Best European Fiction 2012

by Aleksandar Hemon

  I knew that some of the kids thought I was strange, and because of that I felt like I was very lucky to have Steina and Olga as friends. The thought of having none was unbearable. Now I couldn’t wait to meet this friendless girl.

  She lived in a three-story house like the ones built at Hlíðar. Those lavish homes sparkled from war profiteering in shell sand, and their inhabitants undoubtedly were indebted to Hitler’s arrogance for their arched living-room windows. Olga rang the doorbell and the friendless girl answered the door—alone, of course. She stared at us with serious, gray-colored eyes from under a mop of thick hair; on each cheek a large red spot. It was as if she was ashamed of herself, but at first look it was impossible to figure out why. She was a very ordinary-looking girl who lived in a very ordinary house and had very ordinary parents. They appeared briefly to throw a hello our way.

  Instead of inviting us into her bedroom—where we could have spun around on the desk chair and lay down on the sofa bed—the girl showed us into the living room. The room was furnished with those ever-present decorative wall plates, deep sofas, a glass cocktail table, and embroidery-upholstered chairs. It looked just like my home. My parents would have liked to know that I was visiting such a home. A good home. Smarties candy had been poured into a crystal bowl. We sat up straight, just like we were waiting for boys to ask us to dance. We felt so grown-up. I was really shy and wished I was outside again in the calm winter night. The snow fell gently outside the windows.

  What were her parents up to, I wondered, listening for them. I could hear endless, muffled chatter coming out of the kitchen. In the living room, though, our conversation was barely moving. At first our host listened on in silence as we girlfriends discussed whether pink Smarties were better than the yellow ones or if any of the other ones might, in general, be better. Olga recalled a worldwide research study to determine what the new Smarties color should be and that most people chose blue. “Wasn’t that about M&Ms?” asked Steina as she wolfed down the treats.

  “Was it?” Olga looked at me questioningly and I shrugged. I had missed that bit of news. Really, I had completely forgotten why I was there. The guys in the garage band were probably wondering where I was. The friendless girl looked at each of us in turn, serious-looking as ever. She seemed, at the very least, not overly thrilled that we had suddenly appeared out of the bad weather to entertain her in her solitude. Maybe she was just now beginning to understand what it was like to have girlfriends, what they really talked about together. She undoubtedly missed being alone, playing solitaire in her bedroom. Why hadn’t she invited us in there?

  All of a sudden Olga set the tone of our visit: we must show this girl some small interest. Olga sniffed powerfully and began asking our host questions about school, about her teachers, and about her favorite subjects. The answers were incredibly short, like each syllable cost as much as individual characters on a telegram: “I think math is fine,” or “The biology teacher is okay.” Her bashful glances continued to wander between each of us and the red within the spots on her cheeks seemed to deepen in color with each passing moment. Steina and I gave out the occasional question but the only thing I really wanted to know was: Why don’t you have any friends? Why are you teased so much?

  It wasn’t long until all the appropriate questions that we could possibly think of had been exhausted. The silence spread out from around us on the sofa and consumed the remainders inside of the crystal candy bowl. The girl shot glances around the room like a searchlight and then out of nowhere she asked, “Have you ever fantasized about being someone other than yourself?” The words came out slowly, as if she didn’t trust that they could survive in this cruel, friendless world.

  My heart immediately began to pound wildly, like it had to free itself from its suffocating ribcage prison. “Yes,” I wanted to say, “Yes, I’m the keyboardist in a band that practices in the garage at home! All the guys are fantastic and maybe we’ll even go on tour soon!”

  But I decided to let Steina and Olga go first. Perhaps Steina wanted to be some Swedish handball star? And Olga could then, for example, be some kind of working-class hero, the type that her father used to tell her about. But, instead, Olga and Steina just looked puzzled. “Nooo,” said Steina after a silence, and she squinted at our host. “So . . . what else do you like to do?”

  “Nothing?” said the girl and drew her feet up beneath her on the easy chair. I could still detect a trace of hope in her voice. I looked over at Olga and she shook her head slowly and finally said, “No.”

  The girl’s stare was fixated on a point in the air just above my head when she added: “Sometimes I’m one of the characters in The Ice People. The girl, Sunna.”

  Steina and Olga stared silently at the girl in hopes of some further explanation.

  “Have you read The Ice People?” asked the girl haltingly.

  I had tried reading one of the books in the series, but I found Sunna—a member of a dark cult—too strange of a character to finish reading the book. My girlfriends had clearly never been drawn to Norwegian sorcery because we shook our heads at the same time. My heart continued to race and I didn’t add anything more to the conversation but instead allowed my girlfriends to do the talking. There was no way to pick up the thread again anyway. After a brief pause, we each made a show of checking our watches, said something about how late it was getting, and stood up. I was relieved but hoped that the other girls couldn’t sense that.

  “May we see your bedroom?” asked Steina on her way out.

  The girl opened the door, saying, “It isn’t very tidy in there.” She had splotches all over her, more than before. We didn’t have the courage to cross the threshold, but opted to look in through the doorway. In there was a desk with dictionaries on it, a record player with albums by Limahl and Level 42, and a bed covered with stuffed teddy bears, rabbits, dogs, and cats. Suspended above all these animals was a small, white-clad Pierrot. Despite its broad smile, tears dripped down each cheek of its porcelain face like some grotesque Virgin Mary statue weeping for the sins of mankind.

  On the way home, I walked a few steps behind my girlfriends and entertained myself by taking each step in their ankle-deep tracks in the snow. The blizzard was over. The neighborhood was quiet and we didn’t have anything to say.

  “That girl is very strange. Who exactly are these Ice People she kept talking about?” I heard Steina say.

  “They’re just from some book series. Don’t worry about it. We’ll visit her again anyway,” said Olga and added: “. . . some day.”

  Our way home happened to take us across the most dangerous intersection in the country, where Mikla and Kringlumỳrar Avenues intersect. Shattered taillights were strewn around the roadside and yellow and red pieces glittered like jewels in the snow.

  Olga and Steina continued in the direction of Háaleiti but I went on toward Álftamỳri. I had yet to feel the excitement in my chest subside and it took me almost the whole way down to Safamỳri for me to figure out why. I had met a girl who had a life that was almost like mine, except that I had friends and she didn’t.

  My parents slept the sleep of the exhausted and depressed that night—a much deeper sleep than the rest of us enjoy. Me, I didn’t sleep a wink until morning. I heard drumming coming from the garage and my pillow vibrated from the bass. The guys were playing “Dancing Barefoot.” I knew what awaited me if I ran down there. Sunna dancing barefoot on the cold cement floor among the paint cans, bikes, skis, and ice skates. None of the guys could take their eyes off of her. She spins in circle after circle with a bright smile and rose-red, joyous spots on both her cheeks.

  TRANSLATED FROM ICELANDIC BY CHRISTOPHER BURAWA

  children

  [SWITZERLAND: FRENCH]

  NOËLLE REVAZ

  The Children

  We live in the blue house. It’s not our house, but we’re spending our childh
ood here. Our footsteps and voices ring out, the headmasters can’t help but get annoyed and scold us, which is completely natural, even with very well-behaved children. Madame Morceau and her husband are in charge. The teachers come during the day. We have four cooks. The ivy is full of snails.

  Here is what’s happening now. Today we wake up and Madame Morceau says to us: this morning, children, I have something to tell you. She gathers us all in the yard, Monsieur Morceau pensive and silent behind her. The headmistress is kind, her words flow, she resumes: I’ve something to tell you. Her eyes pass over our heads. Even though there are a lot of us, she knows each of our names. She doesn’t need to shout for silence, she only has to widen her eyes. Her voice is calm: children, I have to tell you, today is not an ordinary day.

  A few children start to play, but Madame Morceau continues: there is a workers’ strike and nobody will be coming to watch over you. As for us, as headmasters, we must go and negotiate with the faculty. I hope you understand. There is bread on the table. I’ll get the butter out for you. Don’t get any jam on your pajamas please. Also, I’m requesting that the most responsible among you look after the little ones. You may play in the yard, but don’t go past the gate. I will be back in time to make you some lovely mashed potatoes, we cooked the potatoes yesterday and all that has to be done is to mash them with butter the way you like it. Above all, don’t be worried, there won’t be any nutmeg, I know how much you hate it. If I don’t get back in time, it’s nothing to get alarmed about—please put yourselves to bed without causing any trouble. If, as is quite possible, I still haven’t returned by suppertime, you’ll find the cereals in their usual spot. I’m well aware that cereal isn’t very nutritious and I fully intend in the future to cook you healthy meals, but should I be detained, pour some milk in your bowls and be careful if you please not to spill any in the refectory. The big children should tie the little ones’ bibs on carefully. When you go to bed, lie quietly until you fall asleep, just because I’m not there doesn’t mean you get to have a free-for-all. And a word about the TV. If some of you are tempted to watch it, I’ll know immediately by checking whether it’s warm or cold. I’ll think about you a lot while I’m gone. It’s possible that I won’t be there to tuck you in, but I’ll come to give you cuddles as soon as I get back, even if you’re sleeping, I promise. In the event of any little accidents in your beds, you know where the wardrobes are, there are more than enough sheets, put the dirty ones in the wash, below in the laundry room.

  One last important thing: I’ve left some numbers downstairs, you can always call if you’re worried about something, yes if the slightest thing happens, you dial those numbers, you think you’ll be able to read them? Of course you will, you’re not babies, you’re capable of dealing with this situation, I’m proud in advance of knowing how you kept yourselves amused and how quickly the time passed, how you looked after yourselves for once without your headmasters. I’m not forgetting anything, lots of love, remember that you’re with me, everywhere I go I’m carrying you, everywhere I am you are too and my thoughts are always here.

  You’re afraid of being sad. All right, it’s okay, I’ll permit it: you can turn on the TV, but only for a quarter of an hour, is that agreed, children? Not a second more, and don’t watch that awful show, you must promise me you’ll only watch children’s programs, and no anime please; I insist because I’ve noticed that you sleep badly afterward and that you all want to come into my bed, which is certainly a utopian sort of consolation.

  I think I recall all of a sudden that there are perhaps some of you who don’t like cereal, you should check in the fridge, there should be some leftover gratin, will you be able to heat it up, no I’d prefer you didn’t do anything, it would be better to do nothing at all, a hotplate is very quickly lit, but putting it out is another story entirely, those things could hurt you, or worse, the fire brigade might have to come and then where would you children go, already without moms and dads, fortunately I’m here, I watch over you and I know each of your names, first, middle, and last, your dates of birth, the dates of the most important events in your young lives, it’s only this evening, unfortunately on this one evening it’s only sixty percent certain that I can be at my post, that I can tuck you in tonight and ask you if you’ve made sure to do a peepee, moreover it will be necessary for one or another of you to look after changing the young ones’ diapers, and I forgot the babies’ bottles, but children if I remember before I go I’ll prepare the bottles, you’ll only have to immerse them in the bain-marie for twelve minutes, but no, I won’t have time my little ones, you’ll have to heat them yourselves, the measurements are on the back of the box, don’t make a mistake with the powder, the babies with allergies get a different mixture, the round box under the window, you use three spoons, at least three good spoonfuls, three and a half, it depends on the milk, see how it looks, not too much liquid, it shouldn’t be gooey, it’s easy, will you be able to?

  My children, I’m abandoning you, I must say I feel guilty, I’m afraid I’ll faint, you can’t imagine what it’s like, to be in charge of your children and suddenly to have to head off and not to be able to know what will happen at all, if only one could split in two, you imagine all sorts of things, my God, but this is impossible, I want one of you to telephone me every half hour or I’ll never be able to relax, who wants to do it?

  Yes, you’re right of course, there’s no need to panic, how important you are to me, I learn from you every day. We must suffer through these events with calm. Everything will go smoothly, I’ll be back at seven o’clock, let’s say more toward eight rather, and even if I come back let’s say toward ten or eleven o’clock, I’ve left you instructions and you’re big enough boys and girls that everything will go swimmingly. Above all, and I’d like this to be clear, don’t wait for me before going to bed, I’d prefer for you to think that I’m not available and then get a nice surprise rather than believing I’m going to come and making a scene when I don’t and getting yourselves too worked up to sleep, and who will bring you your glass of warm milk to calm you down, no, I won’t hear of it, especially not at night, listen I forbid you from going near the hot plates at any time at all, whether for the babies’ bottles, they’ll just take their formula cold, or for your supper, or for your warm milk to help dispel your fears and so delay your going to bed, you’ll eat cold food, you’ll drink cold drinks, that’s all I ask.

  Have you any questions perhaps, my poor little orphans who I’m leaving to their fate, I see that you don’t mind, all you think about is playing and the rest leaves you indifferent. And so you’re right of course, you must enjoy yourselves, it’s only later that you’ll understand, go on I’ll leave you to your things, but don’t forget to study, and if the TV’s hot, Monsieur Morceau will spank you one after the other, even if that would surely wear him out.

  We continue to play and Madame Morceau climbs into the car beside her husband. The engine starts, they pass beyond the gate while waving good-bye, good-bye. Who had the idea to go and see what it’s like, the headmasters’ room, we can’t go in there, the bed takes up the whole space, the children we push inside jump on the big mattress like a real trampoline, and the little ones dribble on the duvet, it’s no big deal, quickly fold back the sheet, Madame Morceau is always at her wits’ end in the evening, she’s not going to notice.

  In the refectory there are some kids who pretend not to see the bread that falls under their chairs, but we do think to wipe up the puddles of milk. We scold anybody who cries, we want the headmasters to be able to say that their children are the best behaved around. When we’re not at our best Monsieur Morceau comes to talk to us personally, he tells how sad he is to see his children behaving as stupidly as young animals, becoming coarse, deceitful, petulant like any other kids. When Monsieur Morceau comes back we’ll ask if he’ll explain to us how it’s possible that the classrooms feel so empty, even though we’re all there. Because there are no teachers,
or else because there’s nobody to keep speaking? The words dissolve in our mouths, they crumble like piles of sand, while those of the professors, of Madame, or better of Monsieur Morceau, are set like solid objects. As a result of which we naturally end up wondering how many children it would take to make one adult, if, Monsieur Morceau, you could shed some light on the subject, there are a lot of us here, but it’s as if there’s only one of us.

  The next day the telephone rings, it’s Madame Morceau’s voice, she asks us to connect her to the loudspeaker and to gather around to hear her. Her speech surrounds us:

  My children, I’m sorry, you’ll have been surprised and disoriented not to find us home when you awoke this morning. We have been detained far from our orphanage. All my thoughts are for you and my memory is with you minute by minute, hour by hour. You have brushed your teeth. You have eaten properly. Your thoughts are beyond reproach and you express yourselves without swearing. I don’t want any of those scuffles you get into when you lose your tempers, nor the kind of behavior that lowers you to the rank of illiterates.

  Madame Morceau allows a pause, our eyes are on the loudspeaker.

  The big ones will help the little ones. The girls will help the boys. Always be united. Make sure to eat enough and not to make a racket that will attract the neighbors’ attention. Show nothing to the outside world that might betray your isolation. When you go to do the shopping, be the first to say hello, just as I’ve taught you. People will ask for news, you’ll have to say that everyone’s well. There’s no need to go into detail. Yes, when you go out on your minor errands you’ll always be smiling, polite, sociable, and well brought-up. Don’t let the absence you might feel show, don’t say: nobody’s watching me, don’t say: nobody’s looking after me, say simply: good day Ma’am, good-bye, thank you. Thank you very much.