The MisFit: The Early Years

by AB Plum

  The line of mourners had dwindled. Gluttons, they passed into the next room to sample the sumptuous array of meats and fish and cheese and breads and cold salads—and of course, the finest Russian Osetra caviar and Stolichnaya vodka. Champagne for the more urbane drinkers. The Finnish Ambassador brought up the rear. He leaned on his cane—as if to point out he was handicapped.

  Handicapped everywhere but in my mother’s bed. Another fact of which my father remained stupidly unaware. My sense of personal power throbbed in my groin.

  The ambassador shook my hand too quickly for good manners. A frigid hand. Dry. Limp. What lies had my mother told him?

  He passed by Dimitri without any attempt at civility. Dimitri shot me a look. Of the two of us, he reacted more strongly to personal insults. I nodded, acknowledging I’d registered the affront.

  “Don’t worry,” I whispered as we escaped the receiving line. “Vengeance will be sweet.”

  Chapter 13

  Life Goes On

  “Killing’s like a drug,” I told Dimitri on our first day back at classes. We’d missed the whole week after Alexei’s death, and I hated our imprisonment. “Waiting to do it again is hard.”

  “I envy you. I have about ten assholes in my class I could annihilate at any moment.”

  “Only ten?”

  We laughed, and white puffs whooshed out of our mouths as we boarded the bus to take us to school like normal students. In our seats, we continued speaking in Russian about our classmates, but still lowered our voices. Eyes and ears were everywhere.

  Discussion of how and when to kill my mother belonged in our room under the eaves.

  Returning to Krebs’ Skole unraveled my patience. My classmates’ curious looks. The whispers behind their hands. The quick sliding away of their eyes when I glared at them. No one offered sympathy about Alexei. Had none of them had a relative die? Of course, Danes prized privacy above rubies.

  When classes finally ended, I felt like a caged animal set free. Dimitri greeted me as if we’d not seen each other for a year. We dawdled toward the bus stop and arrived just as ours pulled away.

  “Well, shit,” Dimitri said.

  “Increasing your English vocabulary?” I started for a nearby pastry shop.

  “Cussing in Danish is no fun.” He fell into step next to me. “Let’s go in here and shock the blondies. Say hell no every time they point to a pastry.”

  “That’s no fun. They’re too dumb to recognize we’re swearing.” I veered off our path, down a deserted street. “I’m going to say shit tonight in front of Mor.”

  “Bullshit.” Dimitri shook his head. “She probably won’t show up for dinner. Too grief-stricken, don’t you know?”

  “Can I forget? But she’s not too miserable to see the Finnish Ambassador.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Cigarette smoke. He smokes Dunhills. They leave a spicy aroma—sweet, too.” I placed an imaginary cigarette between my lips, inhaled, then exhaled.

  “Shit. Now that you mention it, I’ve noticed that smell in the drawing room.”

  “Leaving that kind of trail proves the level of intelligence my favorite cretins show. Of course if my father ever came home anymore, he’d notice immediately.”

  “Would he divorce your mother?”

  “Or kill her—for staining his honor.” Yes, I was only eleven, but every cell in me pulsated with certainty. Women were weak. Stupid. Deceitful. They were not men’s equals.

  Never were.

  Never would be.

  “I’m bored,” Dimitri said without a segue—not surprising since he never met his mother.

  She was a worker on one of my father’s Russian farms. She died giving birth to Dimitri. Since she had no family—including a husband—my father took Dimitri as his foster son.

  One topic Dimitri and I have never discussed?

  Is he really my half-brother?

  Better him than Alexei.

  Glad I had at least one true friend, I said, “I’m bored too. Let’s do something fun. Let’s go to Hovedbanegård.”

  Chapter 14

  No Regrets

  A light snow fell as Dimitri and I walked to the train station. With our school bags and sturdy shoes, we looked like any other normal students. Only our ebony hair set us apart from our Danish classmates. As we trudged along, I realized how the snowstorm a week ago had made my mission easier. Bare-headed, I might have stood out in the crowd. As it was, no one noticed.

  “Do you see all the policemen?” Dimitri asked.

  I snorted. “Where were they last week?”

  “You think one of those monkeys will jump off the platform if someone else falls onto the track?”

  “Interesting question.”

  My heart danced as adrenaline jolted through me and brought back the memory of working my way behind Alexei. Hearing the train’s approach had sent my pulse soaring. Someone jostled my back, jerking me back to Dimitri’s side.

  I whirled to see the jostler, but no one slowed. Suddenly, I no longer wanted to pass by the scene of my brother’s accident. I wanted to repeat last week’s success. Feel my blood zing as everyone screamed, running to and fro like ducks in a panic.

  Dimitri stopped. “What’s wrong? Is this a bad idea? Do you want to go home?”

  Smiling, I shook my head. “We could give someone a little shove . . .”

  Chapter 15

  Cigarette Smoke

  Dimitri and I arrived home two hours later than usual.

  Not because we gave someone a little shove. Because we decided there weren’t enough potential shovees. One old woman, loaded down with shopping bags, caught our eye. Fortunately for her, one of the policemen approached and offered to hold her packages until the train arrived.

  We waited until the last minute, boarded the train behind her, then jumped off at the next stop when she sat down next to a younger woman. The stereotypical friendly Dane, the younger woman volunteered a helping hand when they reached their location.

  “Let’s do a little more reconnoitering,” Dimitri suggested.

  “Okay. A kid might be a better target.”

  “I like your idea of an older person. You know the Danes and how much they love kids.”

  “As long as they’re pink and blonde.” A brat with the face of an angel smiled at me as I strolled past her. Her mother—same blonde hair, same blue eyes, same pink cheeks—caught my eye, made no effort to smile at me—black hair, black eyes, no discernible Danishness despite my birth certificate.

  Jaw clenched, I worked at suppressing the impulse to knock them both over the edge of the platform. I was eleven for godsake. Why would a total stranger basically snarl at me as if I’m a monster? Why didn’t I remember ever having my own mother smother me with kisses?

  My mood spiraled downward, and I told Dimitri I wanted to go home. He followed me without protest. By the time we returned to Hovedbanegård, the snow was falling in fat, wet flakes. There was no wind, but we raced out of the train station, heading for the bus stop. We yelled as the bus pulled away without slowing. We both said ‘shit’ at the same time, then sniggered like kindergartners caught swearing. Hungry and tired from the adrenaline leaving our bodies, we boarded an alternate bus and walked half a mile to the house.

  We opened the front door, and the stench of cigarette smoke hit me like stinky cheese. I stormed into the drawing room.

  “Who the hell has been here?” I yelled at my mother, who was reclining on the sofa.

  She sat up and massaged her temples. “Why are you shouting?”

  “Why aren’t you dressed?”

  “What are you talking about?” She peered down at her filmy, silk robe as if she were wearing a nun’s habit.

  “Did you receive visitors dressed in your nightgown?”

  “Do not speak to me in that tone, Michael Romanov. In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve lost my oldest son. Any normal person would understand how hard it is to get out of bed every morning and get dr
essed.”

  “You don’t get out of bed every morning!” I kicked the small antique table in front of the sofa. “You rarely get out bed—”

  “Shall I call Herr Romanov, madame?” Ingrid pushed past Dimitri into the drawing room.

  “Thank you, Ingrid. But Michael is going to his room—before he says something he will regret.”

  I regretted nothing I’d said, but I regretted having missed The Carp. God save him, if I ever saw him at Hovedbanegård.

  Chapter 16

  Tough Love

  Dimitri tossed his books on his bed and sat on the edge to remove his wet shoes and stockings. “Want to take bets on our chances of getting any dinner tonight?”

  “Shit no.” I toed one shoe off, then worked the other one over my heel. I kicked out my foot and sent the second shoe hurtling into the nearest wall.

  “Stupid question.” Dimitri fell back on the bed. “Think she’ll tell your father?”

  “Hell no.” Pissed by his second stupid question, I stalked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. For years I’d told myself it didn’t matter that my mother hated me. Or that my father barely tolerated me. Or that my brother paid no attention to their indifference. For years I’d lied.

  The scalding water felt so good I wanted to let it wash over me all night. I flexed my biceps. Damn, I was actually developing a muscle. I ran my fingers along my chin and jawline. No stubble yet, but this time next year, thanks to my Russian genes, I’d be shaving. I touched my balls. An image flashed of the teenage girl next door. Instantly, I was hard. My hand rode my dick through the explosion I needed.

  When I finally turned off the water, I had a plan to go to bed on a full gut.

  Dimitri, waiting for his turn in the shower, listened the five minutes it took for me to explain my plan. Half an hour later, he was dressed and ready to tiptoe down the backstairs. We sneaked into the kitchen. Ingrid was sitting on her fat ass reading a magazine. A pork roast, surrounded by crispy potatoes, carrots, and onions, rested on the counter. My stomach growled so loud I was sure she’d look up. She turned the pages, and her lips moved as she read silently.

  I leaped forward and clamped a hand over her mouth. Dimitri closed the kitchen door, then removed a carving knife from the rack while I quietly explained to Ingrid what would happen if she made any noise. I pinched her breast. Hard. Hard enough tears filled her eyes.

  “That’s for asking if you could call my father,” I whispered. “Don’t ever take my mother’s side again. Do you understand?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and nodded.

  “Good. You can pick up our dirty dishes in the morning after we leave.”

  Chapter 17

  One Door Closes, Another Opens

  The next day Dimitri and I returned to Hovedbanegård. Buoyed by our success of intimidating Ingrid, I wanted to forget our letdown with the little old lady and savor revisiting the site of Alexei’s accident. That accident was the best decision in my life. Should an opportunity arise to take another such action . . .

  “Did the police take over last night while we slept?” Dimitri asked as we sidestepped disembarking passengers.

  “My father must be putting pressure on them. He probably refuses to believe Alexei would be so clumsy as to step off a train platform.”

  Dimitri smirked. “Alexei The Graceful. So graceful he never got chosen for a soccer team.”

  “His feet never touched the ground when he walked.”

  We guffawed, searching for prey like young lions. No more old ladies. An ancient man looked like a possibility, but an out-of-breath, portly matron ran up to him, put her arm across his shoulders, and apologized profusely for her lateness.

  Two for one, I telegraphed Dimitri.

  He nodded his agreement.

  We sidled forward and nearly crashed head-on with our targets. As we advanced, they turned to leave the station. Again, the woman apologized, taking full blame for not looking where she was going, taking her purse off her elbow, opening it, muttering the least she could do was buy us ice cream—in the middle of a snowstorm—for being such polite boys.

  “I noticed.” She removed a krone she rolled over her index finger. “I saw the two of you as I was fighting my way through this mob. You were watching out for my uncle. So many people discombobulated you, didn’t they, Uncle?” Without waiting for Uncle to reply, she rushed on, “It was about this time a week ago that poor young man fell on the tracks, you remember. So many people. You know another passenger pushed him. In such a hurry, never realized he’d bumped that poor, unfortunate boy. That’s what he was. A boy. Seventeen, I read. I told Uncle to be extra vigilant, so I am grateful for your concern. Tak, tak, tak.”

  By the third thank you, I was ready to shove her backwards over the edge; but she handed me the rolled bill, talking non-stop. “It’s really too cold for ice cream, but a hot chocolate will take the chill off before you board your train.”

  Shaking my head, I refused to take the money. “Your thank you is enough, ma’am.”

  “I insist.” She stuffed the krone in Dimitri’s coat pocket. “It’s not every day you see boys showing such good manners. Since the war, blah, blah, blah, blah.”

  She finally ran down, and Uncle said something unintelligible, and they started for the exit. “Enjoy your chocolate,” she called over her shoulder.

  Dimitri and I both said thank you like perfect Danish children. He pulled out the note, unfurled it, and laughed. She’d given us the equivalent of a dollar—not enough to buy a piece of bread with butter. We laughed all the way out of the station. But in between snickers and guffaws, I realized she’d given us something more valuable than money. She cemented the conclusion I’d already reached.

  Eyes were everywhere.

  Chapter 18

  A New Face

  “Oh, Min Gud!”

  “Who are you?” In the middle of our foyer, I felt my heart pounding so hard I heard it in my ears.

  “The-the new maid. Kristina. Your mother told me you’d be home from school, but I expected you earlier.” She extended a small hand. She stood about two inches taller than Dimitri and I, but her handshake crunched some of my small bones.

  “If you’re hungry, I’ve made a cake. I hope it’s the first of hundreds of cakes I make in this house.”

  Dimitri slid me a look. Cake? Ingrid never gave us the time of day.

  “Where’s Ingrid?” I asked and followed Kristina to the kitchen—always off limits to me and Dimitri.

  “She left. Family emergency. Failing mother, I believe.” Kristina pointed to the large white-washed table and opened the fridge.

  “Failing mother?” I pulled out a chair for Dimitri and took the one opposite him.

  “I didn’t know she had a mother,” he said.

  “Now, that’s not nice.” Kristina set a magnificent coconut-frosted cake in the middle of the table.

  “What’d I say?” His attempt at wide eyes and innocence made me want to howl so I turned my head to one side and coughed.

  “Not what you said, lad, it’s how you said it.”

  “Lad?” His nostrils flared. “How old are you?”

  “Old enough to know what my three older brothers taught me.” She wagged the cake knife at him. “I understand you two are quite the handful.”

  “Who says?” He raised his chin as if ready to fight.

  “My mother—”

  “Is quite the lady. I’m pretty certain she speaks the truth. But she confided she was an only child. So I understand.” Kristina cut one piece of cake, and a yellow, gooey filling stuck to the knife. She ran two fingers just above the blade, caught the filling between them, then popped her fingers in her mouth and sucked with great relish. “Two of my brothers are ten months apart. What devilment one doesn’t get into, the other one does. Your mother was too nice to say more than you two are handful. But. As I said a moment ago, it’s not what she said, but how she said it. I think you two will find you’ve met your match.�
��

  And she was right. After supper, for which my mother didn’t bother coming to the table, Kristina served us a perfectly rare roast beef with potato croquettes and golden carrots baked in butter. Dimitri and I gorged. Dessert was another piece of her coconut cake. Later that night, she brought us hot chocolate with butter cookies before we turned off the lights.

  Whatever she laced the chocolate with, I fell asleep, fully clothed, half an hour later. Sometime during the night, I rolled over and growled at Dimitri, “Stop making that noise. I can’t sleep.”

  Chapter 19

  Dreams Do Come True

  The next morning, Kristina served us the kind of breakfast Ingrid had never prepared.

  The pastries alone were enough to make us her slaves. Devouring the bread and cheese and ham, I nevertheless noticed how frequently she bumped against Dimitri. Each time he nearly choked, but once he patted her ass. She laughed as if they were sharing a secret.

  After the breakfast we inhaled, running to catch the train was out of the question. Walking slowly on the icy sidewalks was a challenge. Dimitri grinned like a buffoon. At what, I had no idea. His comment on the lack of snow brought me to a full stop.

  “What the hell’s going on?” I demanded.

  “You won’t believe me if I tell you.”

  “Depends on what you tell me. Did you send someone under the train when I wasn’t looking?”

  His laugh boomeranged off the fog.

  “I’ll take that as a no.” I resisted the urge to punch him and resumed walking toward the bus stop. “What happened to us being closer than brothers?”

  He chuckled. “Maybe I should rethink that declaration.”

  “Meaning what, asshole?”

  “Asshole?” He grabbed my arm and whirled me around to face him.

  “I thought asshole would hurt less than if I punched you in the nose.”