Copenhagen Noir - Bo Tao Michaelis [23]
“No.”
“There hasn’t been anyone but you after Connie died.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just what I say. I haven’t had other women except you since Connie died.”
“You’re saying that you’ve been true to me?”
“Yes.”
She started to giggle. She laughed through her tears. Henry looked hurt, which only made it worse. Her laughter turned hysterical, she doubled over, unable to stop. Everything that happened had been so horrible, she’d been all alone in the world, and now here he was, talking like this. It wasn’t funny—it was absurd. Henry, with his friendly eyes and sheeplike expression, his wrinkled forehead. She threw her arms around him and kissed him on the forehead.
“Thank you, Henry. Thanks. That was beautiful, what you said. Too bad I can’t tell you the same thing.”
“No, obviously you can’t. Do you think Olek will kill you?”
“Yes.”
Friday, 9:45 a.m. Mysundegade 3, Loft, 1620 Copenhagen V
Karol: We tossed for her. Ryszard went first. I was number three, but I couldn’t. She just laid there. Over there on the mattress, on her stomach. Yeah, that’s where we sleep. She didn’t even turn over. And I just couldn’t. I asked her if she wouldn’t give me a handjob. She didn’t answer me, so I just sat down beside her. I thought about my son. His name is Krzysztof. After Krzysztof Oliwa of the New Jersey Devils. The hockey player, you know. He’s also from Tychy. It was Witold’s turn after me. He already had a hard-on and he told me to get away.
Ryszard: She just took her clothes off and then I fucked her. Her name? I don’t know. I didn’t marry her.
Witold: She was on time. Asked where she was supposed to lay down. We asked her if she wanted some salami and vodka first, but she didn’t. So then Ryszard went at it and we sat there and watched. He smacked her and yelled at her. Karol didn’t like that so he pushed him off. I turned her over when it was my turn. I like missionary best.
Jan: She wouldn’t say her name. I was sorry about that. There aren’t many Polish women up here you can talk to, you know. I asked her if she was going somewhere, but she didn’t answer. She had a big bag with her. Time? Little after two, I think. No, that picture doesn’t tell me a thing. I don’t remember her face.
Friday 2:47 a.m. Abel Cathrines Gade 5, Fifth Floor, 1654 Copenhagen V
The yellow light from the floor lamp softened Henry’s face, and suddenly she remembered her grandmother, her babushka in the mountains. They visited her in the summer and at Christmas, and she always sat in her armchair and watched TV, her big pale face, the deep wrinkles, her knitting.
They had watched High Noon, Henry’s favorite western. He said he’d seen it a thousand times and he hummed along with the title song, Do not forsake me, oh my darling, on this our wedding day … Adina had cried during the film. It was so beautiful and sad. Why didn’t he leave with Grace Kelly, why did he have to be so proud? They drank beer afterward, and Henry made sandwiches, piled high with lettuce and tartar sauce on the roast beef, onion and jellied stock on the liver paté. She lay on the sofa, she’d had enough. Vesterbro was a thousand miles away. She walked over and peeked down at the street. Kofi was still standing there, dealing. He looked purple in the yellow light.
“Do you know what I dream about?”
“No,” she mumbled.
“Moving to Australia. I’ve saved up twenty-seven thousand, and when I have forty I’m leaving. What about you?”
“I just want to get as far away as I can.”
“Australia! That’s as far away as you can get.”
“It is?”
“You don’t know where it’s at?”
“No,” she lied.
The globe stood on a low table in the bedroom. He flicked a switch on the wall, and the inside of the globe lit up. Henry got down on his knees. She knew where Australia was, why was she playing dumb?
“See, here we are.” He put a finger on the small, blurry speck that was Denmark. “And here,” he said, turning the globe without letting go of Denmark, “we have Australia. And here we have Perth.” He put a finger on the city. “You simply can’t get farther away. It’s on the other