Jonas Khemiri - Montecore - The Silence of the Tiger

Dads learn everything that there is to know. But still. One single wrong preposition is all it takes. A single en word that should be an ett . Then their second-long pause, the pause they love, the pause that shows that no matter how much you try, we will always, ALWAYS see through you. They enjoy taking the power and waiting waiting waiting until just when Dads think they are defeated. Then they point out the right way with vowels that are quadrupled as if they were talking with a deaf imbecile. STRAAAAAIGHT AHEEEEAD, then to the LEEEEEEEEEEEFT, okay, then RIIIIIIGHT. You’re welcome. And Dads say thanks politely and bow and you’re standing alongside and feeling how something is bubbling inside. 16

YOUR GROWING CONFUSION

You’re not surewhat Kadir means by this. Confusion? Sure, the role-playing takes over that coming winter and sure, you spend most of your time in the stockroom with Melinda and Imran. But confusion? You remember that Dads start to come in and complain that you’re disturbing his clients. You apologize, tell Melinda and Imran to sit down again and try to keep the volume of their battle cries down. But soon MC Mustachio and Zulu Sister are attacked from the back by four tree leeches with poisonous yo-yos and cockatrices with solar-powered crossbows and Mustachio is trapped in a cage and tries to pry himself free with his superstrong mustache but everything looks bad until Zulu Sister remembers her hidden voodoo dolls and starts pricking them into pincushions and the dice are hit and incantations are called and in the middle of the heat of battle the magic is broken by Dads, who come roaring in: That’s enough! and overturn the game board and force you out to the courtyard.

Why? You suppose that Dads are probably just jealous that you have new, real friends. Friends who are your age, who are just like you and who understand that if you aren’t allowed to play role-playing games you can just as well go together to the mountain on the other side of the train tracks and play mountain climbers and smash icicles. The first time you do it you remind yourselves that you’re not playing, because you’re too big for that, this is also like role-playing only like in real life. And the second time you’ve made up your own mountain climber names and your own special characteristics and the third time you’ve brought along hockey helmets and ropes and a hammer and a Phillips screwdriver and Imran has an empty backpack and Melinda has plastic glasses and looks a little like that construction guy in the gay band YMCA and you laugh at her until you see yourselves in the plate glass of the video store and realize that you look at least as funny as she does. But you don’t give up, now all the damn ice must go, a mountain clearer got to do what a mountain clearer got to do. You climb up the slope, secure ropes, and bang icicles and have gotten about halfway when a hat man stops his car and yells: What are you doing, damn niggers? You always have to destroy! And you just turn around and pretend that nothing happened and are ashamed, because that’s what Dads have taught you to do. And Imran does the same. But in the corner of your eye you see how Melinda is bending down and weighing a chunk of ice in her right hand and then she chucks it straight at the man and she’s not far from hitting him and the man shields himself with his hands and roars about the police and slides himself back toward the car and you let the icicles rain over him as he accelerates himself away in a panic. You’re still standing there laughing on the edge of the mountain and you’ve won your first battle and the next time some senior citizen says something you’re ready with a supply of particularly throw-worthy icicles.

When you’re not hanging with your friends you go to school or help with Dads’ shoots. You angle reflectors according to Dads’ instructions, you fetch photographic props, you bring out the just-bought background paintings that depict dark, drab forest paths, cloud-filled skies, or stormy wave scenery. You wipe up drool from disgusting pit bulls and take out dog biscuits for bribing. You turn on the coffee machine and welcome customers who come too early. And the whole time you keep yourself from thinking that something is wrong. Because the family is getting its finances secured, of course, and Moms regret their skepticism and one big day, one eternal day in the spring of ’89, Grandma’s little white Toyota stops outside the studio. A line-mouthed Grandma wriggles herself out of the car, straightens her blouse, and enters the studio. She looks down at Dads, who are bent over the contact sheets with the magnifier in his eye, and says in one breath: “Well-I-just-thought-I’d-see-how-it’s-going-for-you-and-I-guess-it-looks-like-it’s-going-well-that’s-great-Gösta-would-be-proud-but-yes-yes-I-don’t-want-to-be-a-bother-absolutely-not-and-coffee-no-no-I-don’t-want-to-impose-and-you-must-be-busy-just-keep-working-good-bye-then! And Dads just look at the door where Grandma was just standing, the magnifier still in his eye as Grandma catches her breath out by her Toyota like after a marathon.

Times change. But some things are the same. Like the voices you still hear every time before you fall asleep. Like your nightly dreams and sweaty awakenings. Your way of thinking of systems for keeping fate in check. Sometimes you just have to touch yellow things and sometimes you just have to tightrope alongside a whole flower bed. Just because. And sometimes Dads get tired of all of that and make you walk right on the cracks in the sidewalk and right on bad-luck manhole covers. But only one time do Dads get so angry that you are locked in the darkroom until you silence your screaming and admit that you’re not scared at all and that you have no problem at all telling the difference between fantasy and reality. 17

THE HAPPY SUMMER OF 1989

And you rememberhow you take the bikes and it’s towels on the luggage carriers and lunch bags in the bike baskets, Dads who ride the red women’s bike and Moms who ride the blue one, and you who borrow your cousin’s little red one. Then the whole happy family, first on the forest path with the pine smell and pinecone mashing and then the gravel road past the outdoor pool with real salt water and Dads’ and Moms’ legs move so slowly but their wheels so quickly while your legs are bouncing pistons and you still end up last. But they don’t ride away from you on purpose, they wait for you before the curve down to the beach and then you go on together with the sea breeze from the side to the secret sand dune that only you know, where the wind is on the lee side behind the rose hip bushes and you can drink juice and eat grapes and cheese sandwiches with peppers without anyone seeing and Dads and Moms who once kiss each other on the lips even though you’re there and of course you look away and check out ants and check out the sky and those clouds aren’t on their way here, are they? Then comes the rumble and the first drops of water, which land heavy on the plastic bags, and it’s quick packing up but it’s already too late because the drops are falling and you can hear them landing and the light sand dune sand is becoming dotted dark brown and the bike seats are already wet and all the dips are puddling and soon you stop biking fast because everyone’s jeans legs are already dark blue wet-through and everyone’s hair is loose and stringy and you taste the fruit flavor of the hair gel and Dads and Moms start to laugh and yell and you almost get a little scared about being alone in the middle of an empty beach in a rainstorm with two psycho parents but they keep laughing and one time they hold hands even though the diagonal wind makes it hard to balance and then you do the same, laughing and yelling, and the rain roars while the whole happy family rides the beach road, the gravel road, and the forest path back up to the house.