We, the Drowned - Carsten Jensen [33]
"Eurk!" we shrieked in unison, and ran on, our excitement mounting. Down the first slope and up the next we ran, then along a field boundary and up the hillside. The cliff edge, with its dizzying drop to 6/ the beach below and the sea stretching in every direction, had always entranced us. As we stood there, gazing out at the water, it seemed that a great mystery lay before us: the mystery of our own lives, spread before our eyes. No matter how often we came here, it was a sight that always rendered us speechless.
The drop wasn't sheer everywhere. The cliff face was steep, but there were ledges where western marsh orchids, yarrow, and golden buttons grew in the rich clay soil. You could hurl yourself off the edge and into the void, and land just a few meters below. You couldn't walk down the cliff, but you could conquer it ledge by ledge if you descended with care. Not always without injury—but then, cliff climbing was all about putting yourself in mortal danger.
We reached the edge and surveyed the Baltic. Hans Jørgen was still carrying Karo, who yelped again. He probably thought we wanted to show him the whole wide world. We hadn't agreed on a plan. There was no need to. We all knew what was going to happen.
Hans Jørgen gripped Karo's front paws and began swinging him to and fro. Karo, in pain, tried to snap at him, but his thick neck was too short. He bared his tiny teeth and bit at the air, half whining, half growling, his hind legs flailing as if grappling for a foothold.
"Snaily, Snaily, show us your horn!" Hans Jørgen shouted, and we joined in.
"Here we come to buy your corn!"
Then he let go. Karo sailed up toward the overcast autumn sky, making a wide arc as he plummeted toward the stones on the beach far down below, his fat torso twisting and turning in midair. How funny he looked! We jostled right up to the edge so we could see him slam into the beach. At first he just lay motionless and silent, on his side, but then a sort of whine started up: the groan of someone losing strength. He twisted laboriously until he lay on his belly. Then he tried to stand up, but couldn't. His hindquarters wouldn't budge, although his front legs kept clawing. He tried again and again, and all the time we could hear him. His cries sounded more like a child's than an animal's, a haunting, frail, yet penetrating sound.
Our triumph died instantly within us.
We didn't look at one another as we climbed down the hillside separately. Suddenly, we weren't a group anymore. Most of us wanted to turn around, run home, and forget all about Karo. But Hans Jørgen led the way and we followed, stumbling. Little Anders lost his footing and rolled down several meters before hitting a rock, then scrambled to his feet, crying. We were battered and bruised by the time we gathered's around Karo, who was still whimpering in this scary way we couldn't bear to listen to.
He gazed up at us and licked his nose with his tiny pink tongue. At that moment he almost looked happy, as if unaware that we were the cause of his plight, and was simply waiting for us to make everything all right again. His tail wasn't wagging, but that was only because his back was broken.
We gathered around him in a circle. None of us felt like kicking him now. He looked so innocent. He hadn't done anything wrong, and now there he lay, whining, with his spine snapped.
Albert squatted beside him and started stroking his head.
"There, there." He comforted the dog, and suddenly we all wanted to cuddle Karo.
If only he'd started wagging his stubby tail at this moment. But he didn't, and he never would again. We knew that.
Swiftly, Hans Jørgen moved across to Albert.
"Stop it," he said, grabbing hold of Albert's arm to pull him away.
Albert got to his feet and faced him. Hans Jørgen was still holding on to him. He was the biggest of us and the most fair-minded. He was the one who bravely stood up to Isager when he paced up and down the classroom with the thrashing rope. He always defended the youngest children.