—And now it’s just the opposite: you want it so bad it shames you, and when you get it, you die! I busted out, right to the point.
I don’t know what had gotten into me …
—Be polite, boy! the tetchy little man exclaimed and slapped me with a flyswatter. You only have a voice on Holy Innocents’ Day, and then the crows will drown you out!
—The younger the child, the worse the devil, Myrtle recited as she bent over, grabbed my hair, and spit a snuffwad onto my forehead. I could feel it sticking there, but I didn’t dare to wipe it off … Minutes dragged by like Achilles’ cloven heel.
And they just sat there and stared at me … they seemed inhuman … their eyes weren’t their own anymore … I couldn’t return their gaze … I just trembled in my seat … pissed myself, of course … fixed my eyes on the linoleumfloor … piles of ratshit … a moldy smell getting stronger by the minute … until it became unbearable … The gaslamps dimmed … it got dark … they only got clearer … though they were the last things I wanted to see … a Christmascandle burned on a shortwick … it was epileptric … They were in my head … screwing around … trashing the place … feeling me up … laughing … on their way through to my innermost parts … lurking around the outermost of my defenselessness … needing to hurt me … to make me beg … To force me to see myself clearly … the boy behind the babble … the face behind the wankoff s fist … OhnoohnoohNO! … I struggled … put up a fight … they weren’t expecting resistance … they pressed harder … but I was defending the most precious thing of all … the thing you never surrender … no matter how bad you’ve got it … it’s the primal thing … in you before the beginning’s beginning … I’m talking about boyhood … the magic seed … the thing that makes you a Grandpa … It may be small and warm … but when it counts, it’s the strongest stuff of all … I didn’t want them to get their filthy hands on my hidden treasure, my boyhood … the Godgiven heart of us all … protected and sealed within us …
Signar and Myrtle growled and spit … they were used to getting their way … a mere boy couldn’t defy them … but the harder they tried, the worse it went … They redoubled their efforts, brutaled up their attack … he came in through the eyes, she through my fontanelle … They wanted to reach my psyche … but my heart’s root is somewhere else … farther in … I didn’t surrender … I called on all my love for Grandpa … I called on him, too … “Help me … I can feel myself disappearing … soon your mite will be gone!” … The demons were certain of victory … they wanted to defile me, to drag me away where no one would find me again … forever and ever … ruin me for all time … I called on Grandpa … I could feel my head splitting … I bledfrom my nose and ears … and I told them again and again: “I’ll always be a boy, since I have to become a Grandpa ..
“you’re not a boy any longer,” they mocked … their voices like a swamp in winter, all ice and sludge … “you don’t have what it takes to be a Grandpa ..
“i’ll be both and much much more,” I said … “i’ll hate and love and live and die … I’ll be animal and man and angel and demon ..
“all you’ll ever be is a demon, the most useless demon there ever was” …
They’d broken through the outer layer … turned my fear to selfloathing … I’d never really liked myself, but this was a thousand times worse … I crumbled up … hunched down … began to break apart … but still I resisted … didn’t give in … put up a fight … they raged and burned … brought all their strength to bear …
“see how pathetic you are, taste your bitter failure, your defeat, your wickedness and lies … you’ve betrayed what you were, there’s nothing left in you that’s pure and true … aren’t you disgusted by your thoughts, sickened by your feelings, shamed by your actions … you’re no germinating Grandpa, no, you’re too cowardly and fragile for that … but you’ll never be a boy again, either, not after what you’ve thought, said and done …”
“my boyhood’s still there, deep and buried … it’s hidden and only the power of love can call it out!” I shrieked, trying to drown out the tumult in my psyche … “Grandpa has always been there for me! … he’s coming to rescue me!”
“your Grandpa is Satan himself! who do you think ordered us to rip out your guts! break your back! destroy your hearts root!”“i don’t believe you! deep down I know Grandpa’s good!”
An inferno … a firey darkness churning beyond time and space … Primeval forces bent on annihilating everything … And then I was back in the moldy kitchen, back in the sortakinda, the scare quotes of reality. My head was heavy and my nose was bleeding. Signar and Myrtle trembled, almost like themselves again … Flies swarmed around Grandpa, he woke up and speared our hosts with his eyes. The coffee was cold, the clock had stopped.
—Yeah, well … we’d better be off …
—Hey, Grandpa …
—How are you feeling?
—Not too good …
—Who the fuck feels good? Afzelius and Lundell!
Signar and Myrtle put on a real show, obviously trying to smooth everything over.
—Stay and have a cozy chat! You’ve hardly had a bite!
—Your chair isn’t covered with nails, you know!
Grandpa shook his head, firm and masculine.
—Nah, we’ve got to shove off … we’re pressed for time … our day is packed …
—Come back soon, you hear!
—We’ve still got a war to plan!
—Stop by when you’re in the neighborhood!
—And for the love of God, take the boy with you!
We got up, I was dressed in a flash. I stood uncomfortably by the door, hand on the knob, letting in a breath of fresh air that quickly made the rounds of the room.
—Byebye, now …
—Thanks a million …
—See you later, alligator …
—Thanks for the coffee, Myrtle!
When we reached the mailbox, I turned around. I wiped the snuffwad off my forehead. They’d climbed onto back of the couch and were staring after us. The Adventcandle cast a dismal sheen.
I could’ve sworn they transformed right then and there. Hairy … pointed ears … red eyes, sharp teeth … Fell … We stole an Ockelbo snowmobile and drove home, even though it was only September. When he’d locked up behind us, Grandpa said in a choked voice:
—You know what I find really appalling, boy?
—No …
—That I have to deny all my doubt and worry … always be funny and drunk and dangerous and horny …
We went to bed with our clothes still on. In the middle of the night, we woke up and made love. It was soft and sweet. I didn’t tell Grandpa what had happened. The next evening the braintrust was meeting at Ove and Siv’s. We wanted to come up with a way to destroy the universe.
__________
KALTENBRUNNER—Ernst: Austrian SS officer
VICUÑA—camelid found in the South American Andes
TORGEIR HÅVARSSON—one of two main characters from the Icelandic Saga of the Sworn Brothers
“PLURA”—Per Malte Lennart “Plura” Johnson: Swedish singer, songwriter and author
THÅSTRÖM—Joakim: Swedish rock star
HARRI TULAREMI—tularemia is a zoonotic disease also known as “rabbit fever”
AFZELIUS—Björn: Swedish singer and songwriter
LUNDÉLL—Gerhard: Swedish singer, songwriter and author
KIIMAINEN—lecherous Muostalainen—dark person
CHIMBU HANDSHAKE—gripping each other’s private parts in greeting (on Papua Nyou Guinea)
ALOYSIUS GONZAGA AND JOHANNES BERCHMANNS—terribly chaste, mortification-seeking, beatified Jesuits who died young
SELIVANOV—Scoptsy leader, advocated cutting or burning off one’s penis
XXII
—Keep Sweden weird! Ninety-nine out of a hundred drivebys are committed by immigrants! Two thirds of all fatties are foreigners! More than half are over sixty quadratmeters! They c
ost us more than all unstandard emissions put together! No matter how I add it up, it doesn’t add up! It’s not right! Satan’s hellfire, I’ve never been a weight around anyone’s neck! That ought to be worth something! I can’t allow more of them in now! It won’t work! not all at once! They’ll overrun everything! Both small and large! Everyone, young and old, forced to slave away! Settle the debt! Mush, by God! Set your nose to the grindstone! Trample the ordinary pusher into the ground! Into the shit! That’s how the system works! So the fine gents can cruise down easystreet! So the wifey can have it cozy! It makes me frightened for myself just thinking about it! How can it go on! How can they take it lying down! The Kooperations behind it all! that’s who we have to thank! Thanks for nothing, fucks! Thank them and blame them! It’s their fault things are the way they are! They’re pulling the wool over everyone’s eyes! All for the sake of new members! all for the bottom line! Makes me dizzy just thinking about it! You keep at it until the fat lady sings! and what do you get in return! a mobilebingo doorprize! Every ten years! But my luck’s held out! compared with the least! the tonguetied! the heartburned! or the ra-ra-railroad workers! What’s become of them! Can you answer me that! They’re gone is what! Presto! Just like that! And why do you think that is! Immigrants, of course! All the oldfarts are dropping, too! like flies! You think they’d keep dying if the immigrants would stop coming! Are you stupid enough to believe that Sweden would actually lose the Melody Festival if we were rid of them! No more accidents! year ’round sunshine! sweetsweet air! fatter wallets! No more leaving the table hungry! no more impotence! incontinence! intelligence! no more! It eats at you that no one ever listens! Watch out! Otherwise it’ll just slip through your fingers! out onto the sand! Every damned word I say is true! It’s crystalclear, if you just stop to think a second! a nanosecond! Do you think children want to throw fits! Hell no! They’re just scared of the darkies! That’s why they’re crying! But seriously, and this isn’t bullshit: it’s the worst of it! it’s the whole fucking crane-dance! It’s their fault! They can’t undo what they’ve done! They can’t do any better! Their plots were successful! their sly, gutless intrigues! and here we sit! devils in green! you’re stuck! there’s no going back! neither a softtouch nor mouthfuck will help you now! you’re finished! adios! spassibal it’s nothing less than the Untergang des Anuslandes! Just like Semmelweis predicted!
—Spengler, corrected Grandpa, winking at me with arioheroic irony.
—Yeahyeah, old hindufucker Oswald! Whatever: weeds and vermin! lice and mice! that’s what were dealing with! Whatdoyouthink! tell me if I’m wrong! were the ones saying foreigners shouldhave to draw the shortstraw! and yet here we are! just scrape and bow! curtsey and blow! with cap in hand and pants pulled down! Who fucking said it should be like that! I mean, the average, savage worker has never had it so bad! He doesn’t even get mustard for his hotdog! Higherwages and shorterhours, that’s the lie they’ve shoved down our throats! I spit on their taxreform! The only ones who’ll profit are the furriers! and the immigrants! Are you proud about having it bad, just because you’re Swedish! The devils! They sat down! made a pact! stole our jobs! and then our fucks! They give us crewcuts and then here comes the straightjacket! and freestylejazz! and rap! nonstop! da capo! You can’t hum along, when it’s reggae! calypso! whatthefuck! hiphop! voodoo! tutu! all meant to drive you bonkers!
Benny drew a deep breath, then sat lost in thought. Gasping and panting, totally exhausted. His fattyflesh was the same color as a Västerbottencheese. Peppered with the kind of acne that never matures. He looked like a lesser Bert Karlsson. His hair was white and thin and tassled. He had a nice paunch. His mommy sewed all his clothes. Grandpa whipped out a joint and lit it stylishly and recklessly.
—You must have diabetes, the way you’re going on.
—Or pepsilepsi, I threw out.
—Shut your mouth, mite, if you ever want to become a man. But Benny … if I may ask … what’s weighing on your heart? … what’s got your dander up?
—That’s easy! foreigners! they’re taking over! multiplying! being left in peace!
—You ever seen a live nigger?
—No, but they’re out there! I know it! I wasn’t born yesterday!
—Ah, you poor little punk, Grandpa playcoddled him, I sense you’re not being honest with old Grandpa … there’s something else going on … tell me what it is! Is it really so bad, my boy?
—I don’t know … I think it’s just the world … and everything in it … I mean, what will become of us … how will it be after that.;. there aren’t too many stories about that … I swear, if you didn’t have to grinandbearit, you’d always be cryingyoureyesout … I don’t know up from down … and I’m too afraid of heights to hang myself …
—Benny, my friend and lover … Yon know I respect you for your galliant fight on behalf of the pinkrace, but lately you’re just too much to take … So I’m going to loan you a couple of books, and then I don’t ever want to see you again …
—What do you mean?
—Offing yourself is the only way to come out on top … look at it as a necessary step in the evolutionary process … depopulationing … natures progress … Now this book, he said, fingering a worn text with bite marks on the spine, was written by Saddam Hussein’s Uncle Kairallah … it’s called Three Things God Never Should’ve Created: Persians, Jews, and Houseflies … The other, he said and held up a gleaming hospitalwhite book, explains how to commit suicide deftly and expertly … it was written by two Frogs, Gyjo and Le Boniek, I think they were called …
Benny humbly thanked Grandpa for the books, but begged him for his help.
—I’m so damned close to the edge … I can’t do it anymore … help me, Grandpa …
—Sorry, I’ve already got plans … we’re having company … Hilding Skivling has some things for me … you know how I getwhen I’ve got the chance to cum in an unkissed mouth! … And tomorrow Schönhuber and Le Pen are stopping by for coffee and cookies …
Benny shoved off after a few more buts and ifs, his face hanging like a hound’s. Then me and Grandpa went on a walk down to the river and then over the flatstones.
—My old Grandpa wasn’t much for talking, said Grandpa. But he wrote up a storm! … On deadleaves, fishscales, the loamy sand down by the troutstream … Yes, us Grandpas are handy with words, it comes from our homeland … But I want to hear them taken by the wind … scattered by echoes!!! eeechooo … eechooo …chooo …
The word rolled around, suffered, died, and vanished.
—True knowledge is powerlessness, mite … hotair is your legacy … First you play tricks with words, then it’s words playing tricks on you … Words are like barnodors, once they’ve taken root, they’re there forever … Then they make the rules, they drive you out of your mind …
He laid both hands on my shoulder.
—Promise me one thing, mite … Read as little as possible …
—I promise you, Grandpa!
—This is probably how my brain looks, Grandpa said, picking up a handful of lichens.
—Dry and airy … Das Gehirn ist ein Irrweg … Once thoughts and images are in your skull, it’s impossible to protect yourself against feelings … Feelings are like scarletfever and measles and mumps … a child can survive them, but once you’re a man, it’s your life on the line … I think I had feelings once, mite, even if
I can’t remember what it was like … They vanished, fell out like babyteeth, because when you grow up you need something else to bite with … When you’re grown, when you’re a Grandpa, for example, feelings just make you want to die … you want to laugh, puke, and hug someone, but there’s no doing any of that … It’s like being eaten up from the inside … a sorrow not even death can remove … and you know deep down you can’t tolerate it! nowaynohow! Then you’ll prefer living life freestyle!! You get along somehow! thoughtless! emotionless! careless!
We went home arm in arm, and I stifled my every passing fancy so zealously I g
ot a stitch in my side. Two weeks later we learned that Benny had gone straight home and shot himself with an old Mauser. Instead of getting down to business, though, the bullet had just played ringaroundtherosy in his head, and now Benny was completely paralyzed. He still had his sharp wits, he just couldn’t talk.
—Pity, he was a honey of a man, Grandpa said and sent a “Get Well” card showing a coalblack nigger fucking a lilywhite virgins tender asshole. She looked like she was enjoying it.
__________
BERT KARLSSON—Swedish entrepreneur, politician, and founder of the reality TV show Fame Factory
KOOPERATION—Swedish cooperative union and wholesale society
THE MELODY FESTIVAL—annual Swedish music competition
XXIII
The Marleners slithered in. Hilding is nice and warm, he tastes like maranathasmegma. His son, Royal, though, is a little too good. He’ll do whatever you want if the price is right.
—Damn, you got all scrawny! Grandpa complained, putting his claws in front of his smokedried face.
—Take it for what it’s worth, but you turn me on, Hilding wheezed and frenchkissed my Grandpa. Then he gave him a smoke.
—Your tobacco is blasphemously good, darling, Grandpa twittered, taking a drag and moaning like a dollarstorewhore.
—You’ve got a nice head of hair, boy, Royal joked. But that’s one fat dick—what’s wrong, you got cancer?
—I think you’re starting to go soft, mousling! You want me to tame you?! Hilding shouted and hoolahooped with his lovehandles.
—Uh, thanks, I think, I babbled.
—You smoke like a girl, Royal bawled and fondled my crotch. Then he stuck a wad of burning Greve Hamilton between his fuckready lips.
Grandpa stared me down, eyes gone wild, what was going to happen next?
—You’re not scared of me, are you?
Assisted Living: A Novel Page 11
