by Willow Rose
Tonight I'll be making my famous oven-dish.
8
I PICK a number at the Citizen's Department and sit down. Josephine is sleeping in the carriage that I place in the corner. I'm number five hundred thirty-eight. The next in line is number eighteen. The place is packed with people. Kids are playing, some are running around, others are crying. It's only nine in the morning but people look tired already. Their long faces stare at the screen hanging from the ceiling where the numbers are displayed. Now serving number nineteen someone says over the loudspeaker. I'm rocking the carriage to make sure Josephine won't wake up from all the noise. I prepare myself to sit here a long time and hope Josephine will sleep through it all. I find a magazine and flip through it. I read about the crown-prince and the princess and their four kids. They have been to some gala last week and both look wonderful, he in his uniform and she in her amazing dress. Well, it's easy to look great when you have that many people working for you making sure you do and taking care of your kids, I think to myself and put down the magazine. I find one of my favorite magazines called Mama and even if it's an issue I've already read I still find an article I can't remember having read before. Are children allowed to cry themselves to sleep? is the title of the article. It's the story of a family and how they all sleep together to make the children feel more comfortable at night. I scoff while reading it, since I think it's just an excuse for not wanting to discipline children properly. Are they supposed to sleep together when they're a teenager still? I wonder. Irritated with people's idiotic ideas I throw the magazine down on the table. I glance at the big screen, still only at number twenty-four. I check on Josephine, she's still sleeping. I pull off the cover to the carriage to make sure she's not too hot. She looks so peaceful while she's sleeping.
An hour and a half later it's finally my turn. My number is shown at the screen and someone calls for five hundred thirty-eight to please go to desk five. I grab the carriage and push it towards the window. I park it next to me and sit down. A woman is sitting on the other side of the glass. She looks like she hates me, but I'm thinking she probably just hates her job.
"Yes?" she asks.
"I'm here to apply for a passport for my baby," I say.
"Do you have the papers?" she asks.
I hand them to her through the opening in the glass. "I think it should be all there. We're going to France this summer, that's why I need a passport for her."
"Hmmm," the lady answers while going through the papers. She puts on her glasses, taps on her computer then looks at the screen. She turns and looks at me above her glasses. "Where is the baby now?" she asks.
"She's sleeping."
"I can't make a passport for a sleeping child," she says.
"I beg your pardon?"
The woman sighs. A sign in her window tells me her name is Susse Egholm. "I can't make a passport to a child I haven't seen. I need to see her face to make sure she is the child on the picture that was taken."
"But she's sleeping. Listen she's only three months old, I promise you it's her in the picture."
"I'm sorry," she says without any feeling to the words. "I can't finish your application before I have seen the child."
"What if you came out here and look at her face?"
"I need to see her eyes to be sure it's really her," she says. "Those are the rules."
I close my eyes and count to ten to calm myself down. "Listen ... Susse ... you seem like a nice person, can't you just make an exception. My baby has been awake all night and she really needs her sleep."
Susse Egholm shrugs. "I'm sorry ... rules are rules."
I clench my fist where she can't see it. I calm myself down again. I try once again to reason with her. "Do you have children?"
Susse Egholm shakes her head. "I don't see what that has to do with it," she says. "But no. I haven't had the honor. I hear it's a real hoot."
"So you don't know what it is like to stay up night after night with your baby trying desperately to get her to sleep, you don't know what it is like to finally be able to have her fall asleep while you're so exhausted you can barely stand up straight."
Susse shakes her head. "Listen, lady. If you don't want to wake the baby up, you can come back later and show her to me once she's awake. But you'll have to get back in the line."
"And wait another hour and a half?"
"Probably, yes."
I close my eyes and clench my fist till my nails hurt the palm of my hand.
"Or you could wake up the baby right now and get it over with."
I give Susse Egholm the finger, then run out of the center pushing Josephine in the carriage in front of me.
9
I USE the back entrance. It's afternoon when I walk into the Department and find Susse Egholm sitting behind a desk in her office. She's eating a piece of chocolate cake with her fingers while typing on the computer.
I walk in and park Josephine by the door, then I close it and make sure it is locked behind me. Josephine has fallen asleep again after being awake during my lunch. Susse Egholm lifts her head and looks at me as I approach her desk.
"You're not allowed to be in here," she says.
"And yet here I am," I say.
"Besides I'm not handling customers from here. I'm on my way home. Is the baby awake yet?" she asks.
"She was earlier, but the center was closed for lunch-break from noon till two and lucky me, it didn't open till she had fallen asleep again."
Susse Egholm swallows another bite of her chocolate cake. She wipes her fingers in her napkin. Crumbs fall onto the carpet. She has a small piece stuck between two of her teeth as she speaks. "Listen, lady. You have to get back and pick a number if you want to have this done, and this time wake the baby up, for crying out loud. Only for a few seconds and then she can go right back to sleep again."
"You don't know much about babies, do you?" I ask. "Then you'd know that they don't go back to sleep again once you wake them up like that. It's written in all the magazines, you DON'T WAKE UP A BABY!"
Startled Susse Egholm pulls her chair backwards and drops half of the cake onto the floor. "Get out," she says. "Get out of here before I call for security."
Her hand is on the phone. I pick up the stapler and staple one into her hand. "What are you doing, crazy bitch?" she yells.
I turn the stapler and give her a series of blows to the head with the heavy side of it. She tries to scream, but I pick up my Mace from my purse and spray it into her mouth to shut her up. I spray some in her eyes and nostrils as well. She is still making too much noise, though, so I find her jacket and place it over her head to drown out the gurgling screams. I keep shooting staples into her hands and face until it's empty. Then I pick up the keyboard and start hammering it over her head till she lies still. I remove the jacket and find a razor sharp paperknife. I stick it up her nose and cut her nostrils open. She wakes up momentarily, screaming, but I stuff her mouth with post-its and tape and yank it into her throat using a pencil. She tries to throw up, but I hold her head backwards till she chokes in her own vomit. Her body shakes for a little while, then gives in.
I decide to forget about my diet for a few minutes and eat the rest of her chocolate cake on my way out.
When driving home I pass several police cars driving in the opposite direction. I wonder if Christian has landed that Boyesen account yet as I swing the car into the driveway and park it in the garage. Josephine is awake the rest of the afternoon and I play with her while my dish simmers in the oven.
Christian comes home looking tired but Jacob tells me he had a wonderful day. Amalie is happier than ever, since she has a new math-teacher now, she tells me, and she is nice and will let her pass the class if she aces the next test which I make her promise that she will.
"I'll go study for it right away," she says and runs to her room.
I put Josephine in the playpen, while I allow Jacob to watch a cartoon for once and go into the kitchen to talk to my husband. He's upset and
has taken a beer from the refrigerator. He is going through the drawers.
"That bad, huh?" I ask.
"Hmm," he answers.
I walk past him, pull out another drawer and find a package of cigarettes that I hand him. He smiles and takes them. I follow him to the terrace where he lights it up. He hands it to me. I shrug.
"Why not?" I ask and take it. "We all have to die somehow, right?" The taste reminds me of being in my twenties and meeting Christian at a party at a friend's house. Back when everybody smoked. I laugh at the memory. Christian smiles. Then he grows serious.
"I'm losing the account," he says.
I blow out smoke, then give the cigarette back to him. "To Gert?"
Christian nods. "Martin told me today that he was sorry, but Gert has been doing a great job lately and I have hardly been there."
"That's bullshit and he knows it," I say. "You work as hard as anyone."
Christian shrugs and looks down. "It has been a little hard lately. To focus, I mean. Plus I have been away too much. I've had to leave early and come in late some days, in order to help you out."
"Yeah, but still ..."
"It's all that it takes," he says. "Even if they know our situation, with the baby and all ... well they can't take any special consideration, not when it comes to something this important. That's just the way it is."
I close my eyes and try to sing a calming song inside of my head. The only one I can come to think of is Rock-a-bye baby, I try it anyway, and it doesn't help. I'm still furious.
"I'm going to kill Gert," I say. "Him and his stupid I don't look old because I have Botox three times a month -wife."
Christian laughs while blowing smoke out of his mouth. "I guess I feel the same way every once in a while."
10
I'M ALREADY awake when Josephine cries at two o'clock in the morning. I haven't closed an eye all night. I can't stop thinking about that awful couple Gert and his even worse wife Marianne.
When I hear Josephine I go to her and feed her while staring at the dirt in the corner of the room. A small ball of hair and dirt that I hadn't noticed earlier when I cleaned the house. I can see it even though I have only lit a small lamp in the corner of the room. In the dirt I keep seeing Marianne's Botoxed face. She's grinning at me. As soon as Josephine is done eating I make my decision. I change her diaper, then bring her with me in the carriage where she falls asleep while I walk in the dark night pushing her in front of me, gently rocking her till she makes no noise anymore.
I wake them up by throwing apples in their faces. I brought the bag from home. They’re organic, naturally. Gert wakes up when the first red apple hits his forehead.
"What the hell?" he says and tries to cover his face when another apple hits his cheek.
Then his wife Marianne opens her eyes as well. I throw an apple at her and hit her on the mouth. It hurts, I can tell by her reaction. Gert reaches for the night lamp and lights it. They see me between apples flying. I'm smiling while throwing.
"Lisa?" Marianne says. I can tell by the tone of her voice that she is surprised, confused even.
"What the hell are you doing?" Gert yells and sits up in the bed while still covering his head with his arm.
"Throwing apples," I say while another hits him in the forehead and knocks him backwards. I have always had a good arm. Used to play handball and could throw the hardest on the team. I'm wondering if any of my kids can throw as well as I used to, then wonder if they could make it farther than I ever did. Maybe go on the national team?
"Stop throwing apples at us!" Marianne yells.
One hits her face and breaks. Juice runs across her cheek while pieces of apple splatter in her face.
"Ouch! Goddammit Lisa! That really hurt."
I laugh a madman's laughter. I can't help it. Gert is out of bed now and storms towards me. I smile and tilt my head as he tries to grab my arms. I pull out my knife and stab him in the stomach. His eyes grow wide in surprise as he tries to touch the handle of the knife. Marianne starts screaming. I throw another apple in her face, but she keeps screaming and tries to get out of the bed. While Gert is bending forward and moaning I walk to Marianne with an apple in my hand. She screams and tries to get away from me. I grab her hair and pull her towards me. Then I stuff the apple into her mouth to shut her up. Her jaw sounds like it breaks as I push it in. She tries to scream but only a muffled sound comes out of her, then she tries to close her mouth, but can't, she even tries to chew and destroy the apple, but it's impossible. It's too big and I'm holding her hands so she can't pull it out either. I can tell she's struggling to breathe through her nose, so I hold it a few seconds just for fun. Then I tie up her hands with some of my husband's duct tape that he uses to fix anything even if I think it looks terrible. I tie up her legs as well. I hope Josephine is still sleeping in the baby carriage that I placed in the living room when I walked in the kitchen door to the house that they carelessly had left unlocked. I hope the noise hasn't woken her up. It's three a.m. and I'm thinking of making homemade sausages for dinner tonight. As I pull Marianne by the hair out of the bedroom and down the stairs making her body bump all of the steps on her way down, I'm thinking that I'll give Jacob some of my homemade spelt rolls in his lunch box today. Gotta make sure he eats healthy and gets healthy habits from a young age, I repeat from an article I read earlier in the day. Or was it yesterday? I don't know anymore.
Marianne is crying when I place her on the kitchen floor. I don't have time to feel bad for her. I find a stack of old newspapers that I spread out across the floor to cover the nice, clean tiles. Then I go upstairs and find Gert lying on the floor. He is still moaning. He has tried to move towards the phone by the bed but not gotten very far. I shake my head, then take the lamp and slam it into the back of his head knocking him unconscious. I make a trail of blood across the nice beige carpet as I drag him towards the stairs and lift him with much difficulty over the railing and let him fall downstairs, hitting a table and knocking down the family pictures that were neatly placed on top of it. Blood is smeared all over the pictures of their grown daughter standing with her high school diploma. I don't have time to clean it up. I pull Gert's hand and drag him into the kitchen and place him on the newspapers. Marianne lets out a whimper when she sees him. She is trying to kick and scream, but as soon as I start the chainsaw, I can't hear her anymore.
11
I'M STILL working the meat grinder when Christian comes into the kitchen the next morning. He looks tired, I think.
"There is coffee in the pot," I say.
He looks around in the kitchen. Ground meat is lying in huge stacks. "Have you been up all night cooking or something?" he asks.
I smile and nod. "Thought I'd make homemade sausages for tonight."
"For an entire army?" he asks.
"Well I was gonna freeze some for another day."
Christian shakes his head and rubs his hair. "I don't think we have enough room in the freezer for all this." He watches as the red meat comes out of the small holes in the end of the grinder and falls into a big dish I have placed underneath.
"Well I bought a new freezer yesterday," I say and put more meat in the top, then work the handle. "Or was it last week? I don't remember anymore. I had them place it in the basement."
"Where did you get all this meat from?" he asks and looks at the big black bag next to me.
"Oh, that. That’s just someone I killed last night."
Christian yawns and then chuckles. He walks over to the pot and pours himself a cup. Then he shakes his head slowly. "No seriously, did you get it from the butcher again, cause it looks like there is a lot of meat there, and it must have been expensive. We won’t have much money now that I've lost the account."
I smile and tilt my head. I have a tic in my left eye that won't seem to go away. I ignore it. "I promise it wasn't expensive."
Christian walks to the counter and looks at the ground meat. "Looks good though," he says and sips his coffee. "Can
't wait."
"I know you love those sausages I make."
Christian drinks from his coffee again. "Will you make them Italian Hot sausages the way I like them best?"
"I'll make sure some of them are hot just for you."
Christian leans over and kisses my cheek. I place a piece of meat in the grinder and turn the handle.
"I better get dressed and get ready for work," Christian sighs. "Today Martin is gonna choose who gets the Boyesen account. I’ve dreaded this for days, but there’s no way to avoid it. Guess I just have to take it like a man, right?"
"I'm certain you’ll enjoy your day."
Christian smiles at me. "It's good to have you back. Seems like you've been more yourself lately."
"I didn't know I’ve been gone," I say.
"You know what I mean," he says and kisses me again. "I'm glad you keep yourself busy, just make sure you get some sleep today, promise me that?"
"I'll try."
Later in the day I go to the butcher and buy all of his hog casings to stuff with the meat. I tell him I'll be back tomorrow for more since I have many sausages to do. At home I stuff as many as I have with help from my sausage stuffer that I got for Christmas. Then I make some of them by using blanched savoy cabbage leaves as a wrapper. I put those aside for myself thinking they're healthier and that I will never get my husband to eat them, or the children for that matter. The rest of the meat I put in the new freezer along with the hundreds of sausages I've made. I have to rearrange a little to make room for all the meat, so I take out Mr. Berendsen's head and let him sit on the table next to me while I make room for the rest. Mr. Berendsen looks at me slightly disappointed, I think when I put him back in with the rest of his body, or what is left of it.
Amalie is happy when she comes home later in the day and we drink herbal tea together in the kitchen while she tells me about her day. I enjoy being with her and love seeing her this happy again.
