And then came that Wednesday.
He hadn’t slept that night, he’d been fiddling about with various songs and taken tons of amphetamines because he was worried you might surprise him in his sleep. In the morning he stood in your room and just looked at you. You woke up with a start as he lay down next to you. You had swapped roles, he couldn’t live without you anymore, however much he resisted, he couldn’t. He said it. He said: I’m giving up. Now he was you, and he wanted you to hold him. You held him until he had fallen asleep, then you got up and showered. Something was wrong, your triumph had a stale aftertaste, something was definitely wrong.
When you came back out of the bathroom, he wasn’t in your bed anymore. You were relieved. It was like waking from a dream. Then you heard him downstairs on the telephone. His voice sounded as if he might burst out laughing at any moment. You crouched on the stairs and listened.
“Maybe a week, maybe longer. A holiday will do me good. Diana’s always wanted to go to the Côte d’Azur. No, without Taja. What did you think? She’ll manage, you know what kids are like.”
He hung up, and you went downstairs. He was standing in the kitchen drinking orange juice. You were so furious, so incredibly furious, and you wanted to know what he was up to. He laughed.
“Didn’t I tell you about it?”
He was messing with you and he didn’t even hide it. It was as if his helplessness had been wiped away, he was in control of you again. A cool, detached indifference was looking at you. Your father said, “We need a break.”
“I don’t need a break.”
“Too bad.”
And then he gave that laugh again.
He walked past you into the living room and slumped on the sofa. He put his feet up, picked up the remote control, and zapped through the channels. Whatever had given him back his sense of balance, it sent you back to the start. You couldn’t get past Go, no one gave you a get-out-of-jail card, it was wrong, even your voice sounded pitiful.
“You can’t leave me alone here.”
You were his daughter again, and you needed him. He sat up and rolled a joint, didn’t look at you, lit it and took a drag, sighed, still not looking at you, and then said, “You’re a big girl. Invite your girlfriends. Have a party.”
“Oskar, you can’t just run away from me.”
“Don’t call me Oskar.”
“That’s your name.”
At last he looked at you.
“You’re a slut. Just like your mother. Do you know that?”
You thought you’d misheard. He could disrespect you as much as he liked, but he couldn’t talk like that about your mother.
“Mom wasn’t a slut.”
“She was unfaithful, so she was a slut.”
“She was what?”
“Do you think I’m such a shitty driver that I’d just lose control like that and drive into the ditch? Your mother broke her fucking neck because she wanted to leave me. You get that? She wanted to leave me and you. God punished her for it. If there is a God, he did a good job.”
“What are you talking about?”
“She was a slut, Taja. Get that into your head. It’s all you need to know. It’s in your blood too.”
“You’re lying, you’re a fucking liar!”
“Believe what you will. I should have seen it coming from the start. Your mother always did what she wanted.”
“At least she didn’t let her father fuck her.”
He fell silent and stared at the television, his eyes wide. He’d stopped breathing and you were satisfied because you’d hit the bull’s-eye, he wanted to hide it from you, his voice sounded dull:
“You’re no better than your mother, just get out of here, I can’t look at you anymore.”
So you got out, you disappeared deep into yourself and walked round the table and stood in front of him so that he couldn’t see the television. He didn’t dare look up, his eyes were focused on your crotch, because your crotch was level with his eyes. No thoughts of sex now, nothing at all. You spread your legs and sat down on his thigh.
“Shit, go away.”
He didn’t really resist, his hands found your hips, but he was weak, he was stoned and exhausted and couldn’t get you off him.
“Taja, what the hell’s going on? Piss off!”
You took one of the cushions and pressed it down on his face. You wanted to scare him, you wanted him to be really terrified and understand how bad it all was for you. He immediately lost it and started flailing his arms at you. It was ridiculous. You’d fought stronger girls. He tried to press his hands against your belly, he tried to push you away. Then you got really furious. What was he doing? You were just trying to scare him, why was he freaking out? His right fist struck your face, the remote control scratched your forehead open. It hurt, blood flowed into your eye, it hurt like hell. You yelled at him to calm down.
“CALM DOWN, DAMN IT!”
Not a chance, he was pure panic, rearing up against you. So you lay down on the cushion with all your weight. You knew you didn’t deserve this, not the panic, not the blows, not all this damned unfairness. You’d done so much for him, you’d even had your hair cut, and you were always there for him, you gave him your love and he dumped you, just like one of his many women.
And he wanted to go to fucking France.
Without you.
In the end his leg twitched once more, then he sat still, head thrown back, no panic now, just calm. But you couldn’t ease the pressure, the switch had broken, you couldn’t just let go, and you kept the cushion pressed on his face, minute after minute. Eventually your body gave up and you collapsed exhausted over your father, and leaned your forehead against his. There was only the cushion between you.
For a whole day. For a whole day you didn’t take the cushion away. You looked at your father, you stalked through the house like a cat and took the batteries out of his phones. Silence was important. You drank everything you could find in the bar, and looked at him sitting there with the cushion on his face.
On the second day you took the cushion away. He was so peaceful. You sat your father up, his eyes were open, you didn’t want him to stare at the ceiling. You looked into his eyes and it felt as if he could see you, as if he could understand you. You didn’t want to close his eyes. It meant bringing it all to an end, really parting. You didn’t want it to come to an end. Your father sat on the sofa as he always did, with the remote in his hand. Only his eyes stared absently past you.
On the third day you took the drugs from the metal case. They made the situation bearable, but soon they led to the fact that you couldn’t bear the sight of your father any longer.
After you’d dragged him to the cellar, a century went by in slow motion. You lived on sleep and heroin, the sofa was your ship, the days’ light playing on the walls. And that was how your girls found you.
They were shocked and sympathetic, and even though you’d sworn to tell them everything, in the end you just couldn’t. They would have hated you, they would never have been the way they’d always been with you. No admiration, no love, nothing.
They’d have called you fatherfucker, and you couldn’t risk that.
The lies spilled from your lips like new truths. And so you won your girls over. You were the victim, they wanted to save you, you allowed yourself to be saved and made a new reality for yourself.
Stink went along perfectly. You knew the buttons you had to press, you predicted her reactions. That was why you showed her the drugs in your father’s hiding place. You wanted to disappear with your girls, but on no account could it look like your plan. It would have been too striking, it would have been wrong. You goal was your dream, your goal was Ulvtannen. You were sure that if you could start all over again far, far away from Berlin, everyone would forget you, and then your soul would have a chance of a new beginning and everything would be forgiven. You wouldn’t lose each other after school, and you’d be able to stay together. Every cloud has a silver lining. You
and your girls. There wasn’t really anything to keep you in Berlin. Somewhere in Oslo or Bergen you’d be bound to find a dealer who would pay good money for your uncle’s drugs. If Darian could do it as a matter of course in the clubs, you were bound to pick it up without much trouble. And then there was the beach hotel that you could live in. It belonged to the family, and you were family. You firmly believed that Norway would welcome you with open arms. And if the money ran out, you’d get a job at the power station. Like your father, like your mother. You wanted to grow vegetables and become a real Norwegian. And you were sure your girls would love it. You’d always have a full house, you’d be inseparable and that would be your new life.
You wanted so much.
Your first mistake was not telling your girls who the drugs belonged to. Your second mistake was that you thought you knew what made Stink tick. How could you have been so stupid? Stink is unpredictable. She took the drugs and offered them to your cousin. You’d never have seen that one coming. Never. The worse the situation got, the tighter you clung to your lie. And you lost Ruth.
It really isn’t a heroic moment for you. You lied to us. To protect your own dark soul, you sullied our souls. And we believed you, naïve as we are—we fell for the lie about the phone call from Norway, we swallowed the argument with your father, the idea that your grandmother had died and left the hotel to you, and also that your father was a vile liar who hid your mother from you fourteen years before—we swallowed all that, because you’re sixteen and sweet and you were in need of help, who wouldn’t have fallen for that? You could have done that to us, we are standing here on the sidelines, it would have been okay, but lying to your girls, making them believe that your mother was still alive, who knows if they’ll ever forgive you that.
But you did give us one truth. It really was your sense of guilt that drove you to drugs. You couldn’t sleep, you were eaten away inside by guilt and looked for an emergency exit. Your guilt was and is genuine. Your father was never supposed to die. You’re sorry. You know you can’t take it back. It’s the only truth you gave us.
You tell your girls every single detail because you hope they’ll understand. During those minutes your uncle stops existing. There’s just you and your girls. After the last sentence silence falls, a genuine silence. Your uncle lowers the gun and lets you go. Then Stink steps forward. Of course it would have to be Stink. The warrior is there. You fear her judgment most of all. Her judgment. Her fury. She steps forward and hits you. With the flat of her hand, right across the face. Once. Then once again. And you don’t turn your face away. Your sweet Stink, with tears in her eyes, your beloved Stink, whom you have betrayed. When she raises her hand for the third time, your girls hold her back. Stink scolds and curses.
“And what about Ruth, you piece of shit? Just because you couldn’t keep your panties on, Ruth had to die!”
She struggles to break free.
“Damn it, let go of me, she lied to us, I’m going to kill the bitch, let go of me, damn it.”
“Let her go,” says your uncle and puts his gun away. “She has a right to be furious.”
Schnappi and Nessi reluctantly let go of Stink. Your eyes meet. You’re not going to defend yourself, whatever happens, Stink can do what she wants with you. For Ruth, for all the shit you’ve come out with.
Stink walks past you to the rubbish heap and picks up a pipe the length of her arm. She holds it like a sword, utters a growl, and runs toward you. You weren’t expecting this. You have no time to react. You stand there helplessly and keep your eyes shut tight.
That’s it.
Your arms are heavy, your muscles dead, your blood boils and your eyes hurt as your brain tries to understand what’s going on here.
Taja did what?
You try to understand it, but there’s nothing to understand, however you twist and turn it. And then Stink starts laying into Taja, one slap, then another, and the other girls intervene and hold Stink back and your father says, “Let her go. She has a right to be furious.”
Your father’s wrong. It’s your job to be furious. Yours alone. How could she do it? You want to step in, you want to say you’re the one who should be beating your psychopathic cousin. Without her you wouldn’t be here. She’s destroyed everything, she’s destroyed the fairy tale of Ulvtannen. Before you can say a word, Stink grabs a pipe and runs at Taja.
That’s it, you think.
You can see your father’s pleased, he doesn’t have to get his hands dirty, Stink’s doing it for him. He looks at you, standing there helplessly with the gun in your hand, unable to make sense of the world. Your father did his homework, he knew all along and he didn’t warn you. That’s why you never got to see the camera recordings. He didn’t want to give it away. Not even to Tanner. And now he’s smiling at you contentedly. That’s how you do it, son, his face says to you.
You miserable fucker, you think as Stink runs past Taja and brings the pipe crashing down against your father’s temple. He crashes to the ground, and you stand there and simply can’t process any of this anymore.
What …
Your arms sink down, a dull groan leaves your mouth. The girls look at you in horror, as if they don’t know what’s just happened here either. Stink stands beside your father, there’s blood on the end of the pipe, she too looks at you and looks at you, then she drops the pipe, turns around, and yells to her girls, “RUN!”
They run to the hotel. You have their backs right in front of you, you have the gun in your hand and you raise your arms, you support the gun and hold it still. Nessi brings up the rear, pushing Schnappi in front of her. Taja’s right behind Stink. Red and black and blond hair. Your finger is on the trigger, their footsteps are barely audible on the ground, it’s only when they reach the paved area in front of the hotel entrance that a hectic rhythm rings out from under their feet and this noise releases you from your frozen posture. You breathe in and hold the air in your lungs. There’s ice under your feet again, and the sky is over your head and you know, If I hesitate now it’s over. That’s what the rules are, so don’t think, don’t even think about hesitating.
It feels as if you’re moving under water, with those tenacious strokes that you always hated because they hardly got you anywhere. Swimming is not your passion, it’s something for retirees with back pains, or people who like secretly peeing in the water. Yesterday you were a rocket, today a butterfly with a suitcase could overtake you. Even though it feels as if you aren’t getting anywhere, surprisingly you aren’t bringing up the rear, which certainly isn’t due to your fabulously long legs. Nessi pushes you onwards. Her hand is on the small of your back, but it isn’t getting you any closer to the hotel.
“Run, Schnappi! Shit, keep running!”
She pushes, you stumble and nearly fall, and then time takes pity on you and your legs are your legs again and everything goes incredibly quickly from then on. Stink disappears into the house, and when Taja tries to get through the rickety double door, you hear the first shot ring out. All of a sudden your back is hot and wet and you stop abruptly, you nearly fall headlong.
Then the second, then the third shot.
You turn around.
Nessi isn’t behind you now, there’s no one behind you. You look at the ground. And there lies Nessi, her left shoulder is nothing but shredded flesh, you see the shimmer of bone, the blood pumps and pumps and forms a pool around Nessi. You can’t take your eyes off that white shimmer, and feel the warmth on your back and something running down your arm. You don’t want to look, but you look and there’s a scrap of skin on your upper arm, right where the sleeve of your T-shirt stops.
You look up. Darian is still aiming the gun at you, and you know that’s it. The fucker’s going to blow my head off now, and I’m just standing there and there’s nothing I can do, and what sort of a stupid ending is that? Darian pulls the trigger, the shot crashes through your stomach with searing heat, and Nessi says, “Everything okay?”
You blink, you’re s
tanding in the hotel lobby and it’s hazy, the air around you glitters with the dust particles that you’ve swirled up with your feet. You look down at her, a sunbeam has pierced your stomach and is warming it up. Stink shuts the other half of the double door with a bang, the sun is closed out, she comes over to you and wants to know if you’ve seen a ghost or what. You grab Nessi by the shoulders and turn her around.
“What’s up with you?” asks Nessi.
You hug her, press her to you.
“Honey, what’s up?”
“Stop chatting, you two,” says Stink. “The bastard almost got us. We can’t stand around here waiting for the next bus. Perhaps there’s a rear exit.”
“No.”
You turn round. Taja is sitting at the foot of a sweeping staircase that leads to the second floor and looks as if someone’s been working at it with a jackhammer. Taja has put her arms around herself as if it’s incredibly cold in here, she’s rocking gently back and forth.
“The house is built right on the cliff,” she says. “There’s no rear exit.”
You stare at her, your blank is forgotten, now you can just see Taja, pale and miserable, rocking back and forth, and for that moment even Darian and his father are forgotten. You want to ask her to stop rocking like that. It’s weird, as if Taja’s inner balance is broken. Nessi asks the question that’s troubling all of you.
“But why, Taja?”
And she doesn’t mean Taja’s father and what happened between you. You don’t care about that, if you’re honest; it’s Taja’s business.
“I thought we’d start over,” she replies. “I thought it would be okay.”
You could give her encouragement now, and say that everything is forgiven and you’ll be able to have a new start. You could, but you don’t, because it would be a lie. The wounds are too fresh. You feel the tension rising. Stink might tear into Taja again at any moment. Do something.
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