the muddy roads during the gloomy autumns. They were annoying but hardly worth bothering about, especially if one were adequately prepared for them. No, the old woman was concerned about something else. A dark cloud had been gathering over her old house, by the battlements, for some time now.   It was the night before Christmas. The smells of freshly waxed furniture, the Christmas tree, and roast turkey were spreading throughout the big house. Lost in her thoughts, a little girl stood by the window, staring out at the snowy roofs and the silvery hills behind them, fading slowly into the night. She was very sad. This was her first Christmas without her mother. She felt alone, and tried to be around Grandma in the kitchen as much as possible. Watching Grandma working in the kitchen was a real spectacle. There was no other grandmother quite like her; she did everything differently. The girl’s mom used to say that it was due to her peculiar career. Long before the girl was born, Grandma had performed in the circus as a famous acrobat. Even now, at nearly seventy years of age, she could still walk on a tightrope without the slightest hesitation. She didn’t move the way old people usually do. When she made scrambled eggs, she would flip six eggs up at once and slice them in the air with a knife. The shells would fall directly into the bin, while the yolks and whites landed smack-bang in the middle of the frying pan. When she cooked, everything just flashed by her. She didn’t even have to watch what she was doing. She never stopped, not even for a second; everything seemed to fly in the air around her, and all the ingredients she needed were right at hand. To the little girl, it seemed like a wild, magical dance at times, and once she could have sworn that she saw a spice box full of cinnamon open itself in the air and sprinkle an apple pie. But when she looked at Grandma with her mouth agape, her grandmother would be smiling at her, singing something in a cheerful voice and shaking the spice box to the rhythm. The girl’s grandmother was truly an excellent cook, yet, for some reason, she always became deeply offended whenever anybody praised her skill. “Oh, really? So you think I have nothing better to think about than the kitchen? Do you think there’s nothing else in my head but recipes?” she would say, even though it was obvious that she loved cooking. But the little girl wasn’t thinking about that now. It was Christmas, and she wasn’t looking forward to it at all. She wasn’t even interested in her presents. She was standing at the window, watching the feathers of white snow drifting against the black sky. Suddenly, Grandma put a hand on her shoulder and, looking cautiously into the night, closed the heavy curtains. “Dinner’s ready! Have you washed your hands?” Grandma asked sternly, but just one look at the spotless little girl with the sad eyes made her regret her harsh tone immediately. “Come on, my dear, it’s time for dinner.” The girl nodded and quietly sat down at the table. She had only lived with Grandma for a short time, and she still wasn’t used to how quickly and exquisitely her grandma could lay the table. This time, the decorations were truly magnificent, with burning candles floating in a glass bowl, a little Christmas tree decorated with real sweets, and a special Christmas cutlery set. There were Christmas cookies, which Grandma baked only once a year, laid out in beautiful patterns on silver trays, while a tempting aroma wafted from the soup bowl sitting in the middle of the table. The girl quickly glanced at the trays with cookies and wriggled with contentment - her favorite hazelnut tartlets were there. “Just wait.” Grandmother smiled at her. “This dinner has its own special order, and the cookies come at the end.” “And what about—?” “Don’t you worry, I didn’t forget him,” interrupted her grandmother, and pointed at the small white dog, eating with a tremendous appetite from a bowl placed near the fireplace. The girl didn’t object anymore. She was very hungry by now, so she busied herself with the soup that Grandma served. The meal was delicious. Even the spicy mushrooms, which the girl only ate because Grandma insisted that she must try at least a little bit from every dish served, were quite tasty in the end. “Can I have a tart now?” “Of course you can,” said Grandma. “Or maybe you would like to look at your presents first.” The girl turned with astonishment. “That’s unbelievable! I could have sworn that when I went to the table, there was nothing under the tree!” Now there was a big pile of presents wrapped up in shiny paper. Even the Christmas tree itself had changed. All of a sudden, it had silvery branches, and all the bells decorating it were ringing gently. “Wait a minute,” cried the girl, “something’s missing!” She ran into her room. “I hope she’ll like it,” she thought to herself, and slipped a roll of paper, tied with a ribbon, under the Christmas tree. “So are we ready to start now?” asked Grandma. The girl nodded and immediately grabbed the biggest parcel. After a moment, she squealed with joy—it was a real artist’s easel! And another packet had oil paints in it! And brushes! “Thank you! Thank you!” The overjoyed girl embraced her somewhat startled grandmother, who wasn’t used to such displays of excitement.  The next present was a doll, which she also liked very much, but it couldn’t compete with the easel and the oil paints. And then there were some clothes, and in one little parcel she found some gourmet dog biscuits. She smiled at Grandmother. She was happy that Grandmother hadn’t overlooked the little dog. Then, lower, under the branches, she caught sight of something else. She stretched over for the parcel and unwrapped it impatiently. There was a red woolen sweater inside, but when she unfolded it, she discovered that it wasn’t quite finished—the sleeves and buttons hadn’t been stitched on. She looked at Grandma in astonishment. “Your mom started knitting this, but she never finished it. At first I thought I would finish it for you, but then I changed my mind. This way you’ll have it forever. To remind you of her.” The girl pressed the sweater to her face. A familiar scent rose from the wool... “It’s late. I’d better go to bed.” Her voice broke and she ran up to her room, so Grandma couldn’t see the big tears rolling down her cheeks. For a long time, Grandmother sat motionless at the table. Wood crackled in the fireplace, and she couldn’t take her eyes off the drawing she had found rolled into a tube under the tree. Her big kitchen had been skillfully drawn in the picture. A barefooted little girl sat at the table, and standing next to her, on both sides, two ladies juggled eggs.   The girl had lived with her grandmother for only a few months. Before, she had lived with her mother in a modern, white villa on a hill high above the sea. From the terrace, one could see the horizon—far, far away over the roofs and little islands in the bay, where the girl thought the sea ended. She used to play there. She liked to draw with her colored chalks on the white paving stones. Blue for the water and sky, white sails and seagulls, yellow for the sun and green for the trees, while the people were pink, yellow, and black. When visitors came—which was quite often—they admired her drawings, which also gradually filled the brick wall around the garden. Whenever she finished a picture, her mom took a photograph of it. The girl didn’t keep these photos in an album; she put them into a box, hidden under her bed. In the winter, she browsed through them, one by one, and looked forward to summer. The girl was extremely gifted. A talent like that only comes along once every hundred years, but nobody realized it.  Not her mother, not the people who visited them, not even her teachers could truly appreciate her drawings. They only found them adorable. “When you see them, you can’t help but smile,” they used to say. And really, everybody smiled, forgetting the bad mood they had been in just moments earlier. Only some people saw her drawings as not very child-like—as if some adult, a skilful painter, had tried to imitate a child’s hand.   The little girl had a lot of friends, as well as a little white dog, but she had no brothers or sisters, which made her very sad. She longed for an older sibling and envied her friends, whose older brothers or sisters walked them to school or waited for them after classes. These children used to say, “No, it isn’t like that, because my sister said...” or “...Just wait, my brother will show you...” And so she was alone, and sometimes she was awfully miserable. Her mom worked a lot. Quite often, she woke the girl in the morning with a kiss, already dressed, with her handbag over her shoulder. Then there was a whiff of perfume around her, and suddenly she was gone; just a trace of her fragrance remained. In the afternoon, when the girl returned from school, a hint of that scent still lingered... Only in the evening were they together once more. During all those hours in between, even a younger brother or sister would have done just as well, but at least she had her dog to keep her company. She had received him last year for Christmas, and was a bit frightened at first. He arrived in a wicker basket, exactly the kind you take on picnics. “There’ll only be toy plates in there,” she had thought and started to unwrap the other presents, which seemed more interesting. She had leaned comfortably against the basket, and suddenly started in fright. She had heard a scratching noise inside the basket! The next moment, she shouted with joy—“it’s a pet!” She had hoped for a second that it would be a baby polar bear, or a little mole, or... a dog! And yes, there was a little white puppy in the basket. “So, what are you going to call him?” asked her mom, smiling. It was a very hard question. In fact, it took almost two hours until the girl finally found a name that she was perfectly happy with. “He’s as white as snow. I’ll give him an Eskimo name—Nanuk.” That was her last Christmas together with her mom, and it was the best Christmas ever.   The girl’s grandmother lived in an old town in the mountains. It was only a small town. From a distance, you wouldn’t even be able to see it, for the dense greenery. If you were to drive along the winding road over the hills nearby, you would only be able to see deep, impenetrable woods. As you got closer, the pitched towers and the steep slate roofs of a castle, perched on the top of a steep cliff above the town, would emerge. Your car would have to zigzag for a long time and climb up and down the road, and only then would you be able to recognize the spires of the churches and the tower of an old house, close to the castle’s battlements, where the girl’s grandmother lived.   Grandma’s house, overlooking the town, was huge. The basement and the ground floor were built of massive granite blocks, while the floors above were made of wood and the roof was tiled with slate. Grandmother used to say that the house was even older than the castle towering above it. The ceilings were black; the beams were of dark wood, darkened even more with age and smoke rising from the fireplace, torches, and tallow candles. Grandma never locked the front door behind her, and when the girl asked why, she said that nobody could steal anything from the house, anyway. The girl didn’t really believe her, but the house itself seemed to be such a cold, dark, and eerie place that maybe it really could scare burglars away. And she couldn’t have imagined spending even a single night there, completely alone. Before the little girl moved in, Grandma had lived alone. Granddad had died two years before. But Grandmother was not the girl’s only remaining relative. There was also Uncle Otto. He was Grandfather’s nephew, an archaeologist, who used to visit Grandma often, and she adored him. She waited on him as though he was a king, and he practically worshipped her. When Otto was on an expedition, they called each other nearly every day. Otto was a young, rather irresponsible man, as the girl’s mom used to say. The girl couldn’t imagine Otto without a smile on his face. He had wavy blonde hair, green eyes, kind features, and soft, almost feminine lips. He was tall, and tanned from frequent work in the sun. He looked athletic, but his muscles were mostly from hard labor during the excavations, where he didn’t hesitate to take up a pick or shovel, or to break up and lift heavy boulders. He was cheerful, and seemed to radiate an aura of good humor wherever he went. He was the only person who could make Grandmother laugh and keep her occupied for hours.    The girl’s mom had been a physicist, and a very successful one—the youngest director of an academic institution in the country. The girl’s father was a journalist. He and Mom had got divorced a long time ago, when the girl was only a few months old. Grandma kept complaining: “Those gorgeous southern men. I have no idea what women see in them. To me they seem so soft and irresponsible... I’m glad you don’t look a bit like him.” So the girl’s father went back to Spain and later married a divorced lady with three children. The last time the girl had seen him was so long ago that she couldn’t even remember what he looked like anymore. She only had a few photographs of them together from when she was still a baby, and that was all. He never visited, never wrote, and never called. The girl didn’t really think about him, and she wouldn’t even have noticed that he hadn’t gone to her mom’s funeral if Otto’s mother, Aunt Natalie, hadn’t complained. Otto was late for the funeral. Usually, the girl would run up and hug him around the waist, and he would pick her up and throw her in the air, but now she almost didn’t recognize him. He looked different, awfully pale. He walked up to her and stroked her head gently; she could hardly feel his touch. Then he collapsed onto his knees, hugged her, and started to cry. And because she had never seen him cry before, never seen him so devastated, she burst into tears again and  became even more aware of what had happened. When she walked by the mirror, she caught a glimpse of her own reflection and couldn’t even recognize herself. Not only were her eyes swollen, but also her lips and nose. After the funeral, when Grandma and Otto were opening all the cupboards and drawers, looking through some papers and bills and sorting them out, the girl just stood there with her shoulders sagging. She only wanted them to let everything go, so that they could sit down together, hold each other closely, and just calm down. The girl didn’t really know what had happened. The afternoon her mom didn’t come home seemed like a horrible dream. Mom’s colleague, Angela, came in, as well as some other people. They were all serious, everyone was so compassionate, and the girl didn’t want to listen to anyone anymore. Only when Grandma arrived, still catching her breath, solemn and stern with misty eyes, did the girl burst into tears. She was told that her mom had died during an unsuccessful experiment with plasma, but nobody explained exactly what was going on. And she wasn’t really interested. It had seemed so unimportant at the time...   The first days with Grandma were terrible. The girl felt weak and numb. A dreadful emptiness so immense that at times, she didn’t even have a single thought in her head, only sadness. Sometimes it was as if she had awoken from a dream. The sorrow outweighed everything. It so engulfed her that she forgot the whole world. Never before had she thought that something like this could happen. The very idea that her mother could die seemed incomprehensible. The nights were worst of all—dreams, and then waking up. In her dreams, Mom would come back to her, smiling, alive and well. She would say that it was all a terrible misunderstanding... that she was all right... The girl would feel so happy. And then, when she woke up, it was as if her mom had died again and again. Some days were better, and some worse—some days were hard, and some even harder. Things she had never noticed before made her sad. She was sad when she saw parents waiting for their children in front of her school. Even those stupid family ads on TV made her sad. All of a sudden, the girl’s life was divided into two parts—then and now. It was hard to imagine how depressing it was to walk into Mom’s bedroom for the last time, to see her flowers dying in the garden, and then to leave and close the door behind them. And later, every once in a while, to walk past the house that didn’t belong to them anymore, visiting the cemetery, and buying flowers for her mother’s grave: “These roses were Mom’s favorite...” The girl didn’t like her new home. She begged her grandmother not to sell their house and urged her to stay there with her, but Grandma didn’t want to hear a word of it. “I’m too old. I can’t change my ways. The air is clean in our town, and the city is too big, too noisy, too dirty. And I have so many things. I couldn’t possibly fit them all in this house.” Otto stayed with the girl and Grandma for a while, but after a few weeks, he packed his bags and left for South America. The girl suspected that it was her grandmother’s doing again. She hung around Grandma’s study, trying to catch some of their words through the open door. “It will be a challenging expedition. It may take you more than two years,” she heard her grandmother telling Otto. “Don’t worry about the girl. I’ll look after her better than you could. I’m still strong, but God knows what may come to pass in a couple of years. I’m getting old and anything could happen. Then you won’t be able to travel so much!” The girl heard Otto make some kind of unconvincing objection, but Grandma didn’t listen and continued talking. “Look at this photograph. Those ruins over there by the river look like the remains of a colossal bridge. And if it was indeed a bridge, then you also need to explore the other side of the river. The bridge had to lead somewhere! I have a lot of good friends in Brazil, I’m sure they will help you...” So in a few days, Otto packed his bags and left, and the girl remained alone with her grandma.   The girl’s room was upstairs and had originally belonged to her mother. Grandma’s bedroom was far away, at the other end of the long corridor, and around the corner. The girl didn’t dare peep out of her room at night, to look at all those heavy, eerie drapes covering the windows. There could be a person, or a “something” hiding behind them, without anyone noticing. Then there were those huge, creaky, antique cupboards, but worst of all were the old suits of amour, swords, axes, and flails, which kept on rattling in the draft. It didn’t really matter during the day, but after sunset and at night, when the wind sneaked in, the drapes fluttered in that long corridor and the amour started to clatter. It was as if something terrible, dressed in metal plates and chains, were coming towards her room. This always frightened her so much that she had to call her grandma. Grandma usually took a long time to come and comfort her. However, one night, when the same thing had happened several times, Grandma asked her not to call her that way. “This house is big, and I can’t hear as well as I used to. Here, take this bell. If you need something, just ring. I can hear it in the cellar too.” “What are you doing in the cellar at night?” “I thought you were asleep... I’m organizing my archive.” “Every night?” wondered the girl, even though she wasn’t sure what this archive was. Grandma smiled faintly. “I have so much stuff in the cellar that I could spend years down there.” The girl tucked herself under the covers again. Grandma turned off the light and left. “She was in such a hurry to clean the cellar that she even forgot to kiss me goodnight.” The girl pictured her last evening together with her mom. She had walked into Mom’s study. She remembered how she had walked up from behind, closer to Mom’s chair, hugged her, and laid her head on her shoulder, and how her mom had stroked, or rather patted, her hand, then turned to kiss her on the cheek. She smiled, and in that smile was all the warmth the girl could ever have imagined. It was so nice. Mom had shown her what she was working on and tried to explain it, and for a short moment, the girl thought that maybe she did understand after all. “Don’t worry too much,” laughed Mom. “Most grownups don’t understand it, either...” “Life is very hard,” the girl sighed, “and without Mom it will be even harder.” However, as the days rolled by, living with Grandma actually turned out to be quite interesting. The girl was amazed at how many things she hadn’t even noticed before. Even Grandma behaved differently from how the girl had first anticipated. Grandma often left the house for hours on end, without saying where she was going and when she would return, and this really annoyed the girl. Even so, Grandma actually spent more time with her than her mom had. Mom had had to work a lot, and she had often stayed at work until late at night. Grandma, on the other hand, sat with her almost every evening, telling her the most unusual fairy tales. She told stories about two very old and mighty witches, who were so old and powerful that by now they were not interested in anything except cooking. Or she would tell stories about dwarves who bought themselves wives in exchange for precious gold, stories about dragons that could transform themselves into princes, or about pirates and sea-monsters... Grandma obviously made them up herself, because the girl had never heard or read these stories anywhere else, even though browsing through books was her favorite pastime. When she asked her about them, Grandma only gave her a mischievous grin and said that as a little girl she had lived in a magical land, and she had lost her pinkie when she tried to escape. The girl knew she was just teasing her, of course. Mom had told her a long time ago that Grandma had lost her little finger in some kind of accident at the circus, and Mom knew what had happened for sure!   The school the girl now attended was an old, historic building. It was the same school that her mother had gone to long ago. It hadn’t been a school originally, but the house of a rich nobleman. The classrooms were the same size as his rooms used to be—some huge, others tiny. The girl preferred to stay in the classroom and studio in the attic where the art classes were held. Her art teacher, who was also her roll call teacher, was a nice old man. He was the very first person she had met when Grandma had led her to the school gate. It turned out that he had taught her mother, too, and that he still remembered her. He welcomed the girl kindly, led her to the classroom, and asked her where she’d like to sit. There were a few empty seats at the back, so she nodded in that direction. But then she noticed Laura—whom she already knew—waving at her and preparing the seat next to her. When the girl drew a picture, the teacher was thoroughly impressed. There were flowers and trees and a rainbow in a blue sky. He immediately hung the picture up on the wall and asked her to attend his afternoon art classes. During the break, other children surrounded the girl and were very friendly. Only one boy said, “Oh, aren’t you afraid to live in ‘that’ house?” But somebody told him off, whispering, “Leave her alone! Don’t you know that she’s her grandma?” And that was the end of that. In the end, the first day at her new school would have gone better than the girl had expected if it hadn’t been for the last lesson, which was History... The girl was welcomed coldly; in fact, she wasn’t welcomed at all. The teacher acted as if she was invisible, and even when the other children tried to point out the new pupil, she only said, “I know.” She didn’t even ask what the girl’s name was and where she came from. “It’s obvious that she really does know, and that she doesn’t like me,” thought the girl. “But I don’t like her, either.” Miss Greta’s face had an interesting, truculent character. Her big, hooked nose had deep, crisscross wrinkles at the top, giving the impression that it started somewhere deep under her forehead. “She looks like a bird,” concluded the girl, and started to draw her, without thinking: a sharp profile with long, thick, curly hair pulled away from her face and crumpled at the back into a bun. But despite the size of this bun, Miss Greta’s hair was so long and thick that it dangled right down to her waist. The girl turned it into feathers; she accentuated her round dark eyes, crooked nose... It was only a quick sketch, and just when she was starting to scribble her collar, the teacher noticed her absorbed look and the flashing of her pencil. “Ha!” shouted Miss Greta. “Hand that over! Yes, you...!” She glanced at the paper and recognized herself instantly. It was an excellent sketch. “This is dis-gus-ting! How dare you ridicule people like that! At school you must sit and learn and not draw such idiocy!” She straightened up, planning to take the girl to the principal and show him the drawing right away, but she quickly changed her mind. The sketch was very convincing, and if her colleagues saw it... She briskly tore the paper into small pieces and threw them into the bin. “In the good old days, corporal punishment was allowed in schools. Back then there was discipline in the classroom... but now, now...” Her hand, holding a pointer, was shaking from the repressed urge to strike out. “Excuse me, but I—” “You keep your mouth shut! I didn’t say you could speak! That’s a detention! And on your first day of school! We’ve never had a student like you here before! You should be ashamed! A child from ‘that’ house! Nothing good ever came out of there! Even my great-grandfather used to say that ‘that’ house must be cursed, no decent people ever lived there!” Miss Greta spat with hatred.   Once the girl started going to school again, her world slowly got back on track. She missed a lot of things in her new life, and a lot of things were different, but she also gained something. She had never had a friend like Laura before. Every morning on their way to school, they waited for each other at the corner. And after a day full of lessons, they went home together. They often went to Laura’s house first, because her parents usually arrived home late and so the children quickly did their homework and then played pirates with Laura’s dolls. Even when the girl was at home, she wasn’t alone for long. In the first few days after she had moved in, the children from the neighborhood started to hang around the front gate, clearly waiting for her to come out. She didn’t want to at first, but when it seemed they were wasting their time, she finally opened the window. It was exactly what they were waiting for; they waved at her and invited her out. She already knew them. Karin and Thomas lived in the house next door, and Regina and Daniel lived a few houses further away. The girl had already played with them from time to time, but now, for some reason, they seemed to be afraid to knock on her door. Before, when she had come over for the holidays, Grandma had forbidden her to let “strange children” into the house. Even Mom had strictly respected that rule, and had never invited any of her many friends there for a weekend, or even for a short visit. This time, however, the girl was defiant. “I’m allowed to play in their houses, so they will come and play here! At least in our backyard and in my room. I don’t see why you’re so impolite. I’ve already been to Anita’s house five times, and I ate at least twenty cookies there. I’ve been to Inez’s four times, and I had ten cookies there and three puddings, and when I was at—” “Well, all right, that’s enough! You can invite them here, or our neighbors will start gossiping about me. I’ll bake something.” “Could you make some blueberry cupcakes, please?”   Grandmother cleaned out a part of the huge attic for the children to play in. When the girl climbed up, she couldn’t believe her eyes. It didn’t look as gloomy as before—all the mess and junk that had filled the attic had disappeared, and even the smell of old dust was gone. Everything was clean and the timber beams had been freshly painted. “See,” Grandma puffed, after she had climbed up after the girl, “there are no spider webs here anymore. There’s enough space here for you to ride a scooter. Of course, only when it rains—otherwise I want you to be outside in the fresh air.” “That’s a great idea. I’ll invite all my friends here when the weather’s bad. You can stay here with us. You can swing and climb up on those frames and show us some acrobatics and magic tricks.” “Oh, yes, and you’ll tear the house down!” The children really loved it up there. They climbed up high, and Grandma had to suspend a safety net under the most dangerous places so they wouldn’t hurt themselves if they fell. Sometimes in the evening, when Grandma was in a very good mood and the girl had nagged her for long enough, she would teach her some simple acrobatic tricks, like walking the tightrope, somersaulting in the air, and juggling, and the girl used to show off in front of her friends afterwards. But when Grandma wasn’t at home, the girl wasn’t allowed to let anyone in. She begged for special permission for Laura, and to help change Grandma’s mind, she announced that until Laura was allowed to come, she would eat nothing, absolutely nothing, not even pancakes. Then she had to stick to her guns and eat nothing until the evening and then, although her stomach was rumbling loudly and she felt like she could have eaten rusty nails, she had to watch Grandma stuffing herself with pancakes (which smelt unbelievably good), with whipped cream, chocolate, and wild strawberries. Her favorite! “Well, I think I’ll have a few more,” Grandma teased her. “I think these are probably the best pancakes I’ve ever made.” The girl sat stubbornly facing the window, refusing to even look at her. “I don’t know why I have such a sweet tooth today,” Grandma continued relentlessly, “but I’ve just remembered that vanilla and strawberry ice cream—you know, the one you liked so much the other day. I think I’ll have a little with the pancakes. I love it when ice cream melts slowly on top of warm, sweet chocolate. Don’t you just love that?” The girl covered her ears with her hands, and when Grandma put a huge plateful of chocolate and strawberry pancakes in front of her, a mist spread before her eyes at the sight of the melting ice cream. She looked at her accusingly, and to her amazement, Grandma had a subtle smile on her face and was watching her with a satisfied, slightly inquisitive look. “All right, then,” the girl heard her saying, “Laura is allowed to come, even when I’m away, but only Laura! And eat up now, otherwise your ice cream will melt completely.” The girl, contented now, nodded politely and controlled herself tremendously as she sliced off a piece of the pancake. Slowly, with dignity, she put it in her mouth. These were the best pancakes she had ever tasted! Before she knew it, her mouth was stuffed and she was chewing uncontrollably. Chocolate dribbled all over her chin. She glanced at Grandma for a moment and saw a hint of amusement on her face. At first she felt insulted, but then she decided not to worry: “Mmmmm... These pancakes are excellent! And Laura can come here when she wants, so who cares?”   The girl would have liked going to school if it hadn’t been for Miss Greta. Fridays were the only good days, because she had no lessons with her. But as early as Sunday morning, as soon as she woke up, she remembered that the first class on Monday would be History, and after that she would be nervous for the rest of the day. Miss Greta always found a reason to punish or at least humiliate her, and hardly a lesson passed without Miss Greta threatening to hit her. When the girl mentioned it to Grandma, she only grinned. “Typical! You probably don’t know it, but her family has lived here in the town for generations. The first Pretzeller moved here in the fifteenth century, at the time of the Inquisition. He was the founder of the local dynasty of executioners. I think they all have corporal punishment in their blood. I’m surprised that Miss Greta decided to become a teacher —the slaughterhouse would have suited her better!” The girl had made a number of good friends at school, and she and Laura were almost inseparable. Yet she had a feeling that some children tried to steer clear of her, and that they sometimes seemed to whisper amongst themselves behind her back. Now and then, she also noticed similar glances in the town—on the street, or perhaps in a shop. She knew that some people avoided Grandma, and that some of them were even afraid of her, but what surprised her most was how quickly local people branded her as suspicious, often without having spoken to her even once. But Grandma told her not to worry about that. “People in small towns and villages know each other so well they can tell you what each of them has had for breakfast. They have a rigid, often ridiculous, and definitely limited perception of the world and their place in it. Quite often, even wearing something different—like that bright pink skirt of yours—can be enough for them to think you’re suspicious,” she told her. “But you mustn’t worry about that. You have to be stronger than their prejudices, and they’ll start to respect you.” “Do you mean they’ll start to be afraid of me, like they are of you?” “I don’t think anyone here is afraid of me,” Grandma objected. “I simply don’t poke my nose into their affairs, and they leave me alone!” Nevertheless, the girl stuck to her point. After all, it was clear to everyone that Grandma was a constant target of gossip, and that she was a subject of great interest in general. “You shouldn’t be so surprised,” Laura’s mother told her once. “Your grandmother is the most interesting and mysterious person around. You have to understand that not much happens around here. When a circus comes to town, people talk about it for months after it leaves. Your grandma is obviously a welcome source of rumors, and as far as I can see, she doesn’t mind at all.” The girl had to admit that she was right—Grandma really didn’t care. However, it was difficult for her. She was bothered when stupid children at school teased her for living in a house where witches used to eat children, or even worse, when they laughed at her that she was getting chubby and that her grandma was fattening her up so she could cook her for dinner. Just to be sure, she secretly examined herself in the mirror to see whether she was getting fat, but she found quite the opposite. She was too slender, even skinny... “What, are you crazy?” Grandma laughed at her when she caught her. “You’re just like your mom. You can eat anything and never get fat.” However, when the girl rather ashamedly told her about this malicious gossip concerning witches eating children, Grandma got pretty annoyed. “It’s unbelievable—there seems to be no end to this rubbish! Just so you know, your great-great-grandmother was a very educated and sensitive person. The Napoleonic wars had just finished, and the world was full of orphans. She felt truly sorry for them, so she brought a lot of little children to live here and took care of them. She found foster parents for some, and some she simply sent to school; a lot of them came and went under this roof. I’d like to know who came up with the idea of a child-eating witch, nearly two hundred years after the last trial of a ‘witch’ in the region, but the very notion that such slander has survived up to this day clearly proves that human idiocy knows no bounds.” Grandmother, all worked up by now, talked at length about trials of “witches,” about human stupidity and greed, about false accusations... The girl listened to her and wondered how she knew so much about the subject. She suddenly understood what Otto meant when he talked so admiringly about Grandma’s unbelievable knowledge of history. Grandma spoke about it with such incredible devotion, as if she had studied this topic all her life. At the same time, the girl felt a deep sorrow for all those unfortunate women who were actually murdered by superstitious and ignorant people! Therefore, a few days later, when Miss Greta gave them an assignment—an essay with an open theme—she wrote a fiery defense of wrongfully accused and convicted “witches” who ended up being publicly slaughtered by ruthless executioners. In her conclusion, she didn’t forget to add Grandmother’s words about human stupidity knowing no bounds. Well, you should have seen Miss Greta reading this essay. Her head nearly exploded from anger and outrage at such rudeness. She immediately ran into the girl’s classroom. They were having a math lesson at the time, but she didn’t care. She asked for the girl in a quaking voice, and in front of the surprised teacher, grabbed her and shoved her all the way to the principal’s office. Only after the astonished principal had read the essay for the third time to Miss Greta, in a sharp tone, emphasizing that her name and, in fact, any other name, was not mentioned in the text, did she reluctantly accept that she had probably misunderstood the girl’s work. However, deep down inside, she was certain that this sly little “witch” had tricked her, and when the principal declared that the essay was exceptionally well written and should be published in their school magazine, it pierced her heart like a knife. There is no need to say that if History classes had been a struggle for the girl before, they became completely unbearable after this. She was seriously afraid that Miss Greta would force her to repeat the year, even though she worked hard and was very well prepared for every single lesson. Grandma, however, seemed to find the whole thing laughable, and the essay positively delighted her. She immediately attached a copy to the letter she was sending Otto. “Don’t worry, you definitely won’t have to repeat the year,” she reassured the girl. “Miss Greta wants to get rid of you just as badly as you want to get rid of her.”   The girl slowly got used to the strange glances she received from time to time, and learned to ignore the occasional gossip and giggle behind her back. However, some of the situations that she experienced (and deep down, she attributed them to Grandma) were really nasty. For instance, she once had to come back from school alone, because Laura was ill. She wanted to go straight to her house and tell her what had happened at school and about the homework they had been given, but all the way there she had a peculiar feeling that somebody was following her. She looked over her shoulder constantly, and just when she was about to walk down the street leading to the town square, she thought she caught a glimpse of her pursuer—an old, balding man with a withered look, wearing a long, gray coat. He stared at her, but as soon as they made eye contact, he quickly turned away, pretending that he was looking in a shop window. The girl crouched down and squeezed between a group of passers-by. She swept past them skillfully, her little heart beating wildly, and ran straight home, only daring to stop when she was already at the corner of her street—their house was at the end. She looked back, but there was nobody around. Suddenly, the entire situation appeared ridiculous—why would anybody want to follow her? She shouldn’t allow herself to get frightened like that just because somebody had looked at her! She took a deep breath, turned around, and almost screamed from fright. She had nearly bumped into the old man! He was much taller than she had thought; his head, which sat strangely between his shoulders, was tilted to one side. The grimace on his face, the girl later realized, was supposed to be a smile. “Hello, dear! I haven’t frightened you, have I?” he said in a hoarse voice. “You live in that big house at the end of the street, don’t you?” The little girl just stared at him silently. “I’ve heard that your grandma has a house stuffed full of junk that she would like to get rid of.” “I don’t know anything about that.” The girl shrugged and turned away. “Wait, wait, my dear.” The old man sank his long, bony fingers into her arm. “I’d rather go with you and ask your grandma myself.” “But I’m not allowed to take strangers home!” The girl tried to twist out of his painful grip. “Grandma said not to talk to strange people!” She wanted to jerk herself swiftly out of his grasp, but the man’s fingers sank even deeper into her shoulder, and she cried out with pain: “Ow! That hurts!” “I’m sorry, dear, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” said the old man, but his grip remained as strong as before. “I can’t see very well anymore,” he lied. “Why don’t you take an old man to your grandma? You’ll see—she’ll be glad to see me.” “Sure she will,” thought the girl, and because the old man was holding her fast, she could do nothing but lead him home. She tried to escape from his grasp several times, but after every attempt he squeezed even more, so she stopped struggling. By the time they had arrived at Grandma’s house, the girl was so angry that she couldn’t wait to see her grandma throw him out faster than he could say “Good day, ma’am.” “I hope she’s at home.” Chills ran down her spine for a moment, but as they drew nearer to the house, the heavy door threw itself open abruptly and Grandma stood there, as if she had been expecting them. The grip of the old man’s fingers relaxed. Grandma pulled the girl inside. “Go to your room,” she said in a calm voice, not letting her eyes stray from those of the uninvited guest. They were quiet for a while. Grandmother stood in the doorway, blocking the old man’s view inside. The girl stood behind her, frowning at him. Finally, the old man couldn’t withstand grandmother’s intense stare any longer. He averted his eyes, and once more wrinkled his face into a crooked smile: “I beg your pardon for being so forward, ma’am. I’m a junkman, I have a shop in the town square, and surely you’ve already noticed...” He stopped short for a while, probably waiting for her to nod or respond in some way, but her face was deadpan. “Well, I have that... that shop in the town square,” the old man faltered, “so I thought… well, in this beautiful old house, you surely have some old junk just taking up room and getting in your way.” And everything fell quiet again. Grandma didn’t move—she just fixed her gaze on the intruder’s face, as if she were looking for something. “Everybody’s got some,” the old man started again. Suddenly Grandma smiled slightly and said, “Come in.” A triumphant spark appeared in the man’s eyes and the girl almost fainted. “What?! How can she possibly let him in?” “Go to your room,” Grandma told her strictly, and her smile disappeared. “Now!” The girl was offended. She turned and went upstairs, but her curiosity prevailed and she crouched down behind the banisters on the landing. Grandma seated the stranger behind the big wooden table. She stood with her back to him, picking out some herbs and spices from the shelf and pouring them into a small kettle. She completely ignored the old man. He sat on the edge of his chair and looked around stealthily. The girl didn’t like that at all. “He might steal something,” she thought to herself. “Maybe we should have a look in the attic,” the old man urged Grandma. “I don’t want to waste your time...” Ignoring him, Grandma concentrated on stirring something on the stove. “Or in the cellar,” said the old man after a minute, and shifted nervously in the chair. But as far as Grandma was concerned, he might as well have been dead. She poured some kind of beverage into a cup, but didn’t turn around yet; she seemed to be waiting for something. The girl felt the tension rising in the air. The old man quickly rose from his seat, and Grandma turned to him at that exact moment. “You are thirsty. Drink!” she said in a steady voice. The man obediently took the steaming cup and drank it down. Grandma didn’t take her eyes off him the whole time. When he had finished, she took the cup and said, “And now go!” And he simply left. Grandma watched him for a while, and after he disappeared around the corner, she closed the door. Still with her back to the girl, she said, “You can come down now. I thought it would be more difficult. Are you hungry?” The astonished girl emerged from behind the banisters. A few days later, when she was coming back from school, she saw the old man again. He scared her a bit when he appeared suddenly from behind the corner, but he walked past her as if she didn’t even exist. She ran into him several times afterwards, and apparently he really did have a shop somewhere on the town square. But he never spoke to her again; in fact, he didn’t seem to see her at all. But adults often ignore children, so she didn’t think a great deal of it, and she definitely didn’t want to attract his attention unnecessarily.  E ....back to Sample Chapters Page