Naja Aidt - Rock, Paper, Scissors

“What did you expect?” Thomas mumbles, climbing out of the car. Jenny’s cheeks are already wet with tears, she’s wearing heels that are much-too tall, and black gloves. Her mouth glistens on her powdered face, orange-red and vulgar. Alice and Ernesto lean against the wall in the sunlight, smoking. Sharp, sharp sunlight now, very defined shadows. Alice raises her hand in a limp wave then lets it drop just as limply. A group of men stand a short distance away. At once Thomas recognizes one of them, Frank, their father’s buddy of many years. He’s grown thin and sallow. The obese man in sunglasses must be the one they always called Fatso. He’s lost most of his hair, and has combed a few black wisps over his bald dome. Another, much younger man is wearing a baseball cap pulled down over his forehead, which nearly hides his face. He’s smoking intensely, continuously lifting the hand holding the cigarette up to his mouth and then down again. He’s tall and slender, muscular. Frank gives Fatso a playful shove, and they grin. A car rolls up in front of the chapel, and out steps Aunt Kristin and Helena followed by the twins, who must be twelve or thirteen years old by now. Two shy girls in matching windbreakers. It occurs to him how much Kristin resembles their mother. There’s something elegant and practiced in her movements, her smooth full-bodied hair, now silver-gray, like a helmet atop her heart-shaped face. Jenny has already hugged Maloney and squeezed Thomas’s wrist. He pulls himself free and goes to Kristin. She wraps her arms around him and holds him tight. “Thomas,” she says into his jacket. “How are you ?”

“Fine,” he says. “And you? The twins have gotten so big.”

She looks at him. “You never visit us. But we’ll have to change that. I just told Helena that now we’ll have to invite you to the house. We’ve reconfigured the barn, and there’s room for all of you to spend the night. Or rather: I’ve reconfigured. Helena’s not much for manual labor, as you know. Of course she’s also been busy recently, you know, she got an order for a huge tapestry. We’ve put the big loom out in the barn. .” She lets go of him: “My God! Is that Alice over there? She’s all grown up!” Then he says hello to Helena, who’s packed in something resembling a poncho, out of which she pokes her narrow, friendly face, a warm smile; she kisses his cheek. The twins shake his hand politely and regard him with their identical gray-green eyes. The expression in their eyes is different, but he can’t tell which is which.

“Congratulations on your tapestry. Kristin just told me how busy you’ve been.” Helena lights up. “Thank you so much. Yes, it’s an overwhelmingly massive project, but I believe I’ve finally figured out what to do. It’s an alter tapestry.”

“Christ on the cross?”

Helena smiles. “No, the Holy Virgin at the well. And I’m actually happy about that.”

Suddenly Patricia’s at his side. “Are you okay?” she whispers, clutching his jacket. She says hello to Helena. The twins have sat down on the lowest step. Thomas wants to say something to Patricia, but a tall man with sharp features and a jacket a little too outsized for him approaches them with long strides. He introduces himself and offers his hand. “My condolences,” he says. “You must be the son? I don’t want to intrude, but my colleagues thought it’d be a good idea if I came. It was a bit of a shock to find him like that. I’d spoken with him only three hours earlier. I’ve known Jacques for many years — he visited us many times in his later years, after all. He looked a little tired that day, but he was in good spirits.”

Thomas thanks him for coming.

“I thought you’d want to know his last words?”

Thomas nods.

“His last words were literally. .” The prison guard sucks air through his nose. “He said: ‘I think I’m too damn tired to exercise today.’ And then he smiled at me. That’s what happened. I think I’m too damn tired to exercise today. Didn’t seem strange at all. Otherwise I’d have called the doctor, you know. I hope you understand.” The man suddenly looks tense. A moment later, he relaxes. Thomas thanks him, says that he appreciates him coming. “Thanks for taking the time.” “No problem,” says the guard. “He actually got off pretty easy. It didn’t look good for him this time. He was facing quite a sentence. The trial was set to begin in a few weeks.”

“What was he charged with?” Thomas asks.

“Unfortunately I can’t discuss that.”

“How long do you think he’d have been in prison?”

“A long time.” The officer nods. “Many years.” The two men stand there. The officer rocks up and down on his toes. “Well, I think I’ll go in and find a seat,” he says, heading toward the chapel.

Patricia’s standing beside Maloney and Kristin, who now has her arm around Jenny. Alice is talking to Helena. Thomas pulls a smoke out of his jacket pocket and paws around for his matches. But before he can locate them, Frank is right beside him, with his wrinkled, sun-ravaged face, putting a lighter to his cigarette. An odor of dust and cologne clings to him. “You’ve certainly grown since I last saw you,” he says, smiling brashly. “We’ll be sure to send your father off good and proper. I hear he died in his cell?” Thomas nods. “If you’re gonna die, I guess it’s not the worst way to go: Bang, you’re gone. Am I right?” Thomas nods again. “But I’ll miss him. We’ve been friends for thirty-three years. You know that, right?”

Thomas nods a third time. “Who’s the one with the baseball hat?” he asks, indicating the group. “You mean The Kid?” Frank points, and the man looks up. Thomas catches a glimpse of his eyes and his broad nose. He must be in his early twenties. A lock of curly, reddish-brown hair sticks out from under the hat. “It’s Luc, Fatso’s nephew. Your father called him Luke. He worked with us before Jacques got busted. Did errands and that sort of thing. He’s known your father since he was a little boy. And me of course. Good kid. He’s a good kid. But I won’t bother you anymore on a day like this. We can chat later. I’m offering everyone a round of drinks at my pub afterward. Jenny thought that would be the best thing. And it’s the least I can do for my old friend.” Thomas looks at him in disbelief. Frank takes a deep drag on his cigarette. “I’ve got a little place now, for my old age, you see. Your father just managed to approve of it before his arrest. The boss said, ‘Okay, it’s a good joint.’ That was important for me, you know. Your father did enjoy having a drink now and then.”

“You’re right about that,” Thomas mumbles. Frank laughs huskily and pats him on the shoulder. “You’ve always had a sense of humor, just like your old man. That’s the way it should be!” His laughter morphs into a cough. He steps back. Thomas tosses his cigarette onto the ground. Jenny and the others have gone inside. Patricia motions to him: It’s time. When he begins to walk, he hears Frank and the others following him. And now he hears an organ playing. Who the hell ordered organ music?

The chapel isn’t exceptionally large, but the enormous windows fill the space with light. There’s the casket. There’s Ernesto playing the electric organ. Some kind of jazz, presumably. He’s swaying rhythmically back and forth while tossing his head back, fully absorbed. Apparently, Jenny has arranged everything on her own. The funeral director, a tall, long-limbed woman in a tight skirt and cream-colored shirt, steps forward and offers a dry, warm hand. Then she returns to her position at the door. White walls, hard benches. No one says anything. Thomas slides in beside Patricia. Jenny’s sitting in the first row, next to Alice. He hears Frank and his entourage clattering into their pew somewhere behind him. With people in scattered seats, the chapel seems empty and all-too enormous and hollow. Ernesto finally concludes his musical score, after a long and truly embarrassing improvisation that he apparently can’t get enough of. That’s followed by silence, during which every little sound in the room is amplified: shoes scrape the floor, benches creak, a cough is suppressed, a jacket is rustled. Jenny gets uncertainly to her feet, a piece of paper in her hand. Thomas grows ice cold. If he doesn’t clench his teeth, they chatter. Jenny steps up onto the platform the casket rests on and turns toward the attendees. She lays her hand on the casket and quickly removes it, as if she’s been scalded. Thomas notices the casket is adorned with scant decorations: a handful of roses, daisies, and some wreaths. He’s freezing, shivering. Patricia looks at him out the corner of her eye and squeezes his hand. Jenny clears her throat and appears unhinged.