Bjorn Sortland

“I finally did it . . .” says a boy’s voice. “You said I could call anytime.” Three seconds pass before I realize who it is. I look at the clock. It’s almost three a.m. This is around the time I usually go to sleep. “Okay,” I say, I hope in what sounds like a calm, relaxed tone. “Not a word about this to anyone. Come right now. Take a taxi. I’ll pay. Ask the driver to leave you by the fountain. You won’t get through the gate without me.” “Okay,” he says, and the line goes dead. I don’t tell him