“Nurse, it’d set my mind at ease if you could write something on my bad leg with a marker.”

“Didn’t they do that on the ward already?”

“No—look.” The man yanked back the blanket as if he’d had an argument with it and displayed his leg. Dark patches, the toes black and blue. She lifted the blanket farther to examine the other leg. It was pale and lined with thick veins, but she could see no discoloration. This was a clear-cut case even without labeling—maybe that was why they hadn’t bothered. “I assume your left leg is the bad one?” She touched it with her hand.

The man nodded.

“Good.” She took a pen from the drawer and drew a large arrow on the affected leg, pointing toward the man’s foot. “There we are—nothing can go wrong now. The doctor will be here in a minute to talk you through what he’s going to do, so there’s no need to worry.” She put the blanket back and checked the drip.

When she looked at the clock, she realized a whole hour had gone by in which she had been entirely preoccupied with her work. Werner had gone to oversee the morning shift at the Horn of Plenty, as usual. He’d dropped the pig idea, for now. Until they came up with something better, anyway. Something we can both get behind—those were the exact words he had used.

Madness.

Petra, one of her colleagues, sought her eyes. “Hey, Helen? You look so pale all of a sudden. Are you OK?”

“Yes—yes, I’m fine. I think I just haven’t eaten enough today,” she said quickly, and turned back to her screen.

2

2

Ralf descended the stairs as quietly as possible. The fourth tread from the bottom was creaky, so he stepped over it. Almost there.

“Where are you going?”

Shit.

That woman had unbelievably acute senses. It was as if she’d woven an invisible spider’s web over the entire house and could detect the slightest vibrations.

“I’m going out,” he said.

His mother blocked his way. She was wearing a black T-shirt with some positive slogan or other on it; she wore that kind of shirt a lot and had a wardrobe full of them upstairs. “Happy Life!” “Kiss Me, I’m Famous.” “Follow Your Dreams!” It was a shame the words contrasted so jarringly with the sour expression above them.

“No, Ralf. You’re staying at home. We need to talk.”

“Do we really?” He looked at his cell phone. Naomi was waiting for him to take her for her first driving lesson.

“You’re in big trouble,” she said.

He looked at her in alarm. Was this about Brian? Had the police paid a visit? Nervously, he followed his mother into the kitchen.

She sat down at the table and pushed aside a stack of pamphlets and magazines.