“The Princess of the Brazen Mountain.” “The Bear in the Forest Hut.”
I page past illustrations of dragons and children turned into birds. At the beginning of the next story, a picture of a man whose beard swirls into a great cyclone, I start to read.
In a far-off country, beyond the sea and the mountains, there lived a king and queen, with a beautiful daughter. A great many princes came to woo her but she liked only one of them.
My eyes travel mindlessly over the next few sentences before I slowly register what I’m reading. It’s The Whirlwind.
It had taken me a few paragraphs to piece together what I was reading because I’ve never seen it written down before. My parents always recited it as a bedtime story when I was little, and I learned it from them. The details changed a little depending on who was telling it—Mama emphasizing the fantastical adventures, Papa the victory of good over evil, and the story transformed a little over time, as my family created a version that was all our own.
But here it is, the official version. In print. In a library just a few hundred meters from the cottage where my brother is probably getting ready for dinner.
“His name was Prince Dobrotek,” Abek told me.
Abek couldn’t remember the prince’s name. Until he could. Until out of nowhere, he said he suddenly remembered after all: The prince’s name was Dobrotek. And I was so happy. I took that memory as a sign. I took that memory to mean something important.
My fingers have grown cold. I’m still turning the pages, but I’m barely paying attention to what’s on them.
Had Abek really remembered the name? Had he remembered it out of the blue?
Is it just a coincidence this book is sitting here on the table instead of on the shelf, as if someone was only recently reading it?
Beneath my hands, the cover falls closed.
What is the real question I am trying to ask? What is the theory I am trying to prove? What is the thing that keeps nudging against my brain?
If this book is sitting on the table because Abek came in yesterday and was reading it, then why wouldn’t he have just mentioned to me he’d done it? He could have just said, Guess what? I went to the library and found a book of fairy tales, and it had the name of the character we couldn’t remember; isn’t that interesting?
Unless it wasn’t actually remembering the prince’s name that mattered, but showing me that he remembered. Showing that he had memories of our reading the story together. That he had memories of me before the war. Proving something.
Proving what?
This means nothing, I tell myself. This is all useless speculation. I don’t even know if Abek looked in this book, and it wouldn’t matter anyway, because this book is here to be looked at, and Abek is my brother, and he is here, and that is what means something, and this means nothing, because this is all useless speculation, and I don’t even know if Abek is the one who looked in the book, and even it wouldn’t matter anyway, because this book is here to be looked at, and Abek is my brother, and he is—
Brrrrrrr. Brrrrrrrr.
My thoughts are pierced by a loud sound, metallic and shrill. My knees give out. My brain is on fire.
Before I can process what the sound is, my body has reacted. I’m on the floor. I’m under the table on my hands and knees, and I’m shaking and can’t control myself.
You’re in the library in Foehrenwald, I tell myself, but I tell myself louder, Run.
Breathe, I instruct myself. My mind hasn’t gotten caught in a loop like that in more than a week. Not since Abek arrived. I’d hoped that meant I’d moved beyond it. I’d hoped I was better. I’m dripping with sweat.
There’s nothing to be scared of, I repeat.
From under the table, I see a pair of brown men’s shoes appear in the doorway. The shoes pause, and I shrink away from them, fighting back screams.
Then the body attached to them lowers.
The face that appears is kind. A young man I’ve never seen, watching me shake under the table. You’re in Foehrenwald. You’re safe.
“Are you all right?” the man asks.
I shake my head.
“Stay there; I’ll get help.”
I shake my head again, and a whimper comes out of my mouth. Don’t leave.
“Did you fall? Do you need help getting to your feet?” He stretches