Milk (4 page)

 

Intercom

 

J
ess
wakes up because Maria is talking in her sleep.

—Yeah, she says, followed by a stream of words he doesn't catch. He watches her turn on her side and then on her stomach. Now she clutches the pillow, her black hair matted and spread across the white pillow cover. Jess observes her in the dark. He can just make out her lips, which sleep has made big and soft. She swallows, and makes a barely audible lip-smack.

—Oh, Markus, she mumbles.

Jess drops his head on the pillow. Soon he throws off the duvet and sets his feet on the cold floor. He goes into the living room and sits in the green chair. Then he stands and goes into the kitchen. Maria's purse rests on the table. He unclasps it and carefully removes its contents. He opens her date book, skims a few months back, and finally examines her list of telephone numbers. He studies a little compact with mirror and powder. He unfolds wrinkled-up papers and presses them flat, telephone messages, receipts, and a napkin with an impression of her lips. Then he puts it all back in the purse and goes into the living room and sits in the green chair.

Jess remains seated for an hour. When he's ice cold he crawls back into bed.

Next morning he gets up before Maria and goes to work.

 

J
ess spends the morning at his office. He moves the stack of papers around and starts over on the same letter three times. At 9:30 he sees an older woman waving a yellow cloth from a window in the building across the street. A little while later, in the neighboring apartment, the curtains part to reveal a young woman talking on the telephone; when she opens the window and leans out, the light dazzles Jess for a moment. Still talking, the woman glances down at the street. In the apartment on her left, the older woman vacuums. At 1 p.m. Jess calls the switchboard and tells them he's sick.

When he steps out on the street, he notices that it's still cold, even though it's the middle of the day. It's early spring; the light is sharp but brings with it no warmth. Two glaziers balance a shop window, and Jess stops to watch. He stands there until he's emptied of feeling, completely overwhelmed by the light, and then he goes on.

Jess walks into a café and finds a table by the window; the waiter walks past with a clinking tray filled with glasses, and Jess orders a beer. Two girls sit at his right; one has short, dark hair and gentle eyes; the other is blond, with sharp eyes. The blond girl has a little silver heart around her throat and leans over, confiding in her friend in a hushed voice. Jess opens the newspaper that's on the table. The waiter serves his beer with a prissy smile, and Jess reads and drinks. Then he stares out at the square. He gazes at the bare benches and at a few transparent plastic bags lazily swept up in the wind; he watches as they're emptied and filled with air and shot through with sunlight.

Jess finds a shiny twenty-kroner coin in his wallet and puts it on the table. When he opens the door, he turns and casts a final glance at the two girls. The dark-haired one sits listening patiently, the back of her hand under her chin, while the blond leans so far across the table the little silver heart almost touches the surface.

Not long after that, Jess is standing in front of his apartment building. The intercom is broken; he can hear it scratching and crackling in the speaker. He puts his key in the door, but pulls it out again. He puts his finger on the white button instead.

—Yes? Maria answers a moment later.

Jess presses his scarf to his mouth.

—It's Markus.

—Who is it?

Jess leans closer to the microphone.

—Markus.

The lock buzzes, and he pushes the door open with his foot.

On his way up he meets his downstairs neighbor.

—Hello, Jess, he says as he passes.

—Hello, Anders, Jess says and squeezes his keys hard.

When he finally reaches the third floor, the door to his apartment is ajar. Jess pushes it open and sees Maria in the kitchen; she turns and smiles.

—Hey, baby.

Jess notices that she's wearing a new shirt.

It's a little small, and he can see a strip of her belly. She comes to him, plants a quick kiss on his lips.

—There's something wrong with the intercom. I couldn't hear anything.

Jess studies Maria for a long moment. Then he hangs his scarf and his jacket in the entryway, walks into the living room, and sits at the long table. Maria follows him.

—Have you had a good day?

—Yes, thanks.

—Would you like coffee?

—Sure, why not?

Maria goes into the kitchen and puts on the water and returns quickly. She sets two cups on the table along with a little glass pitcher of milk. Then she gets behind him and runs her fingers through his short, bristly hair.

—I didn't hear you leave this morning. How did you manage not to wake me?

He raises his shoulders and lets them fall.

—You were sleeping soundly.

—I was in fact. It felt great to sleep in.

Maria's hands continue down to his chest and pry a button on his shirt, and one hand slips underneath. Jess can feel her belly against the back of his head. Then she bends forward and he can feel her breasts. She nips softly at his ear.

—Maybe we should hold off on the coffee for a little while? she says.

—Maybe we should, he says.

 

 

Rose

 

W
e
lay in our beds counting the miles. Lightning flashed and I could see Morten against the far wall. I saw his lips moving and could tell he was counting to himself. Before anything happened, lightning flashed twice. Then came thunder, a whole series, gradually drawing closer, and then an abundance of lightning and the rain drummed against the roof. Morten's voice sounded weak:

—There are too many. I can't tell which thunder goes with which lightning.

I could hear in his voice that he was about to cry, and I thought he might start asking a lot of questions. Like where Mom was, almost a week had gone by now, and why didn't Dad come home, and Grandpa—who was supposed to look after us while Grandma was out searching—where was he?

—Can I lie next to you? he asked.

Through another bolt of lightning I saw his pale face and took pity on him.

—Okay, I said.

Then he crawled out of his bed and into mine. He lay close to me, motionless and quiet.

Not long after, he fell asleep.

 

W
e didn't see Grandpa until late morning the next day. We were sitting at the kitchen table eating toasted cheese sandwiches when a blue Rover pulled into the driveway. It was the second Rover this week. Two nights earlier he'd driven a red one. A moment later he stood in the door.

—Why aren't you two in school?

His cream-colored suit was wrinkled, and what was left of his hair formed a wooly halo atop his head.

—We don't have any milk money, I said.

—Where have you been? Morten asked him.

Grandpa pawed through his jacket and found two ten kroner coins, which he handed to us.

—Now get going, he said.

I could tell that Morten was about to ask again, so I elbowed him.

—Come on, I said.

 

T
he teacher smiled wearily and a little sadly at us as we snuck into the classroom and slid into our seats in the back. As soon as we sat down I saw Rose turn her fresh pink cheeks and look at Morten, who stared at his desk, embarrassed.

For some reason, we were spared that day. Every now and then the teacher glanced at us, but passed us over and made others read aloud and calculate math problems on the chalkboard. As usual, Morten wrote letters to Rose. He never dared give them to her; he was never quite satisfied and crumpled them up one after the other as he wrote new letters, which would also end up in his bag.
Sweet flower, my Rose, prettier than anyone
. That's how all the letters began. I sat staring at her long hair and felt warm all over.

We got to go home early, but we stayed to see if anything fun would happen. Tommy told a story about his cousin, who'd gotten a pair of pointy-toed cowboy boots with iron tips. He had worn them on the first day of school, and had booted one of the small kids right in the ass so hard that the little muscle that sits up there popped and the boy's intestines had fallen out.

Instead of riding home, we went into town. At the grocery store we each bought a water pistol with Grandpa's money. Afterwards we rode past Rose's. A whole row of girls' bikes was lined up outside, but there was no one in the yard or behind the windows in the big house. For a while we stood leaning against the picket fence. Suddenly the curtain was thrust back, and fat Lilly's face appeared. I gave her the finger, and she disappeared, but immediately the curtain was pushed back and a line of new faces appeared. Rose wasn't there, I made faces at them and waited for her to show up. I peered down the street, first toward the train tracks and then toward the grocery store. When the coast was clear, I yanked down my pants. I pulled out my dick and stuck it in between the white slats. The curtain wavered, and more faces appeared, all watching me pee with my arms folded over the fence, my dick jammed between the slats. When I was done, I pulled my pants back up and drifted over to my bike.

Morten had already ridden off. He kept a few hundred feet ahead all the way home and wouldn't stop, even when I yelled at him.

 

W
hen I got home, his bike lay in the driveway.

Grandpa sat in the kitchen eating a toasted cheese sandwich and drinking one of Dad's beers. He wore the same cream suit and didn't look any better than he had in the morning. Five or six empty bottles were arranged next to one of the table legs, and beside another, five or six unopened bottles.

—There are more in the freezer.

He took a bite with his all too white teeth and nodded at the fridge; the door was ajar. I wasn't hungry so I went upstairs to see if Morten was up there reading his comic books; that's what he normally did after school. It was none of my business, but for whatever reason I couldn't let him be. Maybe it was because of Rose, maybe it was because he was my brother, or maybe it was because of what happened—or what
didn't
happen. All we were doing was waiting. Morten wasn't in his room, so I went downstairs again.

The blue Rover was in the driveway. All the doors were locked, but the right front window was not rolled all the way up. I put my hand then my whole arm inside and down to the door lock. The radio was one of those kinds that could be turned on without the key, so I sat for a while listening to the radio and forgot all about Morten. It was late in the summer, and there were stubbly fields in every direction. In other years Dad had allowed us to drive down to the bog and back. The first years he'd helped us with the gears, but after a while we did it ourselves.

I snuck from the car and went into the kitchen. Grandpa sat still on his chair draining beers, which he picked up from one table leg and set down at the other. The keys lay on the table between us.

—Where's Morten? he asked. Didn't you come home from school together?

—He's sitting in the car, I said.

Grandpa stood, a little shakily, but he stood.

When he'd gone out the door, I grabbed the keys and followed slowly behind. We met halfway.

—I don't want you two messing with my car, he said.

Then he disappeared inside the house again.

 

M
orten fanned his arms wildly as I drove across the yard. I stopped the car and picked him up.

—Did he let you drive it?

—Yeah, I said.

We continued down through the yard and into the field. We had just come out onto the stubble when I caught sight of the neighbor's dog. It was sniffing around on our side of the property line. It had once bitten Morten, so I turned sharply to the right and started after it. At first it stood staring at us dumbly, but then it took off running along the dirt road on the other side of the property line. Morten said something or other as I continued into the neighbor's field, but I ignored it. The dog was right in front of us, with its tongue wagging from its chops, bolting away, sometimes to the right, sometimes to the left of us. I jerked the steering wheel from side to side; it was not something you did unless you had such a dog in front of you. We had reached a good way across the field, so far that nobody could've seen us from home. That's when I looked at Morten. He opened his eyes wide and covered his face in his hands. I looked ahead and saw the creek. I heard Morten shout something I couldn't make out, and I could tell from the steering how the front wheels had lost contact with the ground. Suddenly we hung suspended in air, floating, but only for a moment. Then we landed on the other side of the creek. I caught the wheel in my gut, but Morten braced himself against the dashboard, so nothing happened to him. The front of the Rover didn't look so pretty, but the motor still ran.

The dog hadn't made the jump across the creek, and now it strutted on the other side, big and dumb and aggressive. We sat for a while catching our breath.

—What do you think Grandpa's gonna say? Morten asked.

I shrugged my shoulders and put the car in gear. We rolled through the grass until we found the road.

 

O
n the main road we turned right, driving away from town. We were going at a good speed when we reached the driveway to the disused gravel pit. I hit the brake, but the car braked funny and went off course. I got the car stopped and backed thirty feet; then we drove down into the pit.

We made a few passes down there, but we didn't see Tommy or Tommy's brother or anyone else.

—Tommy's full of shit, Morten said.

Tommy had told us how his big brother from 10
th
grade and two of his friends and three girls sometimes went out to the gravel pit. Tommy had snuck down there once and seen his brother's white ass on top of one of the girls.

—Just because they're not here now doesn't mean they weren't here, I said.

—I don't believe him, Morten said, especially that one about the cowboy boots.

We drove up to the main road and again away from town.

 

W
e had driven for about fifteen minutes when we spotted Dad's car rounding a curve and heading toward us. Morten ducked and I leaned on the brake. The car jerked to the side, but Dad was already far beyond us.

—Did you see if Mom was with him?

I shook my head.

I turned the Rover around and followed slowly behind. When we got to town, Dad's car was parked at the grocery store. Mom sat in the car, but she didn't see us. Morten shouted,

—Stop, damn it! Mom's with him.

I kept driving. Morten punched my shoulder, but I didn't stop. Then he sank back in his seat and fell silent, and that's how he sat the rest of the way home. We cruised into the driveway, and everything looked calm. I parked the car exactly where it had been parked, then we got out and stood there uncertainly, not knowing if we should go in. Morten went first. Grandpa wasn't in the kitchen. Empty bottles crowded one table leg, and on the table there was an opened newspaper and half-eaten toast. We found him sleeping on the couch in the living room. At that same instant we heard Dad's car crunching on the gravel. Maybe it was because of the Rover, but Morten wasn't eager to go outside and greet them. We stood reluctantly in the doorway as they came inside. Dad held Mom's suitcase, and Mom carried the bag of groceries. She looked tired. First she hugged Morten, then me.

—Aren't you glad to see your mother again?

—Where have you been? Morten asked.

Her eyes flickered.

—Now we'll see how well you've looked after the house while I was away. Where is your grandfather? Grandma went home. She's waiting for him.

When he saw all the bottles in the kitchen, Dad cursed. Then he went in and woke up Grandpa. As Grandpa went out and saw the Rover, he pointed at Morten and said that he'd made a mess of it. Dad told him he must've done it himself while he was drunk.

After dinner we watched television, and it was good to see that everything was as it used to be. We were allowed to stay up longer and watch a movie, but at 11:00 Dad said it was time for us to go to bed.

At first we could hear them shouting at each other. But then it grew quiet. We lay in the dark along each wall.

—Morten, I whispered.

He didn't respond.

—Are you asleep?

Then I heard him crying; it was hollow and dry, as if he was trying to hide it. For a while I just lay there, waiting.

—I'm not interested in Rose, I said. If you want her, she's yours.

He kept going. It sounded like he could neither cry nor quit. I climbed from the bed and crawled over to him. When I lay down I got his elbow in my stomach. I caught my breath, then crawled back to my own bed.