Naja Aidt - Rock, Paper, Scissors

When he stands, he feels the alcohol’s effect on his legs. His feet tingle. Up at the bar Alice puts her arm around him. “This is my Uncle Thomas. And this is Luke.” He nods to Luc, who nods back. “I thought your name was Luc. The beloved child has many names, I’ve heard.” Luc nods earnestly. Thomas asks for another cognac. “Did you know that Luke knew Grandpa?” Thomas shakes his head. “He’s actually known him since he was little, isn’t that right, Luke?”

Luc beams. “He taught me how to fish.”

“Did he now? I didn’t know that he could fish.”

“He was good at it. We almost always caught something.” Luc’s voice is surprisingly sonorous and pleasant, rising from deep within his belly.

“And where did you fish?”

“Sometimes we got out of the city, north to streams or lakes. But usually we fished in the sea.”

Luc sets Thomas’s cognac down with a little thump. His eyes are light brown, with some sort of greenish tint floating in them. Lush, coal-black eyelashes. Relatively nice teeth, only a single crooked tooth.

“Sea fishing?” Thomas says slowly.

An eager smile spreads across the young man’s face. “Yes! From the quay down by the old industrial harbor, or we’d row out. But only during the summer. We’d put out nets to catch flatfish, and eel, but jig-fishing was always the best.”

“That so? My father apparently had hidden talents.” Another smile. Luc leans over the bar and braces his elbows on the countertop.

“What about the river? Did you fish in the river?” Luc nods. “Of course.” Alice drops her cigarette butt into an empty beer bottle. “Isn’t it strange, Thomas, that Luke knew my grandpa and I didn’t?”

Luc: “He was smart. And patient. If you’re not patient, you don’t catch a thing. Rule number one.”

“What else do you do? When you’re not fishing?”

“Look at him,” Alice says. “He’s a bartender.”

“Yes, I can see that.”

Luc straightens up again. “I help out here and there wherever I’m needed. You know, many small brooks make a big stream.”

“To stay with the metaphor,” Thomas says.

“With the what?” Luc asks.

“Ignore him,” Alice says, putting her hand on Luc’s arm. “He’s always got to be so clever. You’re a walking dictionary, aren’t you Uncle Thomas? I really looked up to him when I was little. My rich uncle who was so smart.” Alice sniffles and sips her red wine. “You still are. Rich and smart.” She draws a cigarette from Thomas’s pack. “But you sure as hell didn’t teach me how to fish. God, you know what else? Luke and I were born in the same month!”

Thomas: “Congratulations.”

Luc: “With ten days and four years between us.”

Alice: “Luke’s four years older than me.”

Thomas: “I see.”

“We also live in the same neighborhood. How uncanny is that?” Alice leans back on the barstool, the lit cigarette between her fingers, and laughs. “It is uncanny.”

Luc smiles.

“But I’m moving soon,” she says, inhaling a deep drag.

“Where are you moving?” Luc asks.

“I’ve no idea. But I have to move soon, I’m getting sick of my mother.”

Ernesto comes over. Groaning, he squeezes himself onto the stool beside Alice. “I keep losing! They’re destroying me.” It turns out that Fatso and Maloney have been playing for money the whole time. And they’re not placing small bets. Maloney appears to be in his element. “Your friend’s winning the entire pot,” Ernesto sighs, drinking his wine. Thomas hears Frank’s voice cutting through the women’s conversation at the back of the café. He’s standing with one arm around Jenny and the other around Kristin. But Kristin quickly removes it. Patricia gives Thomas a long, telling glance. She wants to go home. So does Thomas.

“Thanks for the drinks,” he says, offering Luc his hand. A firm shake, a warm palm.

“No problem. Come back another time.”

“No!” Alice blurts out. “You’re not leaving already, are you? We’re going to dance soon.” Alice wiggles her torso, apparently rather drunk. She embraces him, warm and playful, rippling with energy. Thomas says goodbye to everyone, except Frank. Fatso says: “You don’t want to shoot craps? We didn’t even get the chance to talk. Come back another time and get yourself a beer.” Maloney gets to his feet and bearhugs him. “Quite a family you’ve got!” he whispers giddily. “It’s like being on a sitcom, a TV show. .” “A horror,” Thomas mumbles and for one moment is on the verge of tears, feeling completely transparent and accessible to whatever and whoever. But only for a moment. The faces around him are unclear and wavering in clouds of smoke. “Have a safe trip home, okay?” Maloney clucks his tongue, hikes up his pants, and returns to his seat. “If this keeps up, I’ll buy a round for everyone in the joint!” He broods over the dice, and Fatso shakes the cup. Maloney wins again. The twins have come inside and are hanging out beside the jukebox, one ganglier than the other. Boredom, pre-pubescence. Finally Patricia and Thomas are outside in the cool evening air. “It feels as though we’ve been in there for days,” Thomas grumbles. “But it’s over and done with now,” Patricia says, squeezing his bicep. He’s still a bit dizzy, but at the very least, the alcohol has relaxed his muscles. Thomas’s mouth feels pasty, and he’s not at all certain that anything is over with.

And yet he returns to Café Rose when Patricia falls asleep, her mouth hanging open, her dark hair fanning across the white pillow. He can’t sleep. Something pulls him back. Like a sleepwalker, he sneaks through the apartment buttoning his pants and rooting around for his bicycle keys. The hallway smells of floor polish, and he thinks of the imminent spring cleaning; soon the store’s floors will be polished. The streets are empty, and there’s no traffic. He cycles through a red light, and rides on the sidewalks down one-way streets. His back-wheel squeaks, and the bell’s about to fall off. To pull the cold air into his lungs. To ride fast. The alcohol like something simmering right beneath the surface of his skin. He locks the bike to a streetlight. It’s 11:00 P.M., maybe everyone’s gone home. But not everyone has gone home. In the center of the room Alice, piss drunk, is dancing with Frank to the sound of scratchy soul music, hanging on his neck like a young girl, affectionate and silly. Fatso has taken Luc’s place behind the bar, and Maloney’s still seated on the same chair shooting craps, now with Luc. Or Luke. Or The Kid. Ernesto has fallen asleep, his head resting on his arms. Surrounding him is a cluster of rowdies, who’ve commandeered the tables near the windows. “Thomas!” Frank shouts, breaking free of Alice, who tumbles backward and bumps against the bar. “Couldn’t live without us, eh?” Thomas helps Alice to her feet, wakes Ernesto, and sends them home in a cab. From the backseat Alice screeches the jukebox’s songs, while Thomas presses money into Ernesto’s hand and guides him into the front seat. “Now make sure that she gets home and goes to bed, you got it? No detours.” He gives the driver Jenny’s address. The car glides down the street and turns the corner. He hopes she doesn’t throw up on the leather seats. Thomas pushes the café door open. Maloney’s now reeling on his feet, screaming at Luc. But Luc’s not saying anything. He’s leaning back in his chair, visibly pleased, shoving a wad of bills in his pants pocket. “You cheated! Admit it! You’ve been messing with the dice for the past hour!” Addressing Thomas: “Fucking hell, he’s taken everything.” Then, to Fatso: “You saw it yourself! He cheated!” To Luc: “Replay!” But Maloney has lost. Luc stands, zips his jacket, and says: “Thanks for the game, it was a pleasure.” He raises his arm in greeting, smiles at Thomas, and turns. But Maloney leaps at him, heavy and breathless, wobbly on his feet, like a huge, injured animal. He knocks over chairs and grabs at Luc’s back. Hissing something unintelligible and trying to haul Luc to the floor. But Luc is strong. He gets his arm free and reaches behind him, taking hold of the nape of Maloney’s neck and pressing his skull forward against the back of his own head. He holds tight. The muscles of his sinewy arms flex under his skin. He presses. Maloney gasps. Fatso lumbers over good-naturedly and splits them apart. “Let go, now. Let go of the old man, Luke.” He has a hand on Luc’s shoulder. “You can let go now, boy.” And Luc lets go. Maloney loses his balance and falls over, landing on his stomach. Thomas pulls him to his feet. “Maybe you should go home?”