Excerpts from
Bang
By Dorrit Willumsen
In this extract we follow the young Bang´s increasing awareness of his sexuality and - not least - an increasing awareness of the object of it.
For there is a man who is more beautiful than any woman. As beautiful as Shakespeare´s boy heroines. And that man has touched his shoulders, brushed him with his fingertips and smiled ironically, mocking and tender. He did not say: "My friend." He did not say: "My beloved." But he, Herman, knew that what he meant was just: "My own beloved friend."
And there was no letter. Because letters of fire must turn to ash. That kind of love must never be referred to in words. But Herman has to copy his every gesture, and suddenly Herman hears his cadence in his own voice and he freezes in fear of someone recognising that distinct tone.
And he meets him in a garden, in a greenhouse, in a drawing-room. And they both behave as if it was by accident. As if it is not the work of destiny that the man runs his hands over his eyes and closes them. As if it is not the work of fate that he is slipping and sinking towards damnation. That he opens his mouth. That the man´s hands are only partly protective wings. That he, the boy, opens his mouth, which is suddenly a landscape. Teeth cliffs, palate arch, tongue mute and soft against a throbbing sex. Against a flowing flower, which is warm and salty.
And if anyone came now. And if anyone saw him now, there would only be one way out. In the lake. And there he would sink to the bottom and let the water fill his eyes, his mouth and his ears. Not to be cleansed. But to die. Because that is what he deserves.
Translated by Gaye Kynoch
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