Naja Aidt - Rock, Paper, Scissors

“Hmm. . Maybe more hardened. It’s hard to explain.”

“Try.”

“I can’t, Thomas.”

This electrical charge continues to pulsate from Luke, and it makes Thomas a little dizzy. His scent, too. This odd jasmine-like evanescence, and the bitter undertone of his old sweat: earthy, woodsmoke. What does he mean by hardened? Thomas pictures a few leather-clad bitches, whips in hand, boots crawling up their thighs.

“But you are in love with Patricia, aren’t you? You seem very happy together.”

“We are.”

“It seems you’ve got a good relationship. A good apartment, good jobs. A good life. What everyone wants. She told me she wants a baby. But you’re not interested?”

Thomas doesn’t reply. But of course he needs to reply. The silence goes on for too long. Luke’s breath, light and effortless, and so close. A jab of claustrophobia pings through him. He’s breathing down my neck . “I can’t explain it to you, Luke,” he says. “Maybe it’s like you and your hardened girls. It’s a very private thing.”

“A woman like Patricia should have a baby,” Luke says emphatically. “Otherwise there’s no justice in the world.”

“What’s having a baby got to do with justice?”

“It has a lot to do with justice.”

“In that case, if I were you, I wouldn’t try to make myself a judge of that.” Thomas stands. “I’m going in to see about the lamb.”

Luke trails close behind. When they enter the well-lit living room, they’re forced to squint. “I’m starving,” Luke says. “I could eat that entire lamb myself. I don’t think I’ve ever had roasted lamb before.”

Thomas spins around abruptly, causing Luke to bump against his chest and chin. Luke steps back, a reflex.

“Did Jacques ever take you to Lucianos?”

Luke looks at him, puzzled. “What? Lucianos? No, I don’t think so. Who’s Luciano?”

“Ah,” Thomas says, turning his back on him again. “It’s just a restaurant. We ate there sometimes. Jacques, Jenny, and I.” He continues into the kitchen. Permeated now by a palpable sense of relief and joy, the kind you feel after taking your revenge on someone; they have Lucianos to themselves. Luke has never been there, and in one way or another it feels as though Thomas is special, and he thinks: It was our place. He didn’t take anyone else there. It was only for him and his children, only for us, and Thomas wants to celebrate, then thinks better of it and that feeling of victory, of revenge, completely overpowers the underlying sense of shame he feels at his petty, childish behavior. But he’s suddenly in a much better mood.

Jenny sits at the table waving her beer. She’s busy stuffing herself with peanuts and olives. She spits out the stones on a napkin and hands the bowl to Maloney. But he doesn’t want olives. Peanuts, on the other hand. He pops a handful into his mouth and swigs the rest of his beer like the experienced drinker he is, one with good technique. Under the table, Jenny’s legs slither around his. She’s wearing the blue pumps she wore to the funeral, sheer, flesh-colored tights, and the tailored, salmon-colored dress. Patches of sweat stain her armpits. Her hair has a glossy, wheat-like sheen — it’s not quite as reddish-blonde as when she was young — and it tumbles down either side of her round face. She’s wearing a black pearl necklace. To Thomas, the necklace seems familiar; maybe she’s had it for years. Raising his bottle to make a toast, Maloney leans back, scowling. “Maloney’s back aches,” Jenny says. “But oh, oh, all of you should’ve gone swimming with us. It was cold, but lovely . Maloney jumped off the pier. Didn’t you, my love?” He nods. “If I hadn’t been so hot after chopping the goddamn firewood, I wouldn’t have done that. But swinging that ax was hard work. My arms are completely dead.”

“And your back,” Jenny adds, trying to blow a lock of hair from her face.

“Thank you, dear Maloney,” Kristin smiles. “We’ll think about you every time we get a fire going.”

“I damn well hope so!” Maloney bellows with laughter. “What about you, Tommy? Did you do anything sensible?”

Thomas sinks into the chair beside him. He’s got a view of Jenny’s deep cleavage. “I drank a mojito,” he says. “I think that’s very sensible.”

“You could’ve helped Maloney with the wood,” Jenny says, looking coolly at her brother. “He was out there for hours.” She wipes her mouth with the crumpled napkin.

“No thanks,” Maloney says. “All he would’ve done is chop my legs off. That man can’t handle his tools.”

“What can’t I do?”

“You’d think you two were brothers,” Jenny sighs.

“We are brothers,” Maloney says, dropping his arm around Thomas. “So where does that put you, sister Jenny?”

“Maloney!” Kristin gives him a stern look. Then she smiles. “Why are you like that? He’s always been like that!” She smiles at Luke, who’s leaning close to Patricia across the kitchen table. Thomas can’t make out what they’re discussing.

“Where’s Helena?” Jenny asks. Now she looks bored. Her eyes are half-closed, her mouth is open.

“She must’ve gone to lie down. The lamb exhausted her. It’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”

“But then it has to sit, too,” Maloney says, winking at Kristin. “Right?”

And so on, back and forth. Small talk. Cozy. Rich yellow light, dark steamy windows. The scent of roasted meat wafting from the oven. A dish of orange salad. Laughter now and then. Eye contact with Patricia, and Patricia approaches. He reaches for her, takes hold, pulls her onto his lap. He wraps her soft arms in his. The weight of her body. Luke’s all by himself at the kitchen table with his beer, maybe he’s feeling a bit dejected, maybe he’s on the outside looking in; it’s not the worst thing that could happen, Thomas thinks, pleased. He’ll learn to leave others’ women alone.

The dog bumbles across the room and drops at Jenny’s feet. She bends over and pats its back. Maloney stares happily at her heaving bosom. Patricia goes to the bathroom, and Thomas heads to the utility room for a bottle of red wine. By the time he returns, the twins and Alice have come downstairs. The girls proudly model their new ’dos, whipping their hair from side to side, jingling the beads. “You two look like you come from a tribal culture,” Maloney says.

“We do,” Maya replies, turning. “What do you think this place is?”

“Are we a tribal culture here at the farm?” Kristin wrinkles her brows, stirring the sauce.

“Yes!” Nina cries out. “And you’re the chief!”

“Oy,” Alice says. She pours herself a glass of water. “That was hard. I’ve never done so many braids in one day.”

“Join the club,” Maloney grouses.

“You’ve been braiding too?!” Alice sips, then sets her glass on the kitchen table. “What have you braided?”

“I don’t braid hair out of principle. But I’ve worked hard. Unlike certain others. So welcome to the hard workers’ club. We’re a whooped bunch.”

“You braid your fingers in mine,” Jenny says, yawning.

Alice stands behind her mother. Puts her hand on her shoulder. “You should grow your hair out so you can braid it,” Jenny says. “You look like a combat soldier.” Alice removes her hand and walks over to Luke.

“No! She looks like a secret agent!” Nina’s the one who says this. “Isn’t that right?” Nina tugs at Maya, who’s still spinning, a dervish, around and around. But now Maya stops: dizzy, wobbly. “No way! She looks totally cool. I want to look like that. When these braids come apart I’m going to cut them off.” Then she thumps to the floor and within seconds Jupiter is all over her, licking her face with his long, floppy, pink tongue. Soon, both girls are rolling around the floor with the tail-wagging dog licking them. When the dog begins to hump Nina’s thigh, Kristin shouts “Jupiter!” and yanks the dog off. Pointing at the dog, she says, “Shame on you.” And it lowers its head. “It’s not doing anything,” Nina says. “It’s just playing.” No one says anything. They’ve all watched with interest. “I don’t want it doing that,” Kristin says firmly. “It’s not appropriate. End of discussion.” She pounds the kitchen table with her fist.