I slept until late morning and woke up to the sound of the doorbell. Frederik had disappeared. Only his robe and his suitcase were still here. I stumbled to the door still half asleep and answered the intercom.

“Please come down and help me carry something,” Frederik said.

Because I had no bathrobe, I pulled on Frederik’s robe and ran down the stairs. He stood at the entrance, surrounded by six boxes.

“You look like a burnt gingerbread man,” he said.

“And you look perfectly normal,” I said, because Frederik was wearing jeans and a sweater, like an ordinary person.

I pointed at the boxes. “What’s all this?”

“The crooked bookshelf has to go,” he said. “I bought you a new one.”

We carried the boxes into the lobby and up the stairs, Frederik behind me.

“How did you get them all here?” I asked.

Frederik stopped.

“He who brings home all of life’s gifts, one by one, will achieve enlightenment,” he said.

I turned and looked at him.

“It was just a joke. Furniture delivery.”

Upstairs he looked at his watch. “I have to go,” he said. “You’ll have to assemble it yourself.” Neither of us knew that I wouldn’t do it for another eight years.

The airport teemed with carefully concealed truths wanting out at the last minute. Everywhere there were people hugging each other one last time, and I hoped they were hugging because a truth had come to light and proved not to be as terrible and terrifying as they feared. Maybe they were hugging each other as tight as they could to keep a silenced truth from slipping out and spreading an awful stink and a great commotion in the last few meters.

We stood in front of the departure display panel. Frederik put down his suitcase and looked at me.

“I’ll give them back,” he said. “I’ll mail them to you.”

He was talking about one hundred and twenty marks.

We’d remembered very late that we didn’t have a car anymore and took a taxi.

“Does that enormous, ugly beast have to come?” the driver complained.

And Frederik replied, “Yes, it does. The enormous, ugly beast always has to come with us.”

We sat in the back seat, Alaska between us, half on the seat, half in the footwell. Frederik had said he’d have a lot of thinking to do, and he was thinking now. I watched him.

We kept silent the entire drive. Only at the exit to the airport did Frederik put his arm around me, which mostly meant putting his arm around Alaska.

“Why are you so calm?” he asked.

“I’m so calm because you’re so nervous,” I replied, and it was true. I wasn’t nervous, not yet. I only became nervous once we were standing in the departure hall.

“No,” I said, “don’t pay me back. You gave me the bookshelf, after all.”