Naja Aidt - Rock, Paper, Scissors

Luke’s gone for a long time. Jenny whimpers in her sleep. Someone rolls over, it must be Maloney, judging by the heft of the body. Who knows whether they’ve screwed here in the barn. An unpleasant thought. Maloney and his sister, bodily fluids, mucus, sperm. At last he falls asleep and wakes to what he believes is a gunshot in the distance, a sudden blast in the night. But now it’s silent. Patricia breathes slowly and evenly next to his face. For a long time he lies awake, listening to something rustling near the loom, and now dawn’s approaching, trickling through the high windows. He’s startled by Maloney suddenly clambering to his feet and stumbling across the floor in his underwear. The door clicks shut behind him. Thomas stands up and follows him; outside the morning’s cool and foggy, and he steps barefooted onto the dewy, moist grass. Maloney’s pissing spread-legged against a tree. His ass glows white. The sky’s ash gray, and the landscape unfolds to every side: there’s the lake with the rustling black-brown rushes along the banks, the rickety pier, there the pastures and fields, there a handful of grazing horses with a skinny foal, there the sheep are lying in thick clusters. A wind chime jangles in an acacia tree. Maloney turns, showing his sleepy, sulky face. “Good morning,” Thomas says, shivering. Maloney shakes his penis. “Fucking Christ, it’s cold,” he says, as he makes his way past Thomas, wanting to head back to the barn. But Thomas grabs his arm. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re seeing Jenny? And that you were coming? I was shocked. That’s not good form, Maloney.”

Maloney looks straight at him. “You don’t need to know everything. Do you? I figured it’d be less of a problem for you to see us together than to hear about it. After all, you’ve been a little. . what can I say. . tense lately. I didn’t want to fan the flames.”

“Fan the flames? What are you talking about?”

“Thomas, it’s 6:00 A.M., and I’m fucking freezing my nuts off. Can’t this wait?”

“ Are you two dating, or what?”

Maloney grins sleepily. “For now, yes. I think so. Yeah, I guess we are. Now get some sleep. You’re all discombobulated, man. Sleep’s what you need.”

Maloney claps him reassuringly on his shoulder and walks, leaning forward, back to the barn. He closes the door carefully behind him. Thomas clenches his teeth and feels his jaw, tense and hard. Except for his socks, he’s wearing all of his clothes. Patricia apparently couldn’t get them off when she helped him into bed. The back of his skull throbs a little, shooting down into the muscles in his neck, or perhaps it’s the opposite way around. He raises his head and gazes across the lake. A gaggle of geese has landed on the bank. They’re pecking at the grass. The farmhouse is dark and quiet. The birds aren’t chattering. Even the wind chime is silent. The silence is almost terrifying. Thomas strides back to his sleeping bag. Luke’s lying on his side, still as a mouse, his back to Alice. His wild red-brown hair is tousled, his shiny, youthful skin gleams with a greenish hue, olive-like. He appears to be in deep sleep. He’s got his arms folded across his chest. A tattoo of a heart spiked through with a sword intertwined with green vines adorns his muscular bicep. How pathetic. Does he box? It’d fit the stereotype, Thomas thinks, swallowing a mouthful of air. Someone like him. How clichéd. He stretches out in his sleeping bag. For a brief instant Patricia opens her eyes and looks at him as if from another planet, distant and strange. Then she’s asleep again. Soon Thomas himself is asleep, a heavy, dead slumber; he wakes only when Jupiter sniffs at his crotch. At some point he must have kicked his way out of the sleeping bag. He’s alone in the barn now. Outside, the sun appears to be shining.

Everyone’s gathered in the kitchen when Thomas stumbles inside, the dog nipping at his heels. There’re scrambled eggs and bacon and roasted tomatoes. It’s 9:30. Helena pulls bread from the oven with potholders. “Who got up early to bake?” Thomas asks. Helena raises her hand. “It doesn’t take long,” she says. “I’ve got my good sourdough, and I set it out in the evening.” Alice pours apple cider into glasses. Maloney brews coffee. The twins sit at the kitchen table, bent over their bowls of corn flakes. Their long, thin legs dangle and they scowl sleepily. “ I didn’t get up early,” Maya says. Jenny enters, dressed in a checkered jacket and skirt. “I don’t see how you manage to stay warm up here during the winter. It’s brutally cold. And it’s May!”

“We have a wood stove. Plus the outdoor wood pellet furnace. We get by.” Kristin looks a bit worn-out. Pale and a tad gruff.

“It’s super cold up here in the winter,” Nina mumbles. “We have to walk around in felt slippers. They’re sooo ugly.”

“You want to go on a hike?” Thomas asks the girls. They shake their heads and pinch their lips shut. “We hate hiking,” Maya says.

“Ah, aren’t you two grumpy this morning,” Helena says, running her hand over Nina’s back. “You need to brush the horses and slice fruit for the dessert.” This bit of news doesn’t appear to please the two girls.

“Did we stay up late yesterday?” Thomas asks, taking a sip of his hot, strong coffee.

“You didn’t,” Alice smiles, and everyone laughs as if at a private joke. “You still want to hike with us? We’re leaving soon. You can make yourself some lunch.”

“Then we’ll be rid of all the men,” Jenny says, “except you, Maloney.” She looks up at him, her eyes gleaming.

“And you,” Kristin adds, scratching the dog behind his ear, “Isn’t that right, Jupiter?” The dog wags its fat, stumpy tail and waddles under the table.

“No way I’m going for a hike,” Maloney says. “Take good care of my friend here. He’s not used to fresh air.”

Once Thomas has devoured a helping of eggs and tomatoes and finished his coffee, Helena helps him find the cold cuts in the fridge. Everyone’s sitting or standing in the spacious kitchen, the windows are pearled with dew, the thin gray-green light is milky and soft. Luke, squatting against a wall, runs his fingers through his hair. “We figure we’ll be back around 3:00,” he says with his deep, warm, confidence-inspiring voice. “But if we’re out later than that, don’t worry. I’ve got a map.”

So he’s got a map, Thomas thinks. He’s prepared. He’s dressed like a wanderer in his flannel shirt, shorts, and hiking books. Even goddamn knee-high socks. Probably even has a walking stick. And a canteen. And a fucking compass. It doesn’t fit with his tattoo. The boy is many things, he thinks with a shudder, all too many things at once. What’s his deal? What kind of creature is he?

“Are you coming, Uncle Thomas?” Alice asks, turning her pretty face toward him. And then they leave. He kisses Patricia and whispers into her hair. “Thank you for putting me to bed.”

“Kristin was the one who schlepped you to the barn.”

“Thanks anyway.” She still has this lone wolf independence about her, and that strangeness he saw when she opened her eyes the night before, and she’s put distance between them again. But she accepts another kiss from him, leaning her head against his shoulder for a brief moment.

They drive in Luke’s metallic-blue Opel. He eagerly explains that he’s spent a lot of time fixing it up. “I got the seats from a friend who works at the incineration plant,” he says, shifting gears, “and I traded my way to a new motor. It runs like a dream.” Luke stamps on the gas pedal, accelerating. Thomas sits in the backseat. The sun’s already higher in the sky, but the light remains murky, as if filtered through a fine-meshed cloth. Luke has chosen a route that’s supposed to be well marked. “The inclines aren’t too steep,” he says. “We can park at thirteen hundred feet above sea level. There’s supposed to be an amazing view from the Bearclaw. I thought we could eat lunch up there.”