Excerpts from
Blue Brother
By Ib Michael
Regina lives in Vesterbro. She has her own flat on the fifth floor, high up under the roofs of the city. The staircase twists and turns through an upended labyrinth of chequered linoleum that repeats and repeats all the way up. We take the stairs two at a time, a light hand on the banister.
Panting for breath we stand on the mat and press the doorbell. There’s a bit of clattering and banging behind the door and then she unlatches it. Just as the door is opening the stair lights go out. I fumble for the switch and flick it.
With that presence of mind so typical of her, Regina has grasped the situation and when the lights blaze into life again she is standing there, posing like a dancer caught in the spotlight after her solo. In a scarlet kimono embroidered with coiling dragons and her hair pinned up with chopsticks.
She takes my breath away. Her eyes are cut on the bias of her face and it looks as though her cheekbones have had to splay out to make room for them. A couple of locks have come loose and curl around her long neck, and as she opens the door wide to let us in I happen to brush the silk with a hand and feel her vibrant curves against my skin. In a daze I step into a room where everything smells of girl; there are clusters of lit candles on the table, and fresh flowers.
Regina makes tea: green Chinese tea, which I have discovered while studying for my exams. Those nights when I am sitting up late, working my way through my set texts, I’ve switched to chewing the tea leaves. Do it for long enough and the bitterness numbs the tastebuds. It feels great. You stay wide-awake all night long; your thoughts come and go in huge soap bubbles, empty until filled with knowledge from the books, whereupon they float off to hang on sparkling mobiles that dangle in bunches from the vault of the cranium, all ready to be pricked when needed for the answering of written or oral assignments. I’m in my second year at high school and from our classroom you can see the cathedral, resting place of dead kings and queens.
Mark has followed Regina into the little kitchen. They are as comfortable together as brother and sister, are already deep in conversation. I am left alone in the living room, squirming in my chair among her things. She surrounds herself with porcelain, decorative pins, coloured glass animals and big cushions. She hoots with laughter at something Mark has said.
I can’t figure out their relationship. Mark and Regina are both so far above me, it’s hard to believe that they’re not going out together, and maybe they are. Maybe they’re just conning me with this brother-sister act of theirs, pretending to be twins when they’re not. Maybe they’ve already slept together, but are keeping quiet about it so as not to hurt me. They both know I’m head over heels in love with Regina.
Translated by Barbara Haveland
|
|
