Tiger Milk

by Stephanie de Velasco

  There’s no reason to run away from love, I say but Jameelah doesn’t react, she just continues to stare into the dark green pond as if the water has the answer but wants to stay out of it, like the pond is thinking let them learn for themselves. An old lady walks through the garden next door accompanied by a young couple, a couple that looks like they’re getting married soon. The way they move, they seem to sway with the anticipation of the future, her in a flowery dress and long flowing hair, him with a jumper draped over his shoulders and tied around his neck like a pair of tennis socks. They look happy but I can see that the woman’s hair is thin, right on the border of being too thin to wear down like that.

  Listen, I say nudging Jameelah, someday you’re going to look like those two over there, walking through a pretty garden feeling happy, with or without Lukas, I’ll bet.

  Pfff, someday, says Jameelah. Now, right now they are happy but someday they’ll split up. People like that think life is like Play-Doh, that you can make anything out of it, but someday life will rip them apart and this morning in their garden will be nothing more than a memory, a memory so painful that they’ll wish they never even experienced it. Someday they’ll cry the hardest over the moments that made them happiest. Those idiots still believe in the idea of good.

  Belief, I say, is wanting things to be true that you know are actually impossible.

  Jameelah stares at me.

  Where’d you find that quote?

  Nowhere, I thought it up myself.

  Her mouth begins to crack a smile.

  Hermione or something?

  Shove it up your Hermione, I say.

  You should write a book of, what’s it called, a book full of expressions you say.

  Haha, no you should, I say though in reality I’m really happy because I was worried Jameelah had forgotten how to smile.

  Come on let’s get out of here already or else we’ll go through another round of garden-depression.

  We get our clothes together and step carefully over the passed-out partygoers in the living room. On the sofa directly beneath the porcelain doll that’s still hanging from the chandelier Anna-Lena is sleeping with her rucksack next to her. She looks so normal in her sleep, probably because the creases on her forehead are taking a break while she sleeps.

  Wait, whispers Jameelah leaning over Anna-Lena’s rucksack and rummaging around in it.

  Are you nuts, I whisper, her of all people.

  I just want to get Lukas’s number off her phone, she whispers.

  Hurry up, I whisper.

  I don’t want to think about what Anna-Lena would do if she woke up right now but there’s an empty bottle of apple schnapps next to her which puts me at ease.

  What the hell is this?

  Jameelah stares at a book that she’s pulled out of Anna-Lena’s rucksack. The Modern Witch’s Spell Book it says and when Jameelah opens it a photo of Lukas falls out. Jameelah’s face goes white and her eyes get dark with jealousy and I take a step back and almost stumble over a body on the floor but only almost because Jameelah grabs my arm and says come on let’s get out of here.

  The Modern Witch’s Spell Book, she screams as we’re on the way to the bus stop, see I knew Anna-Lena was a witch. She holds the book up to the sky like the Bible and her thousand bracelets jangle in my face.

  It’s nothing new, I say.

  And Lukas, of course she wants to put a spell on him because she can’t get him, that’s the way it is, our Frieda Giga always putting spells on nice girls with her fucking love you my angel it makes me puke, I’ve had enough!

  The bus is coming, I say pointing at the yellow double-decker monster coming around the corner.

  We start running and gasping for air as we try to stay with the bus as it overtakes us. The bus driver takes pity on us probably thinking that we’re a couple of the good little kids who live in this neighbourhood and need to get to our piano lesson.

  Once we’re sitting on the bus we catch our breath and I say give it to me and take the book out of her hand and the photo falls out again.

  Be careful, she says and I’d never be able to bend down as quickly as she disappears beneath the seat and I hear her shoes scraping against the floor like sandpaper.

  Shit, she says and ouch, where is it but then she reappears with the photo in her hand. She wipes it with her t-shirt over and over again like she’s in a trance, and I think who put a spell on Jameelah and is something wrong with me because I’m not like that about Nico but then again maybe I just don’t love Nico the same way Jameelah loves Lukas.

  Ever since Adam cursed Eve for feeding him the forbidden fruit from the tree of knowledge, leading to the expulsion of both from the Garden of Eden, true love has been a bumpy road filled with disappointment it says on the first page and that as a result you should use magic to help things go more smoothly. It’s still not clear to me how taking some dirt from a footprint left by the man you love is supposed to win his love.

  Who the hell walks through the dirt with their shoes anyway, I say, we don’t live on a farm but Jameelah rips the book out of my hand.

  There must be more practical things in there, she says, things we can do. Here look put a droplet of blood on a used tissue then burn it together with a piece of hair of your beloved and sprinkle the ashes on a salad. That’s tough, where would I get a piece of hair from Lukas? It’s easy for you, you can just rip one out of Nico’s head he wouldn’t care why you did it, he does that kind of crap all the time.

  You’re good, I say, Nico doesn’t eat salad, he won’t even eat the pickle on a hamburger, for him vegetables are garbage.

  Nico, says Jameelah, typical, then she buries her nose in the book again.

  I’m dead tired and lean my head against the cool glass of the bus window. It’s talking about salad that makes me realize. Even if Nico did like salad it wouldn’t matter, I don’t need to sprinkle any stupid ashes on his food because Nico loves me anyway. But I can’t just say that to Jameelah because it’s so different from what she thinks, it’s nothing like she thinks, it’s nothing like how it is with her and Lukas, no eggbeater starts churning in my stomach when I see him, no magic. No, it’s routine. Nico is just there, he was always there, and he will always be there. Which is nice even if it’s not magical. You can’t have everything, Rainer always says. Rainer talks an awful load of shit but in this particular case he’s right.

  I nap the rest of the day, listen to three audiobook mysteries and once in a while grab something out of the fridge. Nico comes by in the evening and kind of acts like nothing happened and I realize I’m happy with that but we don’t talk too much anyway because we’re so tired that we keep yawning.

  Nico says sleep well cutie when I take him to the door and then my phone rings, it’s Jameelah.

  Nini, she says and I hear that she’s sniffling.

  At first I think something terrible has happened, the house is on fire or Noura has had an accident.

  Terrible. What you consider terrible is all relative, says Jameelah, for me there’s nothing worse than the fact that he just disappeared, poof, gone, without saying a word.

  I don’t understand what she’s talking about for a second but then I realize she means that idiot Lukas.

  Like I’m a piece of meat you don’t feel like finishing, like the last bit of a kebab that you can’t choke down so you leave it on the plate together with the dirty napkin and you get up and leave quickly and let kebab man clear it all away.

  Bullshit I’m sure there’s another explanation, I say and then I think I must sound like that stupid police psychologist telling Jasna that there’s always another way out no matter what the problem.

  Maybe he had to go somewhere this morning, I say.

  Like where?

  I have no idea, maybe he plays tennis or squash every Friday or does something with his family. People like Lukas always have big families. Or even if the family is small they all like each other so much that they always have to go to some birthda
y or funeral or one of those whatever you call them, you know, a baby shower.

  Tomorrow he’s going to Lake Garda, says Jameelah, with Anna-Lena.

  So call him.

  I don’t have his fucking phone number.

  Jameelah sighs.

  I wish he would get terminally ill and realize on his deathbed that he loves me. I hope that when he dies they find a box hidden under his bed or someplace that has a photo of me in it, me cut out of that group photo from the ski trip you know, and a letter that he was too scared to give me and that I’m the last person he sees before he dies and he knows that I found the box.

  I have to admit that I don’t really understand what she means with the box and all that, but I do know there is one thing I just can’t take, and that is when Jameelah is distraught. It’s hard to explain, but when she’s distraught the whole world seems to start trembling like in an earthquake and Jameelah who is like a tower, not just any tower, a famous tower and you know that as long as that tower is standing everything is alright, the other buildings and lesser towers can all crumble as long as that one tower, Jameelah, is still standing, and so I start racking my brain for the right thing to say to her now.

  Jameelah says nothing, just sniffles now and again, but I’m so damn tired and my head is so empty and it’s so quiet on the other end of the line.

  This is going to sound crazy, says Jameelah at some point, but will you cast a love spell with me tomorrow?

  Sure, I say.

  We have to be naked to do it.

  Naked? Why?

  Yeah you know there are very few love spells you can cast without hair or fingernails. But I did find one, it’s just that to do it you have to walk naked through a flower garden and throw rose petals, that’s it really. Oh, you also have to concentrate on your beloved and keep saying his name too. But no hair or anything weird like that, no ashes in a salad.

  Where are we going to find a flower garden, I ask.

  I thought we could do it at the playground, there’s a few flowers growing there.

  Naked?

  Yeah, it has to be at midnight anyway. I mean, otherwise it could be a bit difficult.

  And what about the rose petals?

  In the park, Tiergarten. We don’t need too many.

  Okay I’ll do it with you.

  Of course I’ll do it. I’ll do anything as long as it means Jameelah won’t be so distraught.

  The next morning I ring the bell at Amir’s place but nobody answers. I ring it again and again until Tarik finally opens the door. He looks tired and it occurs to me that I haven’t seen him since the whole incident with Jasna happened.

  Is Amir home, I ask.

  Yeah but Amir can’t come out right now kiddo, Tarik says, Amir has to stay home and help me.

  Can I talk to him for a second, it won’t take long.

  No kiddo, that won’t work, says Tarik, really.

  Has something happened?

  No nothing happened. Go home, go out and enjoy your school break.

  What about Amir?

  Amir has other things to do right now.

  I go back across the playground to our apartment.

  What’s up, I wonder, why can’t Amir come out, it’s not really summer break if Amir isn’t around. Maybe Tarik is going to start locking Amir in the apartment too, no idea, but wait why would he. Tarik doesn’t mean us any harm, he’s just trying to keep the family together, that’s what Amir said, because Tarik’s the oldest and the oldest has to keep the family together, he said, but all I could think was what is there to hold together, honestly, everything’s already in tatters, even more so than with me or Jameelah.

  Jameelah comes over in the evening. Mama phones Noura to tell her that Jameelah is staying over at our place. This time it’s actually true, at least halfway. We put on our pyjamas and cart a bunch of food into my room and then the doorbell rings and when I open it Amir is standing there.

  Can I come in for a second, he says.

  Man, I say, I tried you a thousand times.

  I don’t have a lot of time, he says.

  He looks pale and gaunt, the corners of his mouth are cracked, and the splotch under his eye is still blue. It looks like nothing on him can heal at the moment. He’s holding a Reebok shoebox that’s taped shut.

  I want you to take care of this, he says, in case something happens to me or whatever you have to keep it for me.

  What’s going to happen to you, come on don’t scare me.

  It’s not about dying or whatever, everything’s fine. So you’ll take care of it for me?

  It’s not about dying, what do you mean it’s not about dying, what are you talking about?

  Settle down, says Amir, it was just an example, man, girls always panic straight away. I just want you to look after the box, don’t open it no matter what happens, just look after it. Will you do it?

  Sure I’ll look after it, I say, but you can still tell me what’s up.

  No matter what happens don’t open it. Promise.

  I promise.

  Don’t worry, says Amir, everything’s fine.

  Right, everything’s fine, the hell it is, I say. But Amir just gets up, mumbles goodbye and leaves me standing there with the stupid shoebox. Jessi comes running out.

  Who was it, she asks.

  Nobody, get lost.

  It was Amir, she says, I’m not stupid. What’s up with him, does he have AIDS or something? He looks so messed up.

  No but you’re going to get AIDS if I hear about you hooking up with random boys at the swimming pool again.

  What?

  Anna-Lena told me at the pool the other day. I find out about everything, understand?

  Oh that, says Jessi, that was just Pepi, she says giggling, I’ve been kissing him since kindergarten.

  She points at the box.

  Is that from Amir?

  It’s none of your business.

  Tell me what’s in it, Jessi screams throwing one of her puffy slippers at me as I walk away.

  Quiet, shouts Mama from the living room, or I’ll boil you both in a cauldron.

  I slam the door to my room shut.

  Where were you, says Jameelah.

  Amir, I say shoving the box under the bed, I’m supposed to look after that in case something happens to him.

  Jameelah picks up the box and shakes it. Something knocks around inside.

  Do you get it?

  Nope.

  Something’s not right, I say, but I can’t get a word out of him.

  You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped, says Jameelah.

  That’s stupid.

  No it’s an ancient Irani saying.

  More like an ancient irony saying.

  Jameelah smiles.

  You are the true queen of O-language do you know that?

  Yeah but that won’t help Amir.

  Come on you know him, says Jameelah, he loves to be asked. He’s just waiting for us to squeeze it out of him. We’ll grab him tomorrow and you’ll see how much he talks once we plead with him a little.

  Yeah, I say shoving the box under my bed again and hoping Jameelah’s right.

  We watch Gilmore Girls and later, once Mama has fallen asleep, we watch one of Rainer’s pornos and almost die laughing. Rainer thinks he has them well hidden under a loose floorboard in the kitchen closet. But come on, people stick things under loose floorboards in every single bad movie and it wouldn’t even surprise me if Jessi had also discovered them.

  When we finally leave the apartment just before eleven-thirty we wear nothing but long tank-tops and flip-flops with no underwear but that’s not really because of the spell, it’s because it was so hot all day and barely cooled off after dark. Out of the bushes next to the playground we pull the plastic grocery bag stuffed with the rose petals we nicked from Tiergarten earlier that afternoon and the Müller milk container, the Mariacron, maracuja juice, and milk and climb up the slide to the play fort.

  Now we
just have to wait for midnight, says Jameelah, pouring the chocolate milk out of the Müller container and mixing the juice, milk, and brandy and stirring it with her long fingers. We take turns drinking Tiger Milk, we look into the sky and say nothing, we just let life float by because we have so much time, because the clock has only just struck fourteen minutes past birth, meaning that we have almost fifty minutes of life to go, and that’s a long time. A bird sings off in the distance somewhere, very loud, almost as if it realizes how nicely it sings.

  That’s a nightingale, says Jameelah, there’s a lot of them around here, even more than in Bavaria, and there’s supposed to be so much more nature there, pfff, as if.

  Is that another question from the citizenship test?

  No I read it in the free paper on the U-bahn, says Jameelah blowing cigarette smoke into the sky. I hope it all goes well.

  Of course it will, what could go wrong with a love spell, I say.

  I mean at the immigration office you idiot, says Jameelah looking at the clock, it’s exactly midnight. She lifts her tank-top over her head, grabs the grocery bag and smiles at me.

  Here we go.

  I have to admit I feel like an idiot running around the playground naked like that, tossing rose petals as I go. Actually the whole rose petal thing isn’t so bad, but having to whisper the name is annoying. When you say Nico over and over it doesn’t even sound like his name after a while, and it makes me lightheaded, so at some point I just scatter the petals. The grass is sunburned and rustles beneath my feet, and as I watch the rose petals fall past my legs to the ground I suddenly feel tiny. I don’t know if it has something to do with the darkness or it’s just because I don’t have anything on, but for whatever reason, here on this playground, where I learned to walk and to ride a bike and to roller skate, all of a sudden I feel too small for this world, like you could just stick me anywhere, the same way you shove a vacuum cleaner in a dark corner and nobody notices it, like you could just make my naked body disappear because it’s so small and unimportant.

  Jameelah hops around the playground doing pirouettes and the rose petals flutter around her like confetti. I can’t help but smile and I think to myself, come on, don’t do it like that, it’s too funny. I run back to the middle of the sandbox where the shopping bag is, hoping secretly that we’ll run out of rose petals soon, and that’s when I see someone coming toward the playground.