Lanceheim by Tim Davys Page A

too great. On an ordinary day I would fall headlong in love with at least one, but more often two, of my classmates, one of my fellow travelers on the bus, or one of all the beauties that I met on Lanceheim’s streets and squares. In the evenings I was as exhausted as an empty banana peel, and I had a hard time keeping up with my studies.
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    I did not devote many thoughts to the strange Maximilian during this period, despite the fact that in secret he executed a magic trick of the greatest distinction.
    He got bigger.
    Eva Whippoorwill did her best to conceal this disturbing fact, but nonetheless we could all see it. The little bundle that Sven Beaver had found in the forest was not so little anymore. If Maximilian had been tall as a table leg to start with, after seven years he was twice as tall. And as he grew, he changed appearance. This did not happen overnight; it was a subtle, drawn-out process, and among the stuffed animals of the forest, amazement at the phenomenon decreased and increased like ebb and flow. At times there was much talk about the matter, on other occasions less, but one thing stayed the same: we talked only with each other. No one outside Das Vorschutz knew anything about Maximilian; we had the feeling that no good would come of that.
    Eva Whippoorwill did her best to protect her son from curious gazes. It was not the case that she hid him—she was far too intelligent for that. On the contrary, this would have led to even more gossip. But she participated sparingly in social gatherings, and she let Maximilian go his own way.
    As I have already admitted, I was absorbed in my own emotional life and was far from being as attentive as I should have been. My attitude was like everyone else’s: when Maximilian came up in conversation, I experienced a certain discomfort. I did not think the peculiarities that surrounded him were either exciting or interesting. We were already sufficiently vulnerable as it was in Das Vorschutz.
    This meant that if Eva Whippoorwill took care to keep her adopted son to herself, we would do our best to avoid him.
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    I do not recall the reason that I took Maximilian along on a walk. It was not uncommon that I walked by myself in the forest. I had just turned seventeen and was filled with existential torments due to the endless series of more or lessunhappy love affairs that fate—as I called Magnus at that time—had thrown in my path. The forest had always been my refuge; its heavy gloom and tender melancholy suited me fine. On this day someone asked me to take Maximilian along.
    True, I was irritated—I specifically remember that—but the irritation quickly went away. The cub was still only seven years old; he had a serious, taciturn disposition, and thus did not disturb my equally lovesick and profound trains of thought.
    We took the road toward Heimat, but turned off to the east before we came up to the lake. The air was clear after the Afternoon Rain, and Mother had forced both me and Maximilian to put on clothes that withstood the cool breeze. I recall that we were told that we should be gone for a full hour, but what sort of preparations set this time frame I do not remember. However it was, I went ahead, deeply submerged in brooding. My love on that occasion was named Sarah, and she let me taste her beautiful ears but then pushed aside my paw when it glided down across her cheek.
    Maximilian followed a few meters behind. Like me, he was the son of a forest guard and therefore naturally knowledgeable about the forest. He moved lithely; he walked silently and expertly. Deeper and deeper into the pine forest we penetrated, on paths that our fathers’ predecessors had trod. And because this Sarah was at that point the most beautiful but also the most standoffish stuffed animal I had ever met, I do not know how long Maximilian and I trod on eastward.
    A sound, so terrible that I myself let out a cry, caused me to waken abruptly out of my