Justine

by Mondrup, Iben; Pierce, Kerri A. ;

  “Oh, okay . . .”

  His name is George Kold. George Kold finds a pillow I can use while he putters. I try to keep my eyes open, but they close.

  I‘m lying there gently rocking. It’s a little cooler today. And firm. Now I touch ground. And there. There on the beach is Torben. He looks like himself. Just so. He steps close. Now I can see that his nose resembles a moonscape. He bends over me. I can see right into his brain. He laughs in my face with breath like old fish. I want to roll away from beneath him, but he falls on top of me. Heavy. Not just heavy, but reeking and heavy, I’m being pulverized by bad air.

  Somehow I’ve freed my leg and can bend it, I drive my knee straight into your crotch, you howl, fall back. I stand up and jump over you, I kick your body, that makes you turn over so I can really see you lying there beneath me. You grab your bulge with both hands, don’t go unzipping this time, you, it won’t work.

  You snort, just as loudly as you snorted that evening. Oh certainly, of course I wanted to, no doubt about it, that was the whole idea. She’d hear it and taste it, how she’d regret it when your dick squelched in and out the evening it burned, because “now I remember, you sorry shit, I remember it all. I said no, when it came right down to it, I said no, I didn’t want to after all. Just because I was drunk didn’t mean that I was horny. I couldn’t do that to her, not to her, not to Ane. It took you by surprise. And me too. Otherwise, I’m always up for it, the fact is, I can’t stop. But suddenly I couldn’t anymore. And I told you that. But you acted like you didn’t understand. You struck me. You struck me hard. You hit me so she heard it. I said NO. You slammed me to the ground, started pounding, pounded it right into the hole. Oh, the pain was horrendous. I’ll pummel you. I’m pummeling you. Now you’re lying there, Torben. There. I can put my foot on your chest. You pathetic pig. I spit in your sniveling face. You perverted, pathetic pig. Do you feel the pressure? Goddamn it, you’re going to know how much I hate you. You’re to blame for so many things. You’re to blame for the house. And for Vita. Did you know that? She was in the armoire. Now the armoire is no more, and where does that leave Vita, do you think? Your fault. You did it. If you hadn’t come, none of it would’ve happened. You brought me to it. I’ll hit you, burn you, I’ll never forgive, I’ll never forgive myself. Never, never, never, I’ve already started to pay. Dearly. And now, goddamn me, you’ll pay too. Are you whimpering, you salivating asshole? I’ll tell you what you’ve done, in case you don’t remember: You raped me in the ass. You burned me down. You razed it all, oh no, and Vita, oh no. Take that for that. I’m grinding my heal in your mouth, Torben, take that, grinding your teeth into your maw.”

  When Ane went into labor, I borrowed Vita’s car and sped to her place. By the time I made it to her apartment, she way lying in the entryway and wailing with blood seeping between her legs and down her thighs. I called an ambulance, which arrived ten minutes later. The medics said it was a good thing I’d called and carried Ane downstairs. It took two men. On the ground they put Ane on the stretcher on all fours, she panted hysterically.

  “I need to shit, I need to shit,” she said.

  “No, you don’t, you’re about to give birth.”

  “Yes, I do, I need to shit.”

  “Don’t push right now. You hear me? No matter what, don’t push, you hear?” the ambulance driver shouted.

  He looked like someone who knew what he was talking about.

  We drove with sirens on to the hospital, Ane was wheeled into the maternity ward with me loping along behind her while I tried to figure out where Torben might be. During the next hour, the midwives and the doctors determined that the boy had the umbilical cord wrapped around his throat, and that he was breached, and so Ane was given a C-section.

  She lay snuggled in the recovery room afterward. The baby, a big, beautiful boy, was doing well, the nurse said. She dressed him and handed him to me, so that I could hold him until Ane woke up. An oversized romper and a cap that kept sliding over his face. As soon as Ane came to, she took him. He just slept. Ane lay there with eyes dark and said nothing.

  “Do you know where I can find him?” I asked.

  To her there was only the baby.

  “I think you should try to get some sleep. I’m sure he’s on his way,” I said.

  At six in the morning I drove all around Nørrebro and looked in at Café Louise. Torben was sitting at the bar, well, there’s sitting and there’s sitting, he was bent over an ash tray together with a yellow-haired girl, and it smelled of piss.

  “I hope you’re better today,” George Kold says.

  He sets a cup of coffee in front of me.

  “You cried out during the night.”

  “I cried out?”

  “Yes. Or rather howled. I got up to see what was the matter. You just lay there on the floor howling.”

  While I was lying here, they’ve been cleaning up outside, they’re still driving the street sweeper around, I can hear the brushes. Now I sit up. A throbbing. George has gone to the back to make more coffee. Both my eyes can see. They focus on him. They’re sharp. The lump is nothing more than a tender swelling on my temple, and I shake my head, no sensation, just a rotating faintness, my brain is full of memory loss.

  Down on Bredgade they’re in the process of removing a torched Mercedes, otherwise all is quiet, which is also the case when we head out of the city and onto the highway, there are hardly any cars.

  “Here. Take my glasses,” George says.

  How can a simple pair of sunglasses feel so entirely wonderful?

  The emergency room nurse says she’s seen me before, but I don’t believe it, how is that possible?

  “It’s good you have your vision back,” she says. “That’s what I told you would happen.”

  Oh, yeah. That is what she said. She’s the one who was so unfazed by my stupid eye, nothing to worry about, she said, just like now.

  “So what does it take for you to give someone a CT?” I ask.

  She gives me a long look and says it’s not necessary, she’s just examined me, after all, no reason to think anything’s wrong, I just suffered a good blow to the noggin.

  “But what does it take for you to scan someone like that?” I ask.

  I’m not crazy, although she might think that. I’m completely calm.

  “What does it take?”

  Now I’m that mountain again. I see it in her eyes.

  “If a person has vision problems and has hit his head and also has some screwy family members, would you give them a CT scan then?” I ask.

  No. They wouldn’t. There’s nothing wrong with me. Fortunately.

  Now it’s evening and Bo has only just returned to The Factory. With a black eye and his arm in a sling, he was slumped on a pile of rockwool, completely done in, when I found him.

  “Everything was obviously going smoothly with our kitchen,” he says. “In any case, it was going so well that everybody figured they might as well demonstrate against anything and everything. Doesn’t matter that we’d already agreed how we were going to act. When other people have other ideas . . . and just do things that are so piss-in-your face provocative.”

  He was stuck in the middle of the demonstration and threw a pot at a cop. In return the cop twisted Bo’s arm behind his back so vehemently that it was dislocated.

  His arm is extremely painful and Bo extremely tired. His eyes keep closing. I close my eyes, too.

  “Do you need anything?” I ask.

  “Do you need anything?” he asks.

  “And what about Åsa? She’s got it even worse. She’s in custody for biting a cop’s ear,” he says.

  “Did she bite it off?”

  “No, I don’t think so. But I have no way of contacting her,” he says.

  “So how do you know?”

  “Some of the others saw it. We’re going to meet up later and try to start a collection. We need to scrape together some money for her fine.”

  “I’d be happy to contribute
something,” I say.

  Bo isn’t listening, he’s fallen asleep. He makes hardly any sound, just a slight whistling from his nose.

  Sixteen

  Grandpa makes that particular Grandpa gesture, waves his hand disparagingly and says “pff,” which means we’re talking about trifles. Nothing but trifles.

  “She’s not even worth it,” he says. “Pff.”

  “You might not think so, Grandpa. But I think so. You don’t know anything about how I’m doing.”

  “Hah, I most certainly do,” he says. “You’re just doing how you’re doing.”

  “That makes a lot of sense.”

  “Well, if you’d just let me speak my mind, my girl, then . . .”

  “No. You always have an answer for everything. But now you also have to try and understand that there are some things you know nothing about. Because maybe they’re not about you, Grandpa, but about me. They’re about me.”

  “Good.”

  “What’s good?”

  “Good, I say.”

  “And so you’ve got nothing to say about it?”

  “Well, you don’t want to hear it.”

  “Out with it already.”

  Grandpa makes a new gesture, not exactly the same as before, but just as Grandpa-esque. He raises his eyebrows to indicate that what he’s about to say is important.

  “Well,” he says. “What I wanted to say was just this. Ahem. What I wanted to say was, I don’t think she treated you well. I thought she was a little rough with you. And there I go, about to call you ‘my girl’ again, but I won’t do it because you don’t like it. But I simply think she could have treated you better. Or, in any case, she could’ve treated your things better.”

  “My things.”

  “Yes, well. How do I explain it? Your artworks, Justine, your works, damn it. I know very well that I wasn’t always polite about it when you tried to explain something to me. But that’s another thing. I’m your father, you know.”

  “You’re not my father.”

  “No, no. That’s not what I meant either. I just mean that we’re family. We know each other, not . . . We don’t need to tiptoe around each other, eh . . . But she was your girlfriend. Or lover. Or what do you call it when two women are together? Anyway, it doesn’t matter. But it’s another thing when you’re a couple. I think she only liked what she’d made herself.”

  “You didn’t like what I made either.”

  “That’s true. But I’m a bit old fashioned, Justine. You know that. Is that against the rules or something? Of course not. But that also doesn’t matter now. I certainly liked you, at any rate. That’s for sure.”

  “I know that.”

  “What I’m wondering is, if she really liked you. She was certainly displeased with you, wasn’t she? But you also weren’t entirely honest with her. Wasn’t there something about you running around with a bunch of men? That’s not something a person likes to see when they’re in a relationship, huh? You’re well aware of that, no? But to hell with all that. Leave it be. There’s nothing more to be done about that side of things. But of course that doesn’t mean that she shouldn’t treat you well when it comes to your art, Justine. The two things should be kept entirely separate. And that’s especially true when you’re a couple. But what do I know? I’m just an old man.”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore, Grandpa. She’s gone.”

  “Yeah, isn’t that the truth. She’s not too honest herself though, that one, not since she’s found herself another woman. To hell with that, my girl. You need to think about moving on. Don’t you have something else you can focus on? Sure, you do. Damn it all, you need to finish your exhibition. Isn’t it for the National Museum?”

  “National Gallery.”

  “Yeah, yeah. What do I know. So what will you do? Aren’t you doing something with those pictures you’ve been taking? You shouldn’t let the fire bother you too much. It’ll work out, you’ll see. And now you’re also involved in a whole new project. And the house, you’ll get it rebuilt. I’ll talk to them.”

  “But I just don’t think it’s working, everything I’m doing, that is. I don’t know if those damn photos will ever turn out.”

  “Well, girl, let’s look at them together. Maybe I can help?”

  “No, you can’t, Grandpa.”

  “What’s that frown for? There’s a good chance I can help after all. What a thing to say.”

  “Okay, then take a look here. There’s no direction. Just a bunch of costumes. It’s not honest. It’s too desperate. I feel like a pirate who’s lost his wooden leg. No. I don’t know how I feel.”

  “Let’s see here. What about these? These are very good. The clothes don’t intrude too much here. Because you’re right, and I’m not trying to be unkind, but that masquerade you’ve got going in those other pictures is a little ridiculous.”

  “You mean these?”

  “Yes. They’re too ridiculous. But these here, these are good. They remind me of those ancient statues. You know, the plaster ones. You’re familiar with them. Aren’t you? In any case, you’re just as expressive as those. Yes, you look like some of those old statues. You should take more of these. Can you do that? Or are you already finished? No, you’re not finished. You wouldn’t be sitting here otherwise.”

  “But I can’t do it anymore, Grandpa. I just can’t. I don’t really think it’ll work anyway. I don’t know.”

  “So what did you have in mind, sweet girl? Were you thinking of running away? That wouldn’t be like you. Where would you run? No. You just need to grow a little hair on your chest. Just like your old Grandpa.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. So why don’t you give me some direction, Grandpa. If you’re so smart.”

  “I’ve already told you. But first see about ending it with her, what was her name again? Get it over with! You shouldn’t worry so much about that. It’ll all work out. I heard that she’ll be disappearing from the allotment society soon. Then she’ll leave you in peace.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? Have you heard something about Vita? But that’s impossible. Where did you hear it?”

  “Don’t worry about that, I’m telling you. It’s just something I know. Anyway. But when you’ve put a little distance between yourself and that woman, I don’t know exactly how you’ll accomplish it, take a few more of these statue pictures. They’re good, I’m telling you. And now be smart and listen to an old man. They’re good.”

  “I have no idea how you know that about Vita. Where do you think she’s going to disappear to? Didn’t she already leave? Do you also know something about that?”

  “I really know nothing. But that’s also beside the point. You should take more of those pictures. That’s what’s important. Not whether some female is running here or there, or whether she’s hiding out with some other female with short hair.”

  I want to ask how he knows the woman is short-haired, but Grandpa is done talking. He gestures with his hand and makes his sound, and then he continues whatever he was doing. I have no idea what it is.

  Since Ane has her camera again, and the gods know that I was happy to get rid of it, I’ve bought my own. Trine Markhøj has loaned me her podium. I also talked to the office guy and got permission to use the hall for two days. There are two walls on wheels there that can be pushed back and forth, I’ve placed them together so that now they form a corner, a small space, or a theater scene. I’ve taken a mass of pictures. Many of them are like those I did before, but somehow or other they’re still new. The light in the hall is white dust drifts softly onto my body of flesh and bones can move and twist and turn. My face is a mask with eyes and lips that glide up and down, tense, relax.

  I look through the pictures, twenty-five have something special, they’re simple, one expression at a time, an alphabet. Some of them need retaking. I scribble some keywords on a piece of paper. Soon I’ll go into the hall and take the last of them.

  But on the floor is a card that’s been shove
d beneath the door, and it’s from Bent Launis. He’s tried calling, he writes, perhaps he didn’t have the correct number, in any case he can’t reach me. His mission is important, he believes, it concerns a motorhome someone in the allotment society is selling. He, Bent Launis, that is, thought the society could go on and buy it. What he actually wants is to buy it so he can loan it to me. Later there are undoubtedly others who can also use it, he writes, if they want to remodel or something. He writes in such a friendly way, or rather, it’s not friendly, but it feels comfortable. He doesn’t know what’s going on, there’s just this piece of information: I can loan you a motorhome if you want it. And there’s also the consideration, the fact that I’m on Bent Launis’s mind and also now on a card lying on the floor with a question that can be answered.

  The motorhome is down at the park. They couldn’t get it into the yard because it’s still blocked. You can’t break the barrier, Launis says, there are people rummaging about in there, but surely they’re nearing the end. The people rooting through the wreckage have also been going around and asking the other residents various things, Launis thinks they’re rather nosy, why can’t they just be done, how hard can it really be? They have to take into account a person like myself in this type of situation.

  The motorhome has a toilet and a small water tank, a bed at one end and a kitchen at the other, and beside the window is a gas burner. The gas container goes in the box below. Henriette Launis has installed curtains. She also wants to put a flower on the windowsill at some time or other.

  “We have to see about getting all that fire waste cleared away,” Bent Launis says. “It stinks up the whole area.”

  I’ll answer the question.

  “Otherwise we’ll have to rent a digger and dig it out ourselves. That’s certainly something we can do. I’d really like to know when they’ll be finishing up there. Do you know what they’re looking for?”