—Fuuuck!
—Why are you shouting, my unworthy lad?
—I had something …
—Got your hook stuck on the bottom …
—I don’t think so …
Grandpa grabbed his rod and came out swinging. The face of an absolute dictator … my reel jammed … Grandpa’s snarled … the rebound straightened it out …
—Now for some real action!
He emptied the trough of aborted fetuses … Skellefteås romantic trials and tribulations made tangible … the whole redish-black, rotten, slimy mess of them … the blackwater swallowed them all … Grandpa fastened the Kaleva by the scalp … tossed the open tacklebox into the water … everything was lost … most sunk straightaway …
—Even Fehmi Varli’s twenty-six-kilo pike wouldn’t do for bait in this sea! Now let’s show them what we can do …
Grandpa took Karl-Johan’s little fucktoy … he’d fainted … stuck the kid on a meathook and used five pieces of nylonrope for a line … then he swung him twenty meters out … used a Tupper-waretub as a float … now that’s honest-to-god tackle … I was in the process of putting the oxhead on an ironhook … but I didn’t have line enough to get it more than a meter from the boat … The summer night had clocked in … we sat and hoped … The sky darkened … puckered up its eyebrows … from somewhere we caught the scent of gravity … A sheer cliff fell straight into the water … we had to imagine the rest … nothing’s possible, but everything’s imaginable … Grandpa waited … everything was still … time passed out … we began to despair … Suddenly I saw something circling my bait … it took a nip … a bite … swallowed it whole … headed straight for the depths … Grandpa cackled … I fought it … it was strong … it wanted up … no quarter … Carolines versus Muscovites … it was yielding … I fought like an animal … it came to the surface … it was terrible … no one would believe us … we moved counterclockwise … it seethed and gurgled … churned and shrieked …
—It’s a demon! A devil!
Grandpa threw down his tackle and took up mine … he swore up one side and down the other … He saw more than I did … Resolutely cut the line while I stood and heavyheaved … sat back on his seat … took a grenade in each hand …
—That was the Midgard serpent! Ouroboros! Forget what you saw, if you want to stay simple and true! Fishing time is over! We’ve got to make for land as fast as we can or were cooked!
I dipped my oars in the sullen sea.
—Row like your Grandpa was tied to a whippingpost dripping with benzine and Calvin came along clicking his lighter!
The land fell away … the water was dark and sullen, but still I dug in … Grandpa was uneasy … scared shitless … finally we were home …
—Look here, boy! Were going to go home and sleep it off … sleep as long as we want … And when you open your eyes again, you’ll have forgotten everything that happened tonight …
We dragged the boat up on land, shooed the mosquitoes away, and pretended everything was normal … Loons ransacked us with their desolate cries … a thousand times more worthy than we … The devil made himself known … mocked our every step … Grandpa didn’t dare say a word … only stopped to mumble a “Sour Father who art in ..We stepped into our home’s human warmth and fucked standing up … quick and easy …
Before we went to sleep I asked:
—Can we play Emil of Lymmelberga tomorrow?
—Nah … Tomorrow were going to hold up our end of the bargain …
__________
STINKHORNS—Phallus impudicus
BROTHERS TIGERHEART—Astrid Lindgren, a Swedish icon of “goodness,” wrote a book called The Brothers Lionheart
GABRIEL IN A GRAY COAT—a little gray gadfly
RAFFSET—a Swedish word for sexy female undergarments
SATANSTICK—slang for cigarette
AEAEAE—magic WITCH’S HERB—St. John’s wort
BIRDSFOOT-TREFOIL—in Swedish “käringtänder,” or “old woman’s teeth”
VIRGIN MARYS—seven-spot ladybugs
NORNS—Calypso orchids; also the Norse Fates (Swedish norner)
SRI AND SA-BDAG—Tibetan demons
BUT THE SOUR FLAME’S STILL SMOKING—Men he ruk laing i surom bran-nom, an expression referring to someone who’s suffering from a long, painful illness, and just won’t die
BEJN-BURMAN—bought bones and turned them into glue
NILAPADHANA—some sort of necrophilic-sadistic Tibetan ritual, my sources tell me, wherein a man has to embrace a corpse, convince himself it’s alive, and afterward pry open its lips and bite off its tongue (the Chud rite, “the way of the corpse”)
JUDAS’S COINS—Lunaria annua
ABEL ALLMONIKUS—Abel means mischief-maker, joker; allmonikus means tired
MÖBIUS—Paul Julius; On the Physiological Deficiency of Women
WEININGER—Otto; Sex and Character, that fascinating work!
ELC—Evangelical Lutheran Church
KARELIN—Alexander, Russian wrestling champ
GOOBERDINKY—a booger, bogy, etc.
NILS POPPE—a Swedish actor
BAPHOMET—Satanic symbol, often represented by a goat head; also, see Klossowski
GILLES DE RAIS—a Breton knight, companion of Joan of Arc and a serial killer of children
SUTCLIFFESTEAK—Peter Sutcliffe was the “Yorkshire Ripper”
SEVESOGROGG—Seveso is a river and town in Italy; “famous” for the eponymous disaster in which several kilograms of the dioxin TCDD was released into the atmosphere by a nearby chemical plant
CHLORACNE—an eruption of cysts and pustules
SRB-CUNT—Swedish Red Breed, breed of cow
ULVA INTESTINALIS—green sea grass
DELESSERIA SANGUINEA—red algae
DELIMITATION—delimitation period: the process by which parts of the Swedish crowns land was transferred to private ownership; in Västerbotten, delimination can be said to have ended before 1870
PSYCHOMOR—Swedish, lit. “psycho-mom”
PJ/SE—Practical jokes/Special effects division
HEIMAR MENE—Heimarmene: the oppressive cosmic wasteland in Gnostic belief
FÖRTVIVLANS GIFFEL, THE CROISSANT OF DESPAIR—Cioran’s first book, brilliant of course, came out in German with the title Auf den Gipfel der Verzweiflung, or, literally, “On the Peak of Despair”; the Swedish anti-writer Lars-Olof Bengtsson thought Gipfel in this context meant giffel, Swedish for “croissant”
CAROLINES—soldiers of Charles XII of Sweden
EMIL OF LYMMELBERGA—“Emil of Lönneberga” is a fictional character in a childrens book series by Astrid Lindgren; in Swedish, “lymmel” means villain, whereas “lönne” means maple
XXXII
When Grandpa gets tired of me, I play by myself.
Sometimes I play the quiet game … sometimes I play dead … sometimes I draw old geezers I’ve met and then I pretend I’m them … sometimes I lay on my back in a September field and listen to the earth hurtling through space … to victims shrieking at all the evil-deeds wrought upon them … then I try to sink into the light, soft, fluid grass and become a part of its mystery … Nature thrives on destruction … everything starts soft and small, but ends hard … they hound you till you’re hard as a rock … sometimes I try to figure out how many fucks are going on at a single moment … sometimes I think of everything I won’t ever get to fuck … When I can bear it, I try to look ahead … but all horizons are equally galling … sometimes I force animals to fight to the death … mink vs. weasel … rat vs. rooster … shrike vs. jay … beaver vs. badger … ant vs. earthworm … sometimes I think I’m going crazy … sometimes I play Grandpa-daddy-boy … sometimes I’m my own imaginary friend …
Most often I play with my plasticsoldiers … they’re from different WWII militaryunits … Grandpa knows all there is to know about the war, since he was one of the ones who started it … He knows alot, but he won’t talk about it … Every now and then
, when things are getting too comfy, I get an earful about Florian Geyer or Götz von Berlichingen, Kharkov and Cherkasy, the Children of Nemmers-dorf and Papa Eicke … I stole my plasticsoldiers from Grandpa … when he thinks no ones watching him he plays with them … I play on the livingroom floor or out on the rocks … Outside there are cracks and crevices, reindeerlichen and bears bedmoss, heather and wildrosemary … its all so natural you forget about time and space …
I have two collections of bluegray Germans, the Afrika Korps and the Japanese … they fight the gray Russians, the sandcolored Eighth Armyrats, the Yankees, the Aussies, the Commandoyankees, and the Commandobrits … the Rommels and Japs are also khakicolored, so Grandpas bought me a few special collections … some partisan fighters from Prince Eugen’s Mountain Division … and a handful of Bad Tölz Junkers from the Nibelungen Brigade … Playing with my plasticsoldiers has taught me how cheap life is … how easy it is to die … how soon it’s all over … When I gather up the victors, and the good guys always win, they seem a little confused … the slanteyed swordslinging officers … the German machinegun troopers … the SS-Junkers … When you’ve killed your enemy, there’s only one thing left to do: shoot yourself … preferably in the spleen …
When I walk home through the tired, brightwhite wildoatfields after having waged a war, I’m numb … that’s the good thing about life … most of the time you don’t have to feel it …
__________
ROMMELS—soldiers under the command of Erwin Rommel, also known as the “Desert Fox”
XXXIII
—You’re the only thing in this life that’s never disappointed me, boy … because I never expected a god damn thing from you!
Grandpa and I were out on the terrace getting ready for my party. It was going to be outside, even though it was late October and sleeting to boot.
—How old am I, Grandpa?
—Nine or ten, I guess …
Grandpa had dressed up in a darkgray suit with a starched shirt, loose collar, and a preknotted tie. I had on a knitted woolsweater, balloonpants, and gummyshoes.
—You’re a timesink, a milksop, you’re stupid and you suck like a girl! FYI, this is your last birthdoomsday … I can’t do it any longer! I can’t stand the sight of you!
Grandpa squirted Schick’s shavingcream onto the Styrofoam-cake. I decorated it with red marbles and pennies.
—There now, all finished …
—Soon it’ll all be over …
The time was pushing three and night was storming down. The powersthatbe had cheated the sky … the day wasn’t wortha plugged nickel. Cold and gray, a foretaste of times to come. Grumpweather.
—Are they going to show soon, Grandpa?
—Did you tell them three?
—Yeah,three …
—Probably on their way … cant imagine where else they’d be …
We sat down on foldingchairs and waited. Grandpa passed the time squishing the lice he’d grown tired of … He spared the artists among them. With trembling underlip, I checked an estrustimetable … We’d done ourselves proud, the kids would like it. We’d hung balloons, garlands, and wires. There was popcorn, pepper-mintcandy, and caramels. Paperplates, plasticcups, and cum—and barfbags too. AROM condoms, Absolut Citron, and blackcurrentschnapps. Amphetamine tablets, cannabismuffins, and burnt gingerbreadbiscuits.
—Can I ask you about a few words, Grandpa?
—Is there anything but words in that sick brain of yours?
—I want some more to play with … Just this once, Grandpa!
—Fine, what are the words?
—First I want to know what “solidarity” means.
—Well, solidarity can mean a shitload of things … injury for others … losing yourself in the herd … hating the next guy as much as yourself … But it actually means that some people are worth more than others … and they have the right to do whatever the fuck they want … To be like liliesofthevalley … to not give a shit, because nothing’s worth a shit anyway …
—What’s “stress”?
—Let me see: the Nibelungs had stressgut … the LO and SAF-bigwigs arrange a yearly stresshunt of sick retirees … Stress is Gods foremost quality …
—Who’s Oskar Ernst Bernhardt?
—The Messiah.
—Why doesn’t a creek get tired of flowing?
—All creeks are tired! Don’t you hear them sighing that all is vanity?
—What does kal-lukä mean?
—Killdeathkill.
—Why do we talk in dialect?
—Västerbottens dialect is the language Guido von List talks about in The Primal Language of the Aryo-Germans and their Mystery Language …
— Is there life after birth?
—No.
—Is there intelligentlife on Earth?
—No.
—Who was my daddy?
—Some Homo erectus …
— Was it Gazin or Aristov who wrote Doctor Chicago?
—Neither … It was Kharlamov …
—Why shouldn’t you write?
—Writing is like pissing truisms into the Pleonastic Ocean … Though the Almighty Public, the misshapen crowd, has definitely earned a good pissing on …
—What’s the difference between Platonic and Aristotelian love?
—The difference is huge! Platonic loves means you can only jack each other off with two fingers while wearing rubbergloves … Aristotelian love means you can fuck armpits and kneehollows too …
—Why does it feel better when someone forces you to do it?
—Desire is hard to distinguish from nausea and suffering … pain, terror, and shame … Pleasure is knowing its not possible to go any further …
—Which is worse, a sobbinggrunt or a groaningwhine?
—Both are the same …
—What were Jesus’s last words on the cross?
—“My honor is loyalty,” according to the Synoptics. But the Gospel of Python claims he said: “Life’s a piece of shit, when you look at it!”
—Why are there so many people in the world?
—They’re practicedummies.
—Why do so few of them give a damn about us?
—I’ve wondered the same myself …
—What are we made of?
—95% hot air.
—Why are we here?
—To give each other hell … shame each other …
—What are we really?
—Cenobites.
—Why do we live in a grayzone, a nomansland, a waste?
—That was decided September 2nd, 1809 (or eighty years before my own personal calendar kicks in: when Nietzsche saw the light and Hitler issued forth into darkness), when Sandels and Kamensky drunk themselves blind at a buggerinn in Frostkåge and agreed to an armistice … Russia’s main base became Pite and rural Sweden’s became Ume. Ever since then, those of us who live in between must exist in a powervacuum, an interstellarvoid, the windblasted and lambasted waitingroom of a Veterinarian that only has one treatment and one syringe … Two weeks after the Frostkåge boozefest, we lost the faithful Suomi-cocks to the Russians. Norrbotten was separated from Västerbotten and then was abandoned to miscarriages, cavemen, and liedown comedians …
—Why does anything exist?
—Because Gods evil.
—What’s the true order of the universe?
—Chaos …
Grandpa made a sign that the séance was over. He took out his gold watch and saw it was a quarter to four. The day darkened and the wind whistled and wet snow covered the terrace and extinguished the torches.
—It’s just going to be you and me, boy …
—I don’t know why they didn’t come … they said they’d come …
—It is what it is, we’ll just have to make the best of it … You’ve got no friends, that much is obvious … you’re too small and insignificant … you’ve never had luck when they’re picking the lottonumbers … you’ll just have to live with the menu as is �
� Don’t pout or the boohooboogieman will come and take you away …
So we ate and drank and sang and played … We played Jews and Nazis … kicked shiprats to the curb … suffered … The seas stormed … the earth burned … all Sweden must go … Then Blind Man’s Bluff, Where’s the Penny, and The Pot’s Boiling Over … We played Watch Your Tail, Guess the Jew, and Find Your Pain Threshhold … Mark My Words, Lose Face, and Hang Your Lip … Charades, Monads, and Doodads … Hang Out, Cast Stones, and Crack a Grin … Hawk and Dove, Ratcatchers, and Face to the Wall … Dodge the Louse, Ormen Lange, and Chainsmoker Tag … Pull a Tarzan, Roll the Foreskin, and Hide the Salami … We played Trashpoker, Sink the Boatpeople, and Jago … Khmerchess, Dominance and Submission, and Amnesia-Memory … Starve the Bengals, Solitaire, and Stylite … Grandpa made noises like howler monkeys and hyenas … Holmér and Lönnå … There’s a lot you can come up with on the fly … We sang “It Was so Funny I Had to Laugh” . . the one about the baker and the little frogs … about Mother’s little Olle and the priest’s little crow … “Gulligullan Koko” and “Zum Gali Gali” … “Follow Me to Syracuse” … about the raindrops falling on my head … And last of all, I opened my presents from Grandpa. There were two books wrapped in old waxpaper: The Most Clever Jewish Ritual Murders: Adapted for Children and Moomins Run Amok … a puzzle showing the bombing of Dresden … some pajamas Lenin had pissed in … and a pitbullterrier that unfortunately had suffocated in the package …
Assisted Living: A Novel Page 21