‘“Til Nashet”,’ I said.
‘What?’
‘The song. It’s not “Itsi-Bitsi”, it’s “Til Nashet”.’
‘I want to hold an assembly,’ he said. ‘A reading and a little happening.’
‘Good,’ I said, ‘I’ve got something important to say.’
About two hundred and fifty people came to the assembly. They were in suede waistcoats, Indian smocks and thin harem pants.
‘I’d like to tell you all about a little experience I had earlier on today,’ I said from the tree stump. ‘Daniel, do you want to tell us about what happened at the bar earlier on?’
Daniel was wearing a number of expensive chains around his neck.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Daniel discovered he was unable to use his credit card here and decided to tear our bartender off a strip. You’re a guest here, Daniel! Our shrubbery may be watered with piss, the lawn may be wrecked, but we love our little camp, and what I saw and heard today doesn’t belong here.’
He tried to shrink back into the shadows.
‘Don’t go slinking away!’ I said. ‘Do you understand what I’m saying to you, Daniel?’
He nodded.
‘I’m sorry.’
Andreas Møller nodded appreciatively as I stepped down.
‘That’s the spirit,’ he said. ‘Should we all give Daniel a hand?’
A sitar player struck a sinewy chord and Levinsen read out some of the raunchy bits of Steppenwolf.
I sat with Mille and Diana. Diana was wearing a thin yellow corduroy suit and leaned into me.
Levinsen stepped on to the stump.
‘How insanely gorgeous everyone’s looking tonight. What a magnificent evening. Can you feel the warmth? What say we all get our clothes off?’
He took off his shirt and threw it on the grass.
‘Let’s get naked, all of us together!’
Everyone stripped.
‘Look at that cock!’ said Mille.
Levinsen was circumcised, and his cock made his body look slight.
We had Indonesian rijsttafel and everyone laughed louder than usual. Levinsen had booked a young band who played acid rock, and it was like the Fælledparken in the seventies with bare boobs, clouds of pot and lyrics about elves and woodland. Levinsen danced with a spliff in his hand, gyrating like it was Woodstock, his dick slapping about on the off-beat.
Diana and I shared a joint at the bar and played chess with what was at hand: glasses, pepper pot, bottle tops. She took my hands and kissed my fingers one by one.
‘Did you hear about the dyslexic atheist who didn’t believe there was a dog?’ she said.
I had to think about it for a second.
‘Good, eh?’ said Diana.
She laughed so much she fell off her bar stool. I lay down in the grass beside her and we rolled through the daisies and the four-leafed clovers with our dog, in the long, slanting rays of sun.
‘Let’s stay here,’ I said.
‘Nice doggy,’ she said.
I felt a flat hand on my right buttock and looked up at Levinsen’s dick.
‘Showtime!’ said Mille.
‘Already?’ said Diana.
They dragged her off and vanished into the marquee.
The Sisters of Mercy were sipping champagne and absinthe.
The band announced there was a show on in a few minutes.
‘Levinsen’s going to do something with his cock,’ one of the Sisters said.
‘What’s Diana going to be doing?’ I said.
‘We kicked him out last time,’ the other one said.
‘You’ve no idea how stupid he sounds when he’s having it off.’
The light was dim inside the tent, and we were surrounded by warm, tanned bodies.
After fifteen minutes a sitar began to play and a sweet smell of joss sticks filled the air. Four matches were struck and fat candles lit in a semicircle in front of the circular stage, in the middle of which were two black armchairs.
In one sat Mille, in the other Diana. Their legs were open wide and tied to the armrests, their arms were tied together above their heads with leather thongs, and both were blindfolded with black silk scarves.
Mille tugged on her tethers, her nipples jutting in the air.
People were kissing all around us, and I was sweating so much I was soaked. One of the Sisters put her tongue in my mouth.
Mille was clearly relishing being so powerlessly exposed. White fluid trickled from her cunt on to the black leather of her armchair.
Two younger guys entered the stage and kneeled down before Diana and Mille.
Moans were heard in the dark, and the pregnant smell of sex shrouded us like a blanket of cloud. The guys on stage now began to lick the two cunts in front of them, and the other Sister put my hand to her heavy breasts. I reached down and slid my fingers between her swollen labia and drank her spit, the first Sister caressing my balls, then putting my cock inside her wet mouth. Levinsen entered the stage behind Mille, his member fully erect.
‘Is it true you like big cocks, Mille?’
‘Yes,’ she said, her voice trembling.
He placed his cock between Mille’s tied-up hands and her fingers closed around it greedily. He made fucking movements, and Mille squirmed so much the guy with his tongue in her cunt had his work cut out just to stay on board. She grunted and squealed like a shed of pigs.
There was a look of insanity in Levinsen’s eyes as he stepped down-stage gently masturbating. He looked down at himself as though to savour the moment, rubbing his thumb under the magnificent head.
‘Would you like a huge cock inside you, Mille?’ he said.
The two young guys stood up and left the stage.
‘This is a love-in, everyone,’ said Levinsen. ‘Come up and pleasure Diana!’
Tongues and hands smothered her from all sides.
The second Sister thrust out her bum and I took hold of her hips and buried my cock inside her while the first rubbed her pussy and licked her tits. A young guy began fucking Diana, his muscular buttocks a blur between her legs. All over, people were shagging and the air was thick with the sound of balls slapping against buttocks, an increasing hum of moans and groans, and tiny gasps.
On my way out, I saw a new, rather broader arse take its place between Diana’s thighs.
The next morning, Diana and I cycled past Helenekilde and over the hill at Vejby Strand to the quay at Gilleleje, where we sat with a carton of chocolate milk and looked out at the fishing boats.
‘Was he the second?’ she said.
‘Who?’
‘Andreas Møller! Was he the second one who fucked me?’
‘I couldn’t see,’ I said.
‘It was him,’ she said.
‘He’s celibate,’ I said.
‘It was horrible,’ she said.
She took my right hand.
‘I’m going home to my daughter!’
‘You’ve got a daughter?’
‘Nona. She’ll be seven in October.’
‘Where does she live?’
‘With my mother in Budapest.’
‘Is she ill?’
‘She wants to see me.’
‘When are you leaving?’
‘Today.’
She went on ahead and had already packed by the time I got back.
‘Aren’t you going to say goodbye?’ I said.
I followed her down to the yellow train and she gave me a long kiss.
‘Look after our doggy,’ she said.
I sat next to Lisa at dinner that night. ‘I thought you knew she was leaving,’ she said. ‘She told everyone close to her.’
‘Apparently I’m not, then.’
We sat down in the kitchen. I could have done with a whisky.
‘Why didn’t she bring her daughter with her to Denmark?’ said Mille.
‘Diana made a choice,’ said Lisa.
‘Between what?’ said Mille.
‘She knew she couldn’t be a mother and an artist at the same time.’
‘How old was her daughter when she left?’ said Nikolaj Krogh.
‘Four months.’
‘How often does she see her?’ said Mille.
‘She hasn’t been back to Budapest since.’
‘In defence of the mother who abandons the nest,’ I said.
‘Who’s defending?’ said Mille.
‘It was a piece I wrote once.’
‘How despicable, leaving one’s own little child,’ said Mille.
‘Let’s drink our brains out, shall we?’ said Lisa.
My popular science talk on the chemistry of love went down a treat at the assembly.
‘Does anyone have anything they’d like to say under any other business?’ I said.
A single acid-jazz mother put up her hand.
‘Something needs to be done about Kreuzmann.’
‘Could you be more specific?’ I said.
‘He’s destructive, he doesn’t involve himself, and he stinks!’
Widespread nodding.
‘We must take Kreuzmann into the fold,’ said Andreas Møller. ‘Can you go and fetch him, Mikkel?’
He was sitting where he always sat, in front of his tent.
‘You’re an issue at assembly,’ I said.
‘What does that mean?’ he said.
‘It means you’ve got to come with me.’
He hesitated for a second at the sight of the two-hundred-strong gathering.
‘Welcome,’ said Andreas Møller. ‘Would you care to repeat your point,’ he said, raising his eyebrows towards the single acid-jazz mother.
‘I’m finding your way of being here rather a problem,’ she said.
‘She doesn’t think you’re involving yourself, Kreuzmann,’ said Andreas Møller.
‘Why don’t you wash?’ said the single acid-jazz mother.
‘Time flies,’ he said.
‘You smell really bad.’
‘I can’t smell anything myself,’ he said.
‘That’s because you’re drunk twenty-four hours a day,’ she said.
A small red-haired woman stood up.
‘It upsets me to see you like this.’
‘Like what?’ he said.
‘My brother’s a therapist,’ said the red-haired girl. ‘I’m sure I can persuade him to come.’
‘Sounds like a good offer, Kreuzmann,’ said Andreas Møller.
‘I had a lovely childhood,’ said Kreuzmann.
‘Something obviously went wrong,’ said the single acid-jazz mother.
‘I’ve been a bastard for twenty-five years,’ said Kreuzmann.
‘You need to talk to someone about it,’ said the red-haired girl.
‘You must take the community seriously if you want to stay here,’ said Andreas Møller. ‘And you need to wash.’
‘Can I have a word in private?’ Kreuzmann said to Andreas Møller.
They spent two hours in the F.P. Jac and Kreuzmann came out with tears in his eyes and a set of clean clothes over his arm.
‘What happened in there?’ I asked.
‘He emptied his soul and apologised,’ said Andreas Møller.
‘To whom?’
‘He repented for having promised his wife he’d be faithful.’
The next morning, Kreuzmann was in a light blue shirt and his cheeks were white where his beard had been. No one was in any doubt that the day’s sermon was in his honour.
Andreas began with a parable:
‘A rich man’s land had again brought forth so plentifully he had to pull down his barns and build bigger ones to store all his grain. And when he’d done that he leaned back to take his ease and enjoy the good life. But God said: “You’re a fool! Tonight your soul will be taken, and who will benefit then from this great harvest?” So is he that layeth up treasure for himself, and is not rich toward God.
‘Jesus says: “It is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the Kingdom.”
‘That which we give away is ours to own for ever. The Kingdom is to give and to serve each other, and the Kingdom is here and now. We should not save our love, but share it freely. This is what we do here in our camp, and see how we smile. Amen.’
After breakfast, Kreuzmann took his turn doing the washing-up, and I went for a walk with Andreas Møller. We were at the edge of the woods, going in the direction of the church at Tibirke.
‘Now is the time to stand firm,’ he said. ‘We created something unique here, but we need to take it further.’
It was the kind of rhetoric I could relate to.
‘We can change people’s lives, Mikkel. We can create something of lasting value to the whole world.’
When we got back, I called a meeting in the kitchen and spent all day with Andreas and Mille, trying to put our vision into writing.
‘How does Next Love sound?’ I said.
‘Good,’ said Mille.
Andreas made a pitch for: ‘Next Love is a physical Christian community’.
‘It doesn’t sound even remotely sexy,’ said Mille. ‘It sounds like reading glasses and a little crucifix on a chain over a polo neck.’
‘We’re not virtuous,’ said Andreas.
‘It would be rather radical to get you to take Jesus seriously.’
‘Jesus can deal with not getting a mention,’ said Mille.
She proposed: ‘Next Love is a devotional physical community’.
‘The word devotional has lost its significance,’ said Andreas.
After two bottles of Morelino di Scanzano we were all in agreement:
‘Next Love is a physical and metaphysical community whose aim is to spread love and to achieve the greatest possible energy through work, spiritual enlightenment and new models of coexistence’.
I ran through our main principles:
Coupledom in the traditional sense was forbidden. Deep and lasting relationships were good, but the closed unit was unwelcome and jealousy constituted grounds for exclusion. Members were obliged to put the community before themselves, and work was of the highest priority.
All problems were to be discussed and solved through group discussion.
The ambition was to create an autonomous society without isolating ourselves from the one surrounding us, with the aim of bringing benefit to the world.
The spiritual aspect was the backbone, and our point of departure was Christian Protestant. Each Wednesday and Sunday, Andreas would give a service. We dreamed of having our own cinema, a gym, playing fields, studios, writing spaces and a function hall. Sexual desire would underpin it all, whether we were in the fields, attending lectures, playing football or shagging.
We put our thoughts to the assembly that evening.
‘Am I supposed to dump my girlfriend?’ someone said.
‘We are to love one another,’ I said. ‘And that’s best achieved through openness.’
‘How do we avoid getting jealous?’
‘By rising above it,’ I said. ‘That may sound arrogant, but all it requires is to take a small step up.’
One hundred and twenty-seven put their names down, and Mille and I were elected joint chairpersons.
We rounded off with a communal hug and ‘Touch Me’.
After the weekend people had to get back to work, so everyone was all in for the last party of the summer. Talk of the camp had spread, but we had stopped letting new people and tents in a while back. Our task now was to contain and sustain our success, and we made it clear that we all had to hold back on the invites.
‘I’ve had a call from a journalist,’ said Andreas. ‘She’s heard that we formed Next Love and wants to interview us before the party.’
‘Who is she?’ I said.
‘Rie Becker. Do you know her?’
‘I do. It’s not a good idea,’ I said.
‘I’m a clergyman,’ he said. ‘I’m not in the media picture.’
‘You could be.’
‘If we do this inte
rview right, Next Love will have five hundred members by Monday.’
‘We?’ I said. ‘I think it’s best you do this one yourself.’
‘She expressly asked for you, Mikkel.’
On the Thursday afternoon, I took the train back into the city to pick up Charlie, Helene and Tue Nissen at the airport, and I was struck by a rather unexpected emotion. For the first time in years I felt a connection with Helene.
I stood among the hordes at Terminal 3, light of heart and with an open mind.
Charlie’s hair was bleached from the sun and his little arms melted around my neck. Helene had lost weight and her blue eyes sparkled against her tanned skin.
Tue Nissen greeted me vacantly and didn’t know where to put himself.
‘We’re missing a leather suitcase, Helene. Aren’t we missing a leather suitcase?’
‘It’s all here, Tue,’ said Helene.
‘I think we’re missing a leather suitcase.’
‘Everything’s in order, Tue. Let’s get home.’
‘Right, we’re going home and everything’s in order. Is everything in order?’
Helene put her arms around him. He laughed and dribbled.
‘Have you been tippling on the flight?’ I said.
‘We’ve been throwing it back,’ said Tue.
‘That’s not like you two.’
‘We’re not like us two anymore,’ said Tue.
‘Did something happen while you were away?’ I said.
Tue put his hand to his mouth.
‘I don’t know if I can talk about it, Helene.’
‘Of course you can,’ said Helene. ‘Let’s go home and make something to eat, then we can tell Mikkel all about it.’
Tue went out to get some shopping in, and Charlie ran upstairs to his toys. Helene had a short skirt on.
‘You’re looking good,’ I said.
She turned to face me with a spoon in her hand. ‘Thanks,’ she said. She may have been going to say more.
I told her about our life in the camp, and about Master Licker and Clara, and she listened open-mouthed and howled with laughter. Tue came back with carrier bags in both hands. ‘Fresh cod in the thinnest of slices for ceviche,’ he said. ‘Fresh-boiled Danish lobster, ta-da! A little bit of foie gras, yes? Mousse au chocolat for the Frenchman. What more have we got? Cheese, for God’s sake, Rødkit, some sort of bleu, Gouda for the Jutland lass, which is me. A lot of vegetables that we don’t really fancy.’
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