Petersburg, Antietam, Chancellorsville

"It was not well to drive men into final corners; at these moments they could all develop teeth and claws."    Stephen Crane, The Red Badge of Courage 

As a boy he had been afraid of the dark. When his mother sent him out to get more firewood he ran across the yard on stumble feet.  Some nights he couldn’t fall asleep until the grey morning arrived. War vanquishes your childhood fears; there is no room for them in war. No real room for any feelings. You wait, you kill, you starve, you scream and then you wait again.

Last night had been cold, nail cracking cold but he had been lucky to find a barn filled with hay. He slept surrounded by summer scent. In the night he dreamt of Elizabeth. She stood before him in her blue dress, her red hair luminous in the sun and bare feet.  “Marcus, my love,” she whispered into his ear. He put his hands around her waist. Followed the curve of her hip, put his mouth on her neck and she craned her neck to give space for his lips. She smelled of vanilla, blood and the Earth herself.  Her strong, willful hands were in his hair. He laid her down on the soft green grass under the oak tree dome.  A blackbird sang somewhere and she lifted her hips to meet him.

In the beginning he often dreamt of her but the dreams had disappeared and eventually he didn’t dream at all. Sleep turned scarce in the same way as food.  If you got any you ravished it too fast to enjoy. But as he had gotten closer to home the dreams had come back. And when the dreams came back his longing woke. His longing pushed him to walk harder for every day.

“Get out of the way old Dan Tucker. You’re too late to git your supper.”  He had hoped to be home by Christmas but that wish had drowned in a hard, long fall rain a couple of weeks ago. The roads had been flooded, mudslides and washed out bridges had forced him to stay put in a town for a week. But now he was close, the campfire song keeping him company.  “Supper’s gone and dinner cookin’. Old Dan Tucker’s just standin’ there lookin’. “

Darkness would soon fill in the spare gaps between the trees. The moon and the new fallen snow would help him along the way. Help him find his way home again. Four years is a long time in any man’s life. Four years at war is longer than anyone can imagine. Four  years when you can’t watch your children grow, four years when you can’t hold your woman, four years when the days are thousand hours each.

The creek was there faster than he remembered, someone had cleared the bushes away so he could see the field where the sun was about to set.  He stopped for a moment and looked at the black water moving in between the snow covered banks. On a spring day twelve years ago he had come walking on the same trail, on his way to his first teaching position.  A girl sat by the creek and washed her muddy feet. As she scrubbed them she muttered something angry. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair unruly. Marcus stood quietly on the trail and watched her. When she stood up and saw him, her blue eyes flashed with fury. “And what are you staring at?” she asked as she wiped her hands on her dress. “Do you need help with something?” he asked.  She huffed as she climbed up the bank. “Have you seen a mare? Black with a white star.” He shook his head. “The stupid horse threw me off.”

As he helped her search for the boisterous mare they talked. About how he would teach her younger sisters in school. That both of them loved Edgar Allan Poe and “The Sketch Book”. She grabbed hold of his arm, dug her nails into his skin and lowered her voice. “We have our own monster. Some say it is a bear. Some say it is a gigantic wolf. Others say it is a man who transforms when the moon is full.” Her burning voice and the hard grip around his arm made him shiver.  “We don’t walk in the woods in the dark. Do you understand?” He nodded and she put her head to the side and looked at him intently. “Your eyes are an impressive shade of brown,” she said and smiled.

A year later they married and when he laid her down in their bed in the small house he was renting he thought about his father’s voice. “Marcus, what is the most important thing about being a man?” His father sat in front of him after he had hit his younger sister. “Being kind and gentle,” Marcus had said and hung his head. Their first child was born a year later and then another boy two years after the first.

The war started and he was spared, he was a teacher, he was a father, he was needed where he was. Justice and fairness were things he had always believed in and eventually he signed up himself. Elizabeth punched him in the chest when he told her. She was pregnant for the third time and had just started to show. “No,” she yelled. “No! No!” Slowly, deliberately, carefully he explained to her.  She punched him again when he stopped speaking. Then she walked out the door into the summer afternoon. He sat on the porch with their boys playing at his feet and waited for her to come back. As the summer sun hung low in the sky and their youngest had fallen asleep in his lap, she came back. He could tell she had been crying.  She grabbed hold of his arm, dug her nails into his skin and lowered her voice.  “I will never forgive you if you don’t come back.”

Now the winter sun was a faint glow behind the tall spruces, the shadows grew and darkness came. For a few moments the dark was opaque. Then the moon rose and the forest turned to silver. The snow crunched under his feet as he rushed down the trail. Suddenly he heard something behind him or were his ears playing tricks on him? He stopped and listened. Something moved in the woods. Something heavy. Branches snapped under ungentle feet. “We don’t walk in the woods in the dark.” Elizabeth’s voice was as clear and close as it had been twelve years ago.

He saw a movement in the moonlight. A black, hunched over shape against the luminous snow. He was so near home. If he closed his eyes he could see the house. Smell Elizabeth’s hair. Hear the boys’ voices. He had never even seen his daughter. And now she was four years old. Red haired like her mother with his brown eyes.

The shape rose and grew taller. Tilted its head backwards and wailed towards the moon. Marcus started to walk. “I will pretend you don’t exist. I will walk here and pretend I didn’t see you. I will go home now.” He tried to proceed in a leisurely way but suddenly his feet got heavy and he stumbled. He heard the creature behind him but he kept moving. “I will pretend you don’t exist.” The sound grew louder; he walked faster and faster until he was running.

He passed the blackberry bushes; his heart was pounding so hard now he didn’t hear anything else.  And then he saw the house. In the kitchen window a candle was burning. He ran a little faster and then he slipped.  Fell head first into the snow, scraped his cheek, bit his lip. Everything was silent for a second or two.  Then he heard heavy, limping feet walking towards him. He closed his eyes. “I will pretend you don’t exist.”

The smell was so strong, of dog and forest and battlefield. Fear and loneliness and pinecones. He kept his eyes shut. The feet limped around him, then they stopped and he could feel warm breath on his face. “I won’t die now,” he said out loud. “I have killed. I have suffered. I have grieved. I have starved. I just want to come home.”

The warm breath grew fainter and the footsteps moved away from him. He opened his eyes, got up on his knees, then his feet and slowly walked towards the house. When he stepped up on the porch the door opened. Elizabeth stood before him. Thinner, older, still the same.  He fell into her arms. He took a deep breath in. She smelled of vanilla, blood and the Earth herself.

Take me to Church

The city who never sleeps was calm this Thanksgiving night. I was leaving Central Park and heading south on Fifth Avenue. The rain had stopped but a thick, low fog made the evening damp and raw. Christmas decorations were already  on display in the windows of the fancy stores; I took a quick glance but knew I had to hurry up. Maaike, my new…hmm I wasn't sure she would approve of the title” girlfriend”, was heading north on Fifth Avenue and we would meet somewhere and walk back to her place downtown.

My grandmother, Annie had insisted on having the whole family over to her grand Upper Westside apartment for Thanksgiving dinner. My mother had tried to talk her out of it but no use. To get the two women to stop arguing over the phone for hours upon hours I had promised to handle the cooking. I was after all living in one of the bedrooms in Annie’s apartment and I was a trained chef. My grandmother had been so pleased, so pleased she sang show tunes for days afterwards.  In the morning when she carefully prepared the breakfast tea she sang “I don’t know how to love him”. As she took her white poodle for a walk in the park she sang: “Officer Krupke”. At night when she took her bath she sang “Maybe”.

A few days before Thanksgiving I went to the supermarket and bought a large turkey, potatoes to mash and some supplies for making gravy.  My mother and my aunts would bring sweet potatoes, creamed spinach, cranberry sauce…yeah, you get the picture. Dinner was supposed to be served at two o’clock to accommodate grandmother’s and great grandchildren’s early bedtimes.

Early on Thanksgiving morning I had woken up in Maaike’s bed. I laid still watching her sleep in the grey light. She slept on her back with her arms over her head, the long dark hair in a braid and her tank top had slid up and showed her stomach. Her skin is the smoothest most beautiful thing in the world. When we first met back in September her skin had been golden brown, now in late November it had faded slightly. Still much darker than mine of course. I blame my Irish grandparents for my pastiness.  I caressed her eyebrows, her cheek and she opened her green eyes. With narrow eyes she put a hand behind my neck and pulled me close. “Mmm,” she purred. “I love how you taste in the morning.”  

This was a perfect moment, this moment in itself was all I wanted but I still couldn't keep myself from thinking about Julia. She had been the reason why I had left the City in the first place. She and some friends had been in the City for a weekend and we had met at Henrietta Hudson. She was a sweet girl, funny and a bit unsure of herself. I fell head first into her forget-me-not eyes and her freckly chest.  She was still in college and I wasn't and as a chef you can get a job anywhere so I left my city. Moved into Julia’s tiny apartment in Virginia.  I was her first and she wanted it all. After about two years she started to talk about children. “Children?” I said. “How would that work? We can’t even get married.” She had it all figured out. “I asked Aaron and he said…” I wasn't particularly fond of Aaron and have him be the father of my child…. To be honest I wasn't sure I even wanted children, not with Julia, not with anyone.

Last June I packed my bags and came back to New York City. The day was hot and unusually humid when I landed at JFK. I took the Long Island Railroad to Penn Station where I caught the 1 train.  The subway was crowded, the streets smelled like garbage and I was sweating profoundly. And I loved it! My grandmother took me in and since then I had worked here and there with this and that.

One September night I met Maaike at my friend Josh’s place. He had a party in the townhouse he shared with his two brothers. She sat cross-legged in the middle of the couch dressed in black tights and a bright pink tunic. I stood in the middle of the floor and looked at her. Until she suddenly turned her head and met my eyes. She didn't smile, just locked her eyes on mine. You know that moment in movies when they slow everything down and they focus on the main characters and you know that a decisive moment is happening. That was exactly how I felt when I stood on the floor with Maaike’s eyes locked with mine.

Some women are naturally more submissive in bed.  Some women are naturally more dominant in bed. I had always been the stronger force when it came to sex.  With Maaike it was different. More of an ebb and flow, push and pull, top and bottom. Sex was more exciting, more equal and therefore better.

And now I was rushing down Fifth Avenue to meet this woman I knew very little about but I desired to no end. I picked up my cellphone to see if she had texted me, she hadn't, and when I tried to get the phone into my pocket again it slipped out of my hand and bounced in the street. Thank God for the Otter Box! As I bent down to pick up my phone I got an uncomfortable feeling in my body. The feeling reminded me of when I was little and I was sure a troll with long skinny fingers lived under my bed. The feeling of being vulnerable and watched by something menacing. Where did this feeling come from I wondered as I straightened up again. I looked behind me. Nothing there. I looked to the other side of the street. A few people were walking there but not one of them seemed to pay me any attention. I started to walk again, trying to shake this uncomfortable feeling out of my body.

Maybe the person had walked in front of me for a long time and I just hadn't noticed but now I saw him or her, I wasn't sure which. This person walked leisurely half a block away, tall, dressed in a long light grey or perhaps beige coat, wavy hair down to the shoulders. I was sure this person was the source of my uncomfortable feeling so I quickly headed over to the east side of the street. I walked slower than before to see if the person would keep walking or also slow down. Slowed down, just like me. I stopped and picked up my phone again to call Maaike, to see where she was. There is always comfort in being two.

Three rings before she picked up, she sounded out of breath. “Where are you?” she asked abruptly. I realized I was outside St. Patrick’s Cathedral. When I told her she demanded that I walked up the steps to see if the door was open. “Why?” I asked. Her response was filled with anger, desperation and pleading. The combination worked wonders on me and I ran up the steps and tried all the doors. “They are all locked.” For a few seconds all I heard was Maaike’s hard breathing. “Stay close to the door. I should be there in two minutes. Don’t go anywhere!” Before I had a chance to answer she hung up.

Two minutes isn't very long. One hundred and twenty seconds. For the first minute thoughts were doing a relay in my head. Most of my thoughts concerned what I actually knew about Maaike. She works for a company that developed software and she traveled a lot to see clients. She can run a mile in less than seven minutes. Her parents moved from Iran to Sweden in the 70’s. When I asked about her parents she always said: Fuck them! When she was eighteen she came to NYC as an au-pair and fell in love with the city and never left. Married an American man to get a Green Card. Then my thoughts froze. The person on the other side of the street. That tall person in the long coat with wavy hair had walked backwards and now stood across Fifth Avenue and looked at me. I pressed my body backwards into the door. My uncomfortable feeling escalated and soughed in my ears.

I felt Maaike’s hand around mine before I fully understood she was there. Her hand was so warm around mine. “Alex,” she said. I tried to pull my eyes away from the person on the other side of the street but I couldn’t. “Alexandra.” No one ever calls me Alexandra anymore, except for my father. I slowly turned my head and looked at her. “We are going in,” she said and pulled on my hand. “But…” Hadn't I already told her the doors were locked? “The doors are locked.” She pulled out a big key from her pocket and put in the keyhole. I stared fascinated. “You have a key?” I know I tend to ask stupid questions when I am under stress. “Evidentially,” she said and dragged me inside. She closed the door behind her and locked it again.

She yanked on my hand and steered me to the left and kept walking until we stopped by The Black Madonna of Czestochowa. I looked up at the scared face; I had always loved this icon the most. She looked so hurt and still so strong.  “Do you know that she stopped the Swedish Army from capturing the monastery during the Second Northern War?” Maaike looked at me and shook her head. “Alex, you are rambling!” I stopped talking. “I want you to stay here until I come back,” she said firmly. She put her hands on my shoulders and pushed me down to sitting. “What are you doing?” She took two steps away from me and blinked hard a few times. “I am going outside for a while.”  I felt like a little girl because the only question I could come up with was; why? She put her hand on my cheek and caressed it and then she turned around and left.

I was never very good in school, not because I wasn't smart, but  I was always absentminded and I didn’t have the drive I guess. But one thing I am good at is figuring things out, putting pieces together, solving riddles and things like that. So Maaike took about ten steps and then I jumped up and ran after her. “Who is that person outside? The tall one on the other side of the street?”  She slowed down. “It is an angel.” I started laughing. “Ha ha very funny!” She didn't look angry or amused. “I will show you,” she said and took my hand again.

We walked back to the door and she ordered me to kneel down and look out the big keyhole. “Do you see it?” I nodded. “I will now put my hand on your neck and I will let you see what I see.” I looked at the tall figure on the other side. Maaike put her warm hand on my neck. Nothing happened at first, then her hand grew heavier and warmer and my vision turned blurry. I blinked to clear my eyes then the blurriness disappeared. The figure on the other side was magnificent. Glowing, winged, a large sword by his side. Maaike’s hand moved and everything turned back to normal. I sank down to the floor, took several deep breaths, and banged my head softly against the door. The sensation was comforting, a reality test.  “How did you do that?”

“I have abilities,” she said and sat down next to me. Abilities? What a no descriptive word, it could mean anything. “What does that even mean?” I asked and looked at her.  “I can do things humans can’t do.” I mulled over her words: I can do things humans can’t do. “You make it sound like you are not human.” I couldn't stop a nervous giggle from coming out. “I am not,” she said with a perfectly normal voice. She might as well have said, “I am born on May 1.” Then I put out a finger and poked her on the arm. “What are you then? Because you seem very human to me.” She stood up and moved a few feet away. “Demon.”

I giggled again. “Angels and Demons,” I said and started to laugh out loud. This was so funny. So ridiculous and funny. She stood still and waited for my laughter to die away. We looked at each other for a long time. “Do your parents know?” She nodded.  “Were you born like that?” She nodded. “Are your parents also…”it felt strange to say the word. Maaike nodded again. I put my forehead on my knees and looked down at the floor. There was a crack in the stone and I followed it with my eyes until I saw Maaike’s feet. She had on her red Dr. Martens. “Are you evil then?” I whispered. “No,” she said. “Don’t be so parochial.”

I sat still with my forehead on my knees for a while, trying to think of something constructive. But it didn't really work so I kept asking.  “Why is there an angel out on the street?”  Maaike sighed and hummed a few times. “The world is divided into sections. Some are for the angels and some are for us. We don’t cross the borders or we are not supposed to. But sometimes we do. And he likes this city and often come here even though he shouldn’t.” I put my chin on my knees and looked at her again. “Do you rule the sections? Or take care of them? Or use them?” She put her thumb in her mouth and chewed on her knuckle, she did that sometimes when she seemed stressed. “Neither.”

She came close to me and sat down. “The world is more complicated than you know. To stop the demons and angels from fighting the world was divided. Not to rule or use or take care of. Simply to keep us apart. But sometimes a certain spot has a pull on one of us and we can’t resist traveling there. I will have to urge him to leave before it escalates into something more…” She stood up again. “I have to go out now.” I nodded. “Please don’t come out.” I nodded again. She unlocked the door, brought the key with her and I heard how she locked it on the outside. I sat and stared at nothing. The hair on my body tingled, stood up by itself on my neck and my head. The feeling was very similar to when I go to the hairdresser and she lifts each strand of hair to cut it.

I realized I was listening for sounds from outside but it was completely quiet. Curiosity overcame me and I got up on my knees and put my eye to the keyhole again.  I saw Maaike and the angel; they stood a few yards away from each other, moving in dance like motions. If I strained my imagination I could picture the angel swinging his sword and I wondered if she had a weapon too that I couldn't see. She was so fast and graceful I got breathless as I watched. There was such power beaming out of her I could almost feel it in my body where I sat.

After about twenty minutes the angel stopped moving, bowed towards Maaike and walked away. He sort of disappeared or vanished might be the better word because he seemed to cease to exist. She stood still for a short moment before she came walking back to me. When she opened the door I heard her panting. “Is he gone?” She nodded and sat down next to me. Her body was boiling and she smelled like she does after she has been out running. Musk and salt in the most exciting combination. “Alex,” she said. And it was something in her voice that made it impossible for me to answer her. “Do you want me to kill you or erase your memory?”

I jumped up and backed away from her. “What?” She didn't look sad or angry or anything. She looked perfectly normal and calm. “You do understand I can’t let you walk away from here remembering this?” I guess I should have understood that, right? “Humans have such a hard time keeping secrets.” She stood up and rubbed her hands together. “I would like to live,” I said very shakily. She nodded. “Will I remember you?” I asked. “I mean will we still be together?” She put her head to the side and smiled. “If you want.” My lips trembled as I said; Yes.

The city who never sleeps was calm this Thanksgiving night. I was leaving Central Park and heading south on Fifth Avenue. The rain had stopped but a thick, low fog made the evening damp and raw. Christmas decorations were already on display in the windows of the fancy stores; I took a quick glance but knew I had to hurry up. Maaike, my new…hmm I wasn't sure she would approve of the title “girlfriend”, was heading north on Fifth Avenue and we would meet somewhere and walk back to her place downtown. I knew I was slightly late, the last hour had passed so quickly.  I had a strange headache and was happy to be out of my grandmother’s apartment. Family can do that to you. 

Vireo (A Tale of Ice and Oaks)

The maid almost bumped into her where she stood leaning against the wall. “Oh,” the young woman said. “Are you standing here? Aren’t you cold?” Vireo met the girl’s big pale eyes and smiled. Maybe she would bed this girl, simply to annoy the innkeeper, who always looked at her with disgust. “Perhaps you could bring me a cup of that hot wine you serve to keep me warm.”  The maid looked down for a moment and then she met Vireo’s eyes again. “Perhaps I could,” she said and reached out her hand. Vireo dropped a few coins in the outstretched hand and the maid walked back into the warm tavern.

She hated the cold, she hated the snow, and she hated the ice. She hated the bare trees, the frozen ground and the grey skies. Her southern blood wasn’t made for this kind of weather.  Rubbing her hands and banging her feet together didn’t help keep the cold away anymore. Why wasn’t he here yet? How could he be late when he lived the closest? Logically, she would be the one who should be late, she had further to travel. The door to the tavern opened and the maid came out again. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair curly from the moist heat. She held a big metal cup in her hand. The steam from the cup rose in spirals.

Vireo put the cup to her lips and breathed in the smell of the wine, the honey and the spices. The wine would spread its heat in her body, from the bottom of her belly to her toes.  She took a careful sip, so to not burn her tongue. The wine landed in her belly, reached out its tentacles and thawed her blood.  The next time she lifted her head from the cup she saw him.

His dark grey coat dragged along the ground and he limped slightly on his right leg. In company he always told a tale about how he had been injured in a battle but she knew he had fallen off his horse as a boy and a branch had pierced his thigh. The right leg never grew as long as the left.  Sometimes at night he would wake up with pain and she would put her hand over the scar and massage it. As he came closer the Ouroboros tattooed on her back started to burn. “You are my commencement and my conclusion,” he often said to her. She sniggered when he said this and made fun of his schooling in the monastery.  And still during one unbearable separation she had walked to the tattoo master. After hours upon hours she walked out with a pitch-black Ouroboros on her back. 

The young princess and her court in the capital, often spoke of love. Vireo walked a few steps behind, always on guard, but she still heard the words. They spoke of true love. They spoke of how empty it must be to not have love in your life. Sometimes Vireo wanted to tell the young girls to enjoy the freedom of not loving someone. Because if she had known how painful it would be she would have told her heart to not love. Or perhaps it wasn’t the love that hurt but the absence and the longing.  But by now it was all so intertwined she couldn’t separate them anymore.

He was almost by the tavern door when he saw her. For a moment they stood quietly and looked at each other. In the winter evening his blue eyes looked almost green. “You are late,” she said and walked by him and opened the door. They stepped into a wall of sticky, beer smelling warmness. “I know,” he said low, “and for this I apologize, my…” She put up her hand to stop him from talking. “You know how I hate when you call me my lady.” He smiled his crooked Quasimodo smile and said, “Almost as much as when I call you my songbird.” Vireo huffed discontent. “I have told you my mother and father did what they thought best.”  Her parents, the gentle fruit farmers, who named all their children after birds. How could they have known their songbird daughter with the peppercorn eyes actually was a warrior?

“Andreas!” The innkeeper came wobbling over to them. He didn’t look at her but greeted Andreas with great enthusiasm. “How are you? Oh, this weather! When will spring come?” She had never truly understood the relationship between the two men. But there was deep trust and affection between them. And this was the only place they dared to meet.  “Your room is ready for you. Will you dine first?”

Andreas looked over at her and she shook her head. “No,” he said to the innkeeper, “a tray will make do.” The plump man nodded eagerly and snapped his fingers. Another maid showed up and he gave her orders to bring a tray to their room.

In the far end of their room a fire was set in the hearth. She took off her wool mantel and dropped it on the chair, pulled off her gloves and shoes and walked up to the fire.  She unbuckled her sword and sat down and held her hands and feet as close to the flames as she dared. She heard Andreas move around behind her, then his presence came closer to her. The Ouroboros on her back burned.  He put a hand on her shoulder. “How have you been?” he asked kindly.

How do you survive months without the one you love? She did what the snakes do. She let her heartrate go down and all her feelings went into hibernation, until anger was the only thing left. “I can’t,” she said and pushed away his hand. “I know,” he said and stood up. The sound of metal against leather was unmistakable to her. He had pulled his sword. Fast as the bird she was named after, she got to her feet with sword in hand.

He was only about five inches taller than her but of course stronger compared to her slender build. But what he had in strength she had in agility. Their sword skills and character were even. Perhaps the years he had on her had softened his temper slightly.

“How is the Capital?” he asked and swung at her. She blocked his attempt and moved a few feet away.

“Beautiful and shallow as usual.” She lunged forward and hit him hard on the shoulder with the flat side of her sword. “And warmer than this goddess forsaken place.”

Andreas laughed but she could see in his eyes that he was in full battle mode. “If you would rather we wait until spring…” He stopped talking and swung forcefully at her. She felt the impact on her sword all the way up in her shoulders. Wait until spring…The words aggravated her. Speed was her friend and she moved to his side and before he could react she had hit him a few times on his back and was able to slap him with her hand on the top of his head. She moved to the other side of the room and stared at him.

“Wait until spring…so you have more time up there in that fortress with the prince and his maids.” She didn’t like the tone of her own voice but it was too late now, the words had already been spoken.  True anger flashed across his face and when he spoke his voice was a deep growl. “You know.” He moved closer to her with his sword ready. “You know!” The blows were harder than before and she had to back away from him. Soon the room ended and she stood with her back against the wall. He glared at her. “You know. Besides I am not the one who…” A knock on the door made him move his head to the side and she bent down away from him and dashed to the other side of the room.  Andreas opened the door and let the maid in. The young woman carried a tray and looked at them with prying eyes.  She put the tray on the table and left.

Vireo walked up to the table and grabbed one of the mugs with mead. This inn was famous for their mead; it was sweet and fragrant and had a dark purple hue from the blackberries that grew all over the hills and cliffs. Andreas still stood by the other wall and then slowly he walked up to the table and grabbed a mug himself.

To be chosen to be the part of the Royal Guard was an honor bestowed on few. Only the most skillful and trusted sword wielders were picked.  After days of trials and combat she had been chosen to protect the young princess Lavender. And the first day when she watched over the girl in the Royal Oak grove she had met Andreas. He had been guarding the teenage prince for five of his commissioned fifteen years. Slowly a warm friendship grew between them, both of them careful, a Royal Guard is forbidden to love or marry. A Royal Guard’s loyalty solely belongs to the Crown. For fifteen years they had promised, signed in blood to be faithful to the Crown.

There was something with this friendship they cultivated. An amber. Every time she saw Andreas this amber flickered to life. One early summer day, the oak trees carried bright green leaves and the sky was lustrous blue, she was off duty and laid on her back in the grass in the Royal Oak grove. A vireo sat on a branch above her head and sang. She was about to doze off when she felt footsteps transmit through her body. Irregular and calm. She opened her eyes and sat up; Andreas stood next to her and smiled. She got up on her feet and leaned against the oak. “Where is the prince?” He stepped closer to her. “I have been on duty for three weeks. The king told me to…” Andreas laughed. “He actually said ‘get drunk and laid.’   Vireo looked down at her bare feet for moment then she lifted her head and met Andreas’ eyes. “The drunk part I can’t help you with.” She could tell how he didn’t understand at first, and then the realization sunk in.

She had kissed plenty of women and men but this was different. This kiss was mead and chocolate. This kiss was thunder and rain. This kiss was her mother’s caress and the ground under her feet. This kiss was sun on her skin and fire in her groin. And now five years later this was still different.

She put the mug back on the table and waited for him to do the same. Then both of them picked up their swords again and continued to fight around the room.  How do you rekindle love? First she had to break through the anger that lay around her heart. A steel armor to protect her from the sorrow of being apart. With every blow and lunge. With every hit and swing. They chipped away. Eventually they stood panting, sweat pouring down their backs, bruised and sore.

Andreas left the room and Vireo grabbed the mug with mead again. She took several deep gulps then she cut herself a piece of cheese and some smoked sausage. Her body ached but her heart was alive.

Andreas came back followed by two young men who carried a big wooden tub. They placed it in the middle of the floor and filled it with warm water. When they left Vireo got undressed and stepped in. Slowly she lowered her body into the water. “Are you coming?” she asked, feeling close to shy for a moment. He got undressed and stepped into the water with his back towards her. They always did the same thing. A ritual to find their way back to each other. She took the brush and the soap, rubbed them together until she had a thick lather. Started to work on his shoulders. Scrubbed them, felt his skin under her fingers, smooth and slippery. He sighed as she scrubbed her way across his back with the brush. When his whole back was clean she rinsed him off with her hands. Moved close to his body, put her arms around his neck, her head on his shoulder. Whispered into his ear. “I hate you!” The words said one thing, her voice another.

Shadows

Shadows

“The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light: they that dwell in the land of the shadow of death, upon them hath the light shined.”

                                                                                                Isaiah 9:2 King James Bible

You hear those stories about people in prisons. If you are an abuser, hurt kids or treated women badly you might end up dead. If this was what had happened to Dylan’s father no one knew. One morning he was dead. Lay still and cold in his cell. They didn’t mourn much, Dylan and his mother. Perhaps the level of mourning corresponds to the level of love.  Dylan had loved his father with all his might as children tend to do until one day his love had burst and disappeared. He didn’t miss loving his father; on the contrary not loving him was a relief.  Without the love he didn’t have to ask himself the question why. Why does daddy hurt me? Why does daddy hit mommy? Why isn’t my love enough to stop him?

The clock on the kitchen wall chimed four times and soon after the phone rang. Dylan got up from the table and answered. His mother’s voice was a little rushed as she explained she was running late and wouldn’t be home until six. But if he met her by the bus stop they could go to the diner and have pancakes for dinner.

As he sat down by the kitchen table again and opened his math book something caught his eye, a shadow of sort moved outside the window. Black and quick. The shadow was gone for a couple of seconds and then it came back again. Stopped outside the window and took the shape of a cat. Dylan got up from his chair and walked over to the window and opened. The cat looked at him with yellow eyes and then jumped down on the floor. She slithered around his legs meowing loudly.

“Yes, yes I will give you food.” He grabbed the box of Friskies and the cat ran straight up to her bowl. She started purring as he poured the little brown and red pellets into her bowl. He sat down on the floor next to her and watched her eat. She picked up the pellets delicately and then crunched them violently in between her sharp teeth.  When she was done eating she climbed up into his lap and curled up. He caressed her back, felt the thin spine under his fingers, the gleaming black fur. She closed her eyes and purred into his solar plexus.

  The nightmares had started the day his father died.  Every night the same. He was unable to turn his head but he sensed, saw black shadows filling the air behind his back. Coming closer and closer. He struggled to free himself from this feeling of helplessness. He desperately wanted to defend himself.  But no use, he could not turn around. And then he woke up.  Always sweating and shaking. His mother had bought the cat to keep him company at night. Her warm body and purring in the dark was a great comfort. For a while the dreams diminished but last week they had returned. He had overheard his mother on the phone talking about the stress of the holidays and the stress of school. Her voice had turned fuzzy around the edges when she spoke and he knew she was worried about him. The last thing he wanted was to worry his mother.

He didn’t feel stressed; actually he didn’t feel much at all. He had lived in a comfortable numbness for a few years. Except for in his dreams. The fear in his dreams was stronger and more real than anything he had ever experienced.

He had picked out a book at the library about dreams. Sat by one of the small tables and read a whole chapter about shadows. He didn’t understand a great deal and had ended up asking the librarian. An old woman in a pilly sweater who smelled of coffee and cigarettes. She hummed a few times as she read and then lifted her head and looked at him intently.

“The shadow is an image for something inside of you that you don’t want to see or believe that you feel. Or a trait.”

He had shaken his head so she continued.

“For example…” She was quiet for a few seconds. “Let’s say you are the grandchild of a Nazi. You know who the Nazis were?” He nodded as they had just started talking about World War II in school.

“So you are the grandchild of a Nazi and you think what your grandfather did was horrible. And you always say you don’t understand how he could kill all those people. But maybe deep down you know that you could do that too because…” Her voice faded.

Dylan stood still and waited. She looked above his head, her eyes grew cloudy.

“We are all mosaics. Pieces put together. Genes…personality traits…our history. Some pieces we are proud of and others we don’t want to know about. The shadows are those pieces we don’t want to know and they come into our dreams to show us something.”

The clock on the kitchen wall chimed five times. Darkness had fallen outside the window.  The cat was sound asleep in his lap, he carefully stood up not to awaken her. He walked with her in his arms to the couch and placed her in the corner where she liked to sleep. She moved a few times before she settled back into deep sleep. The Christmas tree filled the room with a multicolored glow. I wonder if she would die if I grabbed her by the neck and threw her into the wall. The thought was clear and protruding.

Two steps and he were right next to the couch, hunched over the sleeping cat. As if she had sensed his presence, she started to purr. “Stupid animal,” he whispered and the words tasted briny in his mouth. Strong and salty. “Stupid animal.” His heart was beating fiercely, the blood one thousand degrees in his veins. The skin on his back was tingling and he opened and closed his fist.  The muscles in his arms tensed up and he could feel more than envision how he picked up the cat and threw her in the wall. He could hear more than imagine when her body hit the hard wall. It would be a loud thud; maybe she would cry out and then fall lifeless to the floor.

A fire truck went by on the street. The noise and lights brought him back. He looked down at the sleeping cat. He was sweating on his back and breathing shallow, she was still purring.

The outside air was cold and raw, just below freezing and snow mud stripes on the street. He walked with his hands in his coat pockets. He had rushed out of the apartment forgetting his gloves. The sweat on his back had turned cold and sticky and he was shaking. His body felt the same way as after he had competed in track in the summer. The only difference was that now his mind was not triumphant, no his mind was shivery. Fever chills. I am no different. I am no different. I am no different.

The bus stop was deserted. He looked over at the church across the street, only a quarter to six. If he was lucky the bus would be on time, most of the time it was at least five or ten minutes late. But he did not want to go back to the apartment by himself. He sat down on the bench for a few minutes but it was too cold to sit still. He started to walk up and down the sidewalk. Counted the Christmas lights that were strung across the street in between the light posts. Each strand had 52 lights with a big star hanging in the middle.

When the church bell tolled six he stayed put at the bus stop, leaned against the fence and waited. Next to him was an icicle attached to the fence post.  It started on the top of the fence and reached several feet. The ice was so clear and clean, he touched it with his finger then he stuck out his tongue. The cold was piercing and he knew he was stuck before he had started to pull. Don’t put your tongue on ice. Don’t put your tongue on ice. His father had said this more times than he could remember and still now he was stuck. He tried to direct his breath so it would melt the ice. No use. He tried to create saliva to drizzle down his tongue. No use.

His mother would be there soon, she could help him. Suddenly he heard a loud boom and the first thought that came to his mind was that the church door across the street had slammed closed. He tried to look out of the corner of his eye. At first he didn't see anything,  then he saw them. The black shadows. They moved fast behind his back, only a few at first then more. He tried to turn around but his head was stuck. And the sound, a swooshing in the air. More, more. Closer, closer. He pulled on his tongue. The pain was burning. The shadows grew closer, pressed against his body. The cold disappeared.  He was consumed in darkness.  I am no different.

“Dylan?” His mother’s voice was so distant.  A hand on his shoulder then he tasted tea. Lukewarm Earl Grey with milk. His mother often bought a cup to bring on the bus. She had told him the cup of tea made the bus ride less tedious and sometimes she imagined she was in London instead of their own town.  She turned him around, everything was still dark. “Dylan, open your eyes.” He opened one eye; his mother’s face was blurry. He opened the other eye and blinked a few times. Her face became clear. Her brown eyes looked worried as she kneeled in front of him. “What happened?” He swallowed; he could taste the tea in his throat. “I got stuck,” he said and felt foolish. He had acted like a baby. His mother caressed his cheek. “Should we go and have dinner?”

The diner was warm and crowded. “A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices, for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.” His mother sang along to Holy Night. “Mom?” She lifted her head and moved her eyes to his face. “It was just like in my dream.” She looked confused. “I was stuck and the shadows came and it all turned dark.” She put her head to the side and squinted. “You had your eyes closed.” Dylan looked down; someone had carved in the letters KNM on the table top.  He touched the letters and felt the indent with his finger. “Will I be like him?” His mother was quiet; she drank some water before she put her hand over his. “We all have choices. We can be whoever we want.” The pancakes arrived on the table and Dylan grabbed the syrup. “But what if I have it in me?” His mother cut her pancakes in small squares. Ate a couple. “Your father could be the gentlest most loving man. And then he could be the cruelest. He could have chosen differently but he didn’t.” 

Dylan got syrup on his fingers and licked it off. “But how will I know that I will…that I won’t be like him?” His mother looked out the window for a long time. “I guess you won’t. But at least you are aware of the possibility.” She stopped talking, grabbed the syrup and dribbled it over her pancakes.  “No one is completely good. No one only has light. We all have darkness inside. But depending on what we feed…” She stopped talking again. Dylan looked out the window, looked over at the bus stop. His mother had said he had his eyes closed but the shadows were still there, slithering, dark coils. Snakes, lifting their heads, looking for prey.

The house on the hill

Once upon a time on a grassy hill stood a yellow wood house surrounded by mighty maples. In the spring the trees gave the children Polly noses to play with.  In the summer the trees turned the warm days comfortable shady.  In the fall the children watched  ruby, amber and gold leaves as they floated through the air. In late winter metal buckets got hung and the trees tapped for syrup to pour over pancakes on Sunday morning.

In the house lived a woman and a man. She sang as she scrubbed the smooth pine floors with sand and soap. She sang as she kneaded the dough. She sang as she milked the four brown and white cows in the barn. She sang when she sat on the porch and cleaned the vegetables. She sang as she washed her man’s back in the bath on Saturday night when he had come home from the factory on his bike. And she sang to her children. Sang tears away. Sang fights away. Sang them to sleep.

The children, three brown eyed like their father and two blue eyed as their mother. Annemarie, Greta and Lillian lived in the room up under the roof.  One year apart, curly haired, their father’s princesses. He had taken the bike to town and picked out the pale pink paint for the walls. The boys still small, slept together in the pull out bed in the kitchen. Over their bed hung a mobile. Closest to the ceiling the bright sun, then the birds, the animals and only a few feet from their faces green striped fish.

 At night the man listened to the radio in the kitchen. Heard voices and words.

 That sometimes filled him with joy. “And it is a homerun.”

Sometimes with worry. “The draught is now widespread. We desperately need some rain.”

 Sometimes with fear. “Today we have declared war…”

The family was a lucky family. The children grew, the rains came. No one was drafted to a war far away. And under the mighty maples many homeruns ended in cheers.

The house was a proud house. In the winter its walls protected the woman, the man and the children from the fierce cold and never did its roof leak.  It might need a nail at times or some oil on a creaking door but it was a sturdy good house. In warmer days the wind moved through the open windows and filled its inside with pride.

 And the house was a happy house because inside its walls the fights were short; even though they were intense at times they all ended with laughter and hugs. At night it listened to bedtime stories and then the children’s content sleeping sighs. The walls picked up the tender words the man and woman murmured as they lay in each other arms.

The house watched the children grow. The three girls moved in unison. A hurricane of dark curly hair and screaming laughter.  The boys blonde and calm followed their mother’s footstep, down to the barn, out in the woods, back to the kitchen.

The house watched the limbs grow longer and slimmer. Watched the falls, the scrapes and the bumps. Ached with the woman and man when the children feel ill. Huddled over them.  One by one the house watched the children leave. And then return with husbands and wives. Watch the man and the woman walk in the empty house. Unsure at first in the silence and the empty rooms but then relish the two.

The house was there when the first grandchild was brought home. The man swell with pride and the woman cradle the baby in her arms. Hushing and singing the new brown eyed baby to sleep.  Once again the house would be filled at times with running feet, loud laughter and bedtime stories.

One of the first frost nights one autumn, the house saw Death approach. He walked up the hill and entered through the unlocked kitchen door. Death sat by the bedside and watched the man and the woman sleep deeply. Saw the white hair, the wrinkles and the intertwined hands. This night he had come for the man. Death never regrets taking a life. No one ever asks the sun if she regrets setting or rising every day.

The woman mourned the way you mourn after a long, happy life together; absentmindedly. She still talked to the man. She still made the bed for two. She still looked out the window at a quarter to five to see if he possible was coming up the hill with his bike. She didn't cry much. Perhaps she knew she wouldn't be too long. A warm summer afternoon she sat on the porch with the cat in her lap when Death came. Scared the cat jumped down and ran to hide but the woman took Death’s hand and gladly left with him.

The house was now empty for the first time since it was built. An unusual feeling for the house.  A For Sale sign was put up down by the road. People came and went. Opened doors. Slammed cabinets. Poked walls. The house waited.

One day a moving truck drove up the hill. A man, a woman, a little girl and two cats. The little girl ran up to the pink room under the roof and opened the window. Then ran down again. The house cherished her footsteps. 

Troll Gold

Summer had arrived suddenly the day before, in the afternoon to be more exact. In the morning they had huddled in groups outside the grand, old church dressed in their fine clothes. The girls wore dresses and skirts in the grey, chilly morning. Jenny had stared with envy at the boys in their suit pants and had pulled on her cardigan so it would cover her hands. Of course she didn’t know that her goose bumped legs would one day be part of a treasured memory. Jenny didn’t think of things like that, she was only nine and she couldn’t wait for the long summer break to begin.

In the afternoon a little before 2:30, Jenny’s mother had stood on the porch with the traditional end of school year strawberry shortcake. She had sighed, looked at the grey skies and thought to herself; I guess we have to sit here this year and not in the arbor. The arbor was made up of gigantic lilac bushes and in the middle the family often sat in the summer. She put the cake on the table on the porch and almost like magic the clouds broke apart and the sun came out. The temperature rose quickly and the afternoon treat was swiftly moved outside. 

Now it was Saturday evening and Jenny lay on her stomach on her parent’s bed watching her mother working the curling iron in her dark blonde hair. The window was open and in with the soft summer breeze drifted the scent of lilacs.

“Do I need more in the back?” Her mother turned her head and tried to look in the mirror.

“No, it looks pretty,” Jenny said and rolled over onto her back. The evening sun shone through the lace curtains and made patterns on the white ceiling. She heard how her mother put down the curling iron and unplugged it. Then she heard her starting to look for something in her jewelry box. Her fingers made a slight raking noise.

“Where are my pearl earrings?” Some more raking noise. “I don’t understand. Where are they?”

The patterns on the ceiling looked like ships now.

“Maybe the trolls took them,” she said absentmindedly. “Farmor says trolls are little thieves.”

The raking noise stopped. She could feel how her mother sat down on the side of the bed.

“Jenny,” her mother said and put a hand on her arm. “We have talked about this. You know that farmor is sick. She says things. Things that aren’t real.”

Jenny nodded, the pattern on the ceiling looked like fish now.

“Oh, I think your cousins are here.”

Jenny already knew that, she had heard the car coming up the graveled road for a few minutes.

 

The cousins; Maria thirteen years old with braces, breasts and brown hair and Karl ten years old who everybody called Kalle. Jenny’s older sister Pernilla took Maria under her arm and the two girls disappeared upstairs.

“Pernilla,” her mother screamed upstairs. “Pernilla!” She looked over at Jenny’s aunt. “That girl…that girl is driving me insane. Where is Stig? Stig!”

Jenny knew that her father stood out by her uncle’s car and talked about hunting woodcocks but instead of saying anything she took Kalle by the arm and steered him into the kitchen. On the counter were three bags; one with potato chips, one with cheese doodles and one with candy. Last night she and Pernilla had walked down to the gas station and bought them. They had argued about the candy for a long time before they could agree on what to buy. They only had so much money, so every piece counted.

“Let’s fill two bowls and bring them out to the porch. Pappa and I made a fort out there for us to sleep in tonight.”

Jenny filled a big bowl with chips and cheese doodles and Kalle filled a smaller one with candy.

On the porch, under the table covered in a big blanket the two children sat together and munched.

“Jenny! Kalle! Where are you?” Pappa’s voice came from outside the porch.

“We are in here in the fort,” Jenny called out,  crawled to the other side of the porch and stood up by the open window. “Pappa! Here!”

He turned around by the arbor and came back to the porch.

“We are leaving now. I talked to Pernilla and she promised to be nice. We will be back around midnight.” He planted a kiss on his palm and reached up so she could pretend to grab it and put it in her pocket.  “Use it for bedtime,” he said and left.

The June light lingered, the blue dusk would be replaced by the navy blue night for a few hours and then the birds would start singing again and the sun would rise. Jenny and Kalle laid in the fort with yellow orange cheese doodle fingers and black licorice tongues. Her father’s kiss to use for bedtime was still in her pocket even though hours had passed since the clock struck eight in the living room. They heard music from Pernilla’s room but they hadn’t seen the older girls since they went upstairs before their parents left for the barn dance.

“Do you know what I think is strange?” Kalle shook his head, his mouth was filled with candy. “That farmor says trolls are real. Fröken says that giants threw those big rocks on the fields and that the mountain is called Troll Mountain because a troll used to live there.” Kalle chewed and listened. “But mamma says that farmor is sick and says things that aren’t real….is Fröken sick too?” Kalle swallowed and turned to his stomach, reaching for another piece of candy.

“Fröken can’t be sick…then they wouldn’t let her work in school…I think at least.” He put the candy in his mouth.

“Mamma’s pearl earrings are missing. I said it could be the trolls but she didn’t believe me. You know how farmor always say that trolls are little thieves.”

“My mamma says there are fairies in the fog on the meadow.”

“Why do they say different things? It is so strange!”

She stuffed some chips in her mouth, mostly little crumbles left now. Licked her fingers one by one and yawned. She put her head on the pillow. Kalle was quiet, she was quiet.  The only thing she heard was the faint music and the blackbird who always sat in the birch tree and sang at night.  She yawned again; she could easily fall asleep now but first she had to pee.

“I will go and pee,” she said and crawled out of the fort. Kalle didn’t respond, he was probably sleeping already. She stood on the porch and looked into the house through the door. To walk all the way into the house to pee felt so far. She took the three steps over to the porch door and opened it. She would squat in the grass and be back in her sleeping bag in less than a minute.

The grass under her bare feet was cold; she shivered and pulled up her shoulders. She held one hand on the stone stairs as she squatted. The stone step was still warm from the bright sun and smooth under her hand. Something was rummaging about over by the arbor. She squinted and tried to see. Probably Sixten, the cat, who was looking for a mouse or a vole.

“Sixten,” she called softly. “Come here kitty. Kitty, kitty.”

The rummaging stopped but Sixten didn’t show up. Oh, she got scared, what if it was a badger? They were dangerous; they keep biting until your bones crunch.  She stood quickly and leaped up the stairs. The badger came out from the bushes, stopped and turned towards her. Then it happened. The moment was as slow as refrigerated syrup. The badger stood up. The badger had arms and legs and a head with wild bushy hair. Jenny blinked hard, blinked again. The…the…the…she didn’t know what word to use, it stood there and looked at her. Then it turned around and bounded away. A skinny tail was the last thing she saw before it climbed up the old stone wall and disappeared. If she hadn’t just peeped she would have peed her pants.

“Kalle! Kalle!” She shook his feet in the sleeping bag. “You have to wake up.”

“What?” He pulled his feet away from her hands.  “I am tired. I want to sleep.”

“But Kalle.” She pulled on his feet. “I saw something. A…a…a  troll.” Yes, now she was sure it was a troll. A small furry little one.

Kalle grunted something and curled up.

“We have to see where it went.”

“Ufff,” Kalle said.

“If you are not going I am going by myself.”

Kalle shuffled his feet around for a moment and then he poked his head out from underneath the table.

“Out where? In the woods in the dark?”

She nodded and looked sternly at him.

“Well, maybe I will bring Lolo with me.” The thought of the dog gave her comfort. “Yes, I will bring Lolo and I am leaving now.”

She grabbed her jeans, pulled them on and then she walked into the house. In the kitchen the foxhound came up to her with ticky tocky claws against the hard floor.

“We are going to the woods,” Jenny said and petted the dog. The tail started waging and the dog licked her hand. She took a chair, pushed it against the counter and reached up to the cabinet. She found the flash light and tested it in the kitchen. Even though the night wasn’t completely dark yet she knew the woods would be darker.

She leashed the dog and made her way back to the porch. Kalle was standing by the door.

“If you are going I am coming with you.”

 

Lolo walked first. She was happy to be out with her favorite human. A slightly odd time perhaps but the day had been so warm she had spent most of it lying in the shade under the hedge. It was good to stretch her legs. She looked behind her. The girl had a flash light and the boy was only a step or two behind the girl. Lolo liked the other humans too but this one, the smallest one, was special to her. They had been puppies together a long time ago. Strange, humans stayed puppies forever. She was now a grown, close to aging dog. She had felt it this past winter; the hunting instinct was still a fever in her blood but her muscles weren’t as strong anymore. And to come home and rest by the fire had been a respite. A leisurely walk like this one she always liked.

 They had crossed the meadow and now they entered the woods. Lolo put her nose to the ground; smelled the grass, the dirt and the tall ferns. Lifted her head and breathed in. A fox had crossed here not long ago and she thought she smelled a hedgehog a little further along the path. The children talked behind her, she could hear something in their voices, a faint echo of fear from the boy but mostly excitement from the girl. Something was different in the woods tonight, Lolo wasn’t sure if it was because of the darkness but she could sense slight vibrations in the ground. She took another deep breath. The unfamiliar scent hit her, human and animal in one. No, not human. No, not animal. The hairs on her back stood up, the growl filled her body and she stopped on the trail.

“What is it Lolo?” the girl said and put a hand on her back. “Do you see something?”

“Let’s go home!” the boy said and his voice was shaky.

The girl sat down next to her, put an arm around her shoulders and shined the flashlight into the darkness under the ferns.

“What is it Lolo?”

She growled deeper, the unfamiliar scent was coming closer, she could hear the movement. Small feet were moving slowly and carefully over the ground. Then she saw it. As tall as her but on two feet. Big eyes in a round face. Spiky hair on the top of its head and smooth fur on the rest of the body. And it spoke. She was sure it spoke but it didn’t open its mouth but she heard words in her head. Soft, soft, soft words. Human voice but different words. “Ho ay ay ay ay buff. Ho ay ay ay ay buff. Ho ay ay ay ay buff buff. Ho ay ay ay ay buff.”

 

She was warm, sweaty on her face and back. She tried to push down her blanket but she couldn’t. She was trapped in something. Scared, she opened her eyes. Above her were planks and something orange. She blinked and tried to focus. When her eyes began to adjust she saw that the orange was the blanket she and pappa had put up yesterday on top of the table. She was lying in her sleeping bag on the porch. She turned to her side and saw Kalle sleeping deeply with his face pressed into the pillow. A strange feeling resided in her body. Her brain felt fuzzy and her limbs heavy. All she wanted to do was to lie down again and sleep but she was too hot so she crawled out of the fort and walked into the house.

Mamma was sitting by the kitchen table with a crossword and a cup of coffee.

“Sleeping beauty,” she said when she saw Jenny. “Do you want some breakfast?”

Jenny sat down on a chair and looked over at the kitchen clock. 10:30 in the morning. She had never slept this late in her whole life.

“Where are pappa and Pernilla?”

“Pappa is out with Lolo…did you play a lot with her last night? He had to drag her out of the house.” Her mother put some bread into the toaster. “Pernilla is still sleeping of course.”

Jenny felt confused, she thought she remembered that they had taken Lolo with them out to the woods last night but the memory was as faint as a dream. The bread jumped out of the toaster and her mother put it on a plate.

“You know what is strange?” Her mother opened the fridge; she brought out the milk, the butter and the cheese. “I found my pearl earrings here on the table when we came back last night. Did you find them?”

Jenny buttered her toast, sliced some cheese and took a bite. Had she found the earrings? She remembered that Kalle and her had eaten candy, chips and cheese doodles until it was almost dark. Then she went out to pee….after that it was murkier.

“No,” she said and took another bite. “I didn’t find the earrings. Ask Pernilla, maybe she borrowed them.”

Her mother smiled at her.

“Yes, you are probably right.” Then her mother narrowed her eyes and looked at her. “What is that you have in your hair?” She reached out and plucked something from her head. “A piece of fern. How odd.”

 

 

 

Else

Else

The old lady with the sunglasses, who drinks whiskey

and falls asleep in the big armchair on holidays.

That is how you remember me.

I know that I scared you children

and that you wished I would not come at all.

But that is not who I always was

 

 I cut my hair short, wore trousers, smoked cigarillos.

        Oh, how my mother cried.

            And begged and pleaded.

 

Sailed across the Atlantic on an Ocean Liner.

Saw New York’s skyscrapers grow in the horizon

                Bigger than us, grander than us.

 But in Hooverville we walked around the pain.

              Certain to not get our shoes dirty.

 

Stood in the cheering crowd on one of Hamburg’s main streets.

Excitement in the air. Power! We will rise again!

Who could have imagined that the tiny man

                                with the booming voice.

One day would equal evil,  destruction and chaos.

 

 

And when my sister died, all too soon.

                I tried to take care of her sweet daughters.

                                I really did!

But I believe I failed.

Too many demons. Too much urgency. Too much heartbreak.

                     I was nothing against it.

 

 

But no, I did not get married.

             Some fools said it was because I was in love with my brother –in- law.

That beautiful, brilliant, impractical man.

But tell me, why I would cause my sister more pain?

                                                                He betrayed her enough without me.

 

 

But maybe someone sat behind me

 when I rode through the apple orchards in May.

Holding me tight, the motor purring underneath us,

as I maneuvered with ease.

Up and down the hills and around the narrow bends.

The Baltic Sea covered in silver flakes and

pink petals snowing down on us.

And maybe we stopped at the pointy hills,

wrapped in a sunny blanket made of Prima Vulgaris.

Like the witches used to do, we climbed to the top.

The wind up there filled with ancient strength.

We could smell freedom.

And maybe when no one saw I grabbed hold of Her.

Put my hand in the hair,

 soft as silk.

And kissed Her.