Lars Ahn

 

Donation

Of the Scandinavian countries, Denmark probably has the most active contemporary horror scene, including a number of authors who have had at least some of their work appear in English, such as Steen Langstrup, Michael Kamp, A. Silvestri, and Teddy Vork. In fact, there’s so much horror fiction being published in Denmark that there’s even a Danish Horror Society (Dansk Horror Selskab) that gives out an award each year for the best work of Danish horror. The 2017 award went to a volume of short stories by our next author, Lars Ahn. In deeming Ahn’s book ‘a worthy winner of this year’s award’, the jury noted that the collection ‘twists the horror genre’s tools in surprising directions’ and said the author ‘manages to make a short story unfold like a novel and inspires re-­reading’. He is the author of a novel, Rød Høst (Red Harvest), and his short stories have appeared in over thirty anthologies. He has also won the Niels Klim Prize for best Danish science fiction story twice. In ‘Donation’, Ahn gives us perhaps the most frightening monster in this book, in the unlikely form of a seemingly innocent young boy.

It was the loveliest of mornings.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt better. Every­thing had gone beyond expectations yesterday. She had said yes immediately and seemed genuinely surprised, and he amazed himself by shedding a tear when he realized how happy she looked.

I should have done it a long time ago, he thought, before they started calling friends and family.

They had spent the rest of the day talking and constantly touching each other, as if they wanted to assure themselves that it was actually real and not a dream. If they weren’t holding hands, she was lying in his lap while he caressed her hair, and at regular intervals they broke out in laughter because they couldn’t believe they were finally ready to do it after having talked about it for so long. After dinner and red wine, they rewatched their favorite film before taking their intimate contact to a new level in the bedroom.

He still felt a little sore as he sat there at the dining table checking the latest congratulations on his phone. He could hear her humming in the kitchen as she prepared their brunch. He had offered to help, but she had ordered him to stay seated and read the thick Sunday edition of the news­paper, which still lay unopened before him.

It was spring, the sun shone, birds sang – they didn’t chirp, they sang – and green leaves had begun to appear on the trees. It was truly a lovely morning.

Then the doorbell rang.

Outside stood a little boy, who didn’t appear to be more than nine or ten years old, though he had never been good at guessing people’s ages. The first time he met her, he had thought she was three or four years younger than she turned out to be.

‘Yes?’ he said and wondered if he should recognize the boy. Several children lived on the street, but honestly he had a hard time telling them apart. She on the other hand had no problem with it and even knew the names of most of them.

‘Hi, I’m here for the collection,’ the boy said.

What collection? he almost asked, but he caught himself. He seemed to vaguely remember that there was going to be some national collection drive or other today, or perhaps next Sunday? There were so many of them these days that it was hard to keep track, sort of like with the children on the street. He felt embarrassed at not being able to recall, since he always made a point to donate to such things if he was home.

So instead he said: ‘Oh, yeah. One moment.’

It struck him as a bit odd that the boy wasn’t accompanied by an adult. He thought children weren’t allowed to walk around alone collecting money. He found his wallet in his jacket. There were only a few coins in it. Once again he had forgotten to withdraw cash.

‘Honey, do we have any cash?’ he said loudly.

‘What for?’

‘The collection.’

‘What collection?’

‘The . . . you know . . . the one from TV,’ he said and grew a little irritated at having to waste time explaining while the boy was waiting. ‘Do we have cash or not?’

‘I think so,’ she said and came out into the hall.

She caught sight of the boy.

‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Who are you?’

Ok, so it’s not one of the kids from the street.

‘I’m here because of the collection,’ said the boy.

‘Who’s it going to now?’ she asked, as she looked for her wallet in her own jacket. ‘It’s a little embarrassing, but I simply can’t remember.’

‘The money goes to Neglected Victims,’ the boy said.

‘I don’t think I’ve heard of them before. Is this their first collection?’ he asked. He took a closer look at the logo on the boy’s collection box. It was reminiscent of the logo of the Danish Cancer Society. A litigious attorney could definitely make a case out of it.

‘I don’t know,’ said the boy. ‘But I have a number here you can call, if . . .’

‘Here it is,’ she said and took out her wallet. She opened it. ‘Yes, I have some cash.’ She put the notes in the box.

The boy stared. ‘Wow!’ he burst out. ‘That was really a lot. Have a good rest of your day.’

The boy made a move to go, but then stopped.

‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘but could I please use your bathroom? I really need to . . .’

‘Yes, of course,’ she said, standing aside so the boy could come in.

He stepped over the threshold.

‘It’s just over here,’ she said and showed him the bathroom.

‘Thanks,’ the boy said. ‘I’ll hurry.’

‘Take all the time you need,’ she said, and closed the front door behind him.

The boy walked to the bathroom door and slipped inside.

They looked at each other. He shook his head with a smile.

‘What a polite young man,’ he said.

‘He must be doing more than just pee,’ he said in the kitchen. ‘He’s been in there for almost ten minutes.’

‘Really?’ she said with her head halfway in the refri­ger­ator.

‘Something wrong?’ He was surprised at her somewhat absent answer. Normally she would have said something sarcastic like, ‘What, are you timing him?’

She sighed. ‘I forgot the eggs while we were standing out there. Now they’re hard-­boiled.’ They both preferred their eggs soft and runny.

‘So cook some more.’

‘Those were the last, so unless you feel like going out and buying . . .’

‘We’ll do without,’ he said and kissed her on the cheek.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Just go sit. I’ll be right in.’

He found the boy sitting at the table in the living room.

‘Are you finished?’ he asked. He was so dumbfounded he didn’t know what else to say.

‘Yes, thanks, that was a relief,’ said the boy.

‘That’s good,’ he said and winced internally, because he knew very well how stupid it sounded.

The boy just smiled, but made no move to get up from the table.

He cleared his throat. ‘Well, you’ll need to be getting on with your route,’ he said.

‘No,’ said the boy.

He thought at first he had heard wrong. ‘What?’

The boy sniffed. ‘Do I smell bacon?’

‘Listen, you . . .’

‘I did have breakfast, but I’m actually hungry again. You don’t mind if I eat with you?’

He could feel his jaw physically drop. He blinked in a desperate hope that it would make the boy disappear, but the kid was still sitting there.

‘All right, let’s e—’

He turned around and saw her frozen in the doorway with a pitcher of fresh-­squeezed orange juice in one hand and a plate of dry-­cured ham in the other, while she tried to decipher the situation. Under other circumstances, he would have seen the comical side to it, but just now he only felt anger slowly rising within him.

‘Oh . . . hi,’ she said to the boy.

‘Hi.’

‘Are you finished?’ she asked, and he could feel how his toes were about to curl.

‘Yes, yes.’

‘Aha . . .’ she said and seemed as if she were at a loss for words.

He tried to come to her rescue. ‘He’d like to eat with us.’

She stared in disbelief, first at him, then at the boy, and then at him again.

‘Would you just come in the kitchen with me, dear? We’re missing something,’ she said sweetly.

‘Did you invite him?’ she asked.

He tried to gauge her tone of voice. She didn’t sound angry so much as astonished.

He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what’s going on. All of a sudden he was just sitting there. So it’s more like he’s invited himself.’

She leaned into the living room, still holding the ham and the pitcher of orange juice. ‘What are we going to say to him?’

‘That he has to go? He does have a route he’s supposed to take care of.’

‘Isn’t that too rude? He does look a bit undernourished.’

Now it was his turn to look in. The boy still sat at the table, staring out into the air like a restaurant guest waiting on the server. He had to admit that the boy wasn’t among the best fed, but on the other hand he didn’t look like he was about to faint from hunger either.

‘He looks healthy enough to me,’ he said. ‘Anyway, we only gave him permission to use the bathroom. We didn’t say anything about him eating with us.’

‘Yes, but all the same . . .’ she said.

He groaned. ‘Why are we even having this discussion? Neither of us asked him to be here, so I don’t see any problem with asking him nicely to go on his way again. He has to be able to understand that. Otherwise there’s something lacking in his upbringing.’

He could see that she was still hesitant.

‘Let us flip the situation around,’ he said. ‘Neither of us would ever go into a complete stranger’s house and expect to get something to eat. ’

‘No,’ she said. ‘You’re right. I just feel sorry for him.’

‘That’s okay, baby. You let your big heart get carried away.’ That was one of the things about her he had originally fallen for. ‘I’ll just tell him,’ he said and went into the living room, as she followed a little way behind.

He waited for her to set the juice and ham down before clearing his throat. ‘Listen, we’re going to have to ask you to go.’

The boy looked up at him. ‘Why?’

‘Why? Because you can’t just go into the homes of people you don’t know and expect to be waited on. We gave you permission to use our bathroom, but that was it. You must be able to understand that?’

‘Not really,’ said the boy. ‘You seem to have tons of food.’

‘Okay, party’s over.’ He leaned over the boy and sensed how she was holding her breath in the background. ‘If you don’t understand it in the normal way, then let’s try this: What’s your name, and where do you live? I’ll call your parents and have them come get you.’

The boy shrugged his shoulders. ‘If that’s your plan, then why should I tell you?’

‘Fine, then I’ll call the police instead. No doubt they can convince you better than I can.’

‘And what do you plan to tell them?’

‘That a boy has forced his way into our home and won’t leave.’

‘You invited me in yourselves,’ the boy pointed out.

‘Yes, but under false pretenses. Is there even a national collection drive today, and does Neglected Victims even exist? It’s illegal to make fake collections.’

‘I don’t know what collection you’re talking about.’

‘But – ’ He looked around for the boy’s collection box, but he couldn’t catch sight of it. ‘We gave you money,’ he said.

‘I don’t know anything about that.’

‘You’ve stolen from us!’

The boy frowned. ‘I still don’t know what you’re talking about. But it can’t possibly be theft, if you yourself gave the money away.’

He had never been closer to hitting a child before and had to find hitherto unknown strength to restrain himself. He took a deep breath and counted slowly to twenty. Backwards.

‘For the last time,’ he said. ‘Give us our money back and leave our home. Then we’ll forget the rest.’

The boy shook his head. ‘I haven’t taken your money. Check for yourself.’

He looked at her.

‘Just a second,’ she said and went out to the hall. He heard her rummage around out there and open first one door and then another and finally the front door. Then she came back. From her astonished facial expression he already knew what she was going to say before she opened her mouth.

‘All the bills were there?’ he said.

She nodded.

‘What about the box?’

‘I didn’t see it anywhere.’

He gaped and stared at the boy, who looked back at him with an innocent expression.

‘How?’

‘You know, the food’s getting cold,’ said the boy.

The boy wiped his mouth with the back side of his hand.

‘Thanks for the food,’ he said. ‘It tasted delicious.’

‘You’re welcome,’ she said automatically.

They all three sat at the table, but only the boy had eaten. He had launched himself at the food with an appetite that had almost frightened them and for a moment made them consider whether he really had been starving. Their compassion evaporated, though, just as quickly as it had come, when he began to smack loudly and dip his fingers in the strawberry jam. Not once had he used the cutlery, with the result that he had bits of food around his mouth and there was a flood of crumbs, blobs, crusts, and peels on the table and the floor. That was enough to make them lose their own appetites.

The whole time he had sat and stared the boy down, but apparently without effect.

‘Now you’ve got what you came for. Will you be so good as to go home to your parents?’

The boy belched. ‘I can’t do that.’

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t have parents or a home.’

‘You must live somewhere.’

‘Yes, but it’s not home to me.’

‘All right, then bugger off back to the institution you escaped from, and don’t bother us anymore.’

‘Honey,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘You can’t talk like that. He’s only a child.’

He blinked. ‘What do you mean?’ Then it dawned on him. ‘Oh no, say it’s not true . . . you couldn’t possibly.’

‘What?’ she said.

‘You’re starting to feel sorry for him again, aren’t you? Even after all this bullshit . . . it’s so typically you.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Dear, I love you, but you’ve got this thing about letting other people take advantage of you.’

‘What nonsense. I do not.’

‘No? Just look over there.’ He pointed over to the sofa table. ‘Why do we have three copies of the new issue of Street News lying there? Who the hell buys the same issue three times, and what’s more, twice from the same homeless guy?’

‘It’s not like it cost very much.’

‘No, but it’s the principle of the thing. Like how you always choose to donate the refund on the bottle deposits.’

‘And what’s wrong with that?’

‘Nothing, but you just do it without us ever talking about it.’

‘You’ve never complained about it.’

‘No, but you’ve never asked either.’

‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘There’s a word for this kind of thing: empathy. Ever heard of it, dear?’

He shook his head. ‘Drop it. You know better than anyone that I always give to a good cause when someone asks.’

‘And this coming from someone who only signed up for Unicef to get out of talking to their street fundraisers. Super, dear.’

‘So you’re calling me a hypocrite?’

‘Come on, we all are. We pay so that we can feel saintly and not have to think too much about the unpleasant reality. I’m just honest about it, unlike you. And didn’t you say that you loved me because of my, quote, “big heart”? Or was that just a pick-­up line?’

‘Of course it wasn’t. I meant it, and I mean it still. That is one of the things I love about you, but frankly, your IQ drops several points when you have somebody disadvantaged standing in front of you.’

‘You should know all about that, since I said yes to you yesterday.’

‘Are you saying you’ve changed your mind?’

‘No, but sometimes you are just so . . .’

‘Yeah? I’m waiting anxiously to hear the end of that sentence.’

She made a dismissive gesture. ‘Forget it. I won’t bother.’

‘No? You were just about to tell me some vital new information about myself.’

‘Honey, stop it now.’

He could see she was on the verge of crying, and all at once it was like all the anger seeped out of him. That was the effect her tears usually had. They might have their arguments, but they were seldom mad at each other for long. He stood up and walked over to her. He pulled her to him as he kissed her on the back of her head.

‘Sorry, baby,’ he said. ‘Sometimes I’m a big idiot.’

She laughed and kissed him in return. ‘And I’m looking forward to being Mrs. Big Idiot.’

The boy cleared his throat. Until that moment he had kept silent during their whole discussion. They both turned towards him.

‘Might I make a suggestion?’ he said.

‘I understand that you’re getting married?’ the boy said, sounding as though he’d just laid his eyes on all the presents under the Christmas tree.

‘Yes, and . . . ?’ he said.

‘Convince me.’

‘Of what?’

‘Convince me that it really should be the two of you till death do you part. That you’re made for each other. The perfect couple. Soulmates. Each other’s best friends. If you can do that, then I’ll leave.’

‘But what for?’ she said.

‘Just because,’ said the boy.

He had had just about enough. He stood beside the boy and looked down at him. ‘Listen here, my little friend. I can’t really see what our relationship has to do with you. So my suggestion is that you get up quickly from that seat and find your way out of here. Otherwise I’ll help you out the door.’

The boy smiled. ‘So you’d lay a hand on me? That will be tough to explain to the police. They’d love another child abuse case.’

‘Honey,’ she said in her irritatingly effective ‘let’s-­be-­sensible-­now-­voice’. ‘Don’t do that. If you hit him, he’s won.’

‘What?’

‘Can’t you see what he’s up to?’ she said. ‘He’s trying to play us against each other, and he was about to succeed just now.’

He stared back at the boy in disbelief. ‘Is that true? Is that really what you’re after?’

The boy scratched at his nose. ‘She said it, I didn’t. I just want to be sure that you’re making the right decision.’

‘But why us? And why today?’

‘Why not?’ said the boy.

It was the almost indifferent way the boy said it that caused the reaction. He could feel his legs quivering, and it was only force of will that prevented him from collapsing. Instead he clung to the tabletop. He was at his wits’ end and looked confusedly at her for help.

She sat with her arms crossed and looked at the boy. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘We’ll do it.’

We will? He didn’t trust his own voice just then and kept quiet.

The boy clapped his hands excitedly. ‘Fantastic! This will be fun.’

‘Darling?’ he tried.

She looked at him with a determined glance. There was still a tinge of red in her eyes.

‘We can do this,’ she said decidedly.

He nodded and could tell that now it was he who was on the verge of crying. Instead, he moved his chair so that he was sitting beside her. They grasped each other’s hands. He took a deep breath.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘We’re ready.’

‘Tell me how you met. Was it love at first sight?’

They looked at each other.

‘Not exactly,’ he said.

‘It’s a little complicated,’ she said.

‘We were friends, before we were lovers,’ he said.

‘He was going out with one of my friends,’ she said.

The boy tilted his head at an angle. ‘You don’t say.’

She waved this off. ‘I didn’t know her that well. We were in the same study group, but I was closer to some of the others.’

‘I had broken up with her when we met,’ he added.

The boy frowned. ‘Wait a minute, there’s something I don’t understand. You said you were friends before you were lovers, but how could you be friends if you didn’t know each other better?’

‘Okay, “friends” was maybe the wrong word to use. It would probably be more accurate to say we were close acquaintances,’ he said.

‘We would meet at the same parties, and we used to have nice conversations. We had good chemistry, but it wasn’t any more than that because we were going out with other people,’ she said.

‘So how did you get together, if I may ask?’ said the boy.

He laughed, a little too loudly. ‘Ha! That’s actually a really funny story.’

‘It happened online,’ she said.

‘We hadn’t seen each other for a while but were still friends on Facebook, and then she commented on one of my posts and I replied and it just went on from there,’ he said.

‘How very modern,’ the boy said. ‘What did you post?’

‘Just some lame joke that only we understood. We still have the whole thread on our profiles,’ he said.

‘Yes, let’s print it out and have someone turn it into a wedding song,’ she said with a smile.

They laughed quietly together. The boy watched them with an unfathomable look. ‘That actually wasn’t a particularly funny story.’

He snorted. ‘Sorry, kid. But sometimes people just love each other, without having to go all Hollywood about it.’

‘Okay,’ the boy said. ‘But when did you realize you loved each other?’

‘That’s hard to say,’ he said. ‘In my case, it was something that happened gradually.’ He turned towards her. ‘I just know that suddenly I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I was all happy inside every time I saw you.’

She smiled. ‘That says it all, doesn’t it?’

‘Very touching,’ said the boy. ‘But what about you? When was the flash of lightning? Or did it just sneak up on you too?’

She shook her head. ‘No, I know precisely when it happened.’

‘Really?’ he said. ‘You’ve never said anything about that. When was it then?’

She cleared her throat and looked over at the boy. ‘Isn’t there something else you’d rather ask us about? I have a hard time seeing what this will prove.’

‘On the contrary,’ said the boy. ‘Your unwillingness to answer a simple question is just making this more interesting. I think your fiancé feels the same way?’

‘Honey?’ he said.

She sighed. ‘It was that evening when we’d been to the movies to see Sex and the City 2, even though the World Cup was on, and I got sick after eating a shawarma and threw up on the train. You held my hair and on the way back you took my bag, which was full of vomit, and carried it the whole way home. It was then that I realized I loved you.’

‘But . . .’ he said. ‘That wasn’t even two years ago.’

‘And how long is it that you’ve been a couple?’ asked the boy.

‘F-­four years,’ he said.

‘So if I’ve calculated right, that means that . . .’

‘SHUT UP!!!’ He rose from his seat so the chair toppled over with a bang, and bent down over the boy. ‘One more word, you little shit, and I swear . . .’

She reached out towards him. ‘Darling, please . . .’

He pulled away from her touch. ‘And you,’ he said and pointed at her. ‘Don’t you get started either. What the hell was that shit just now? And to say it to him.’

All the color had vanished from his face, and he took a deep breath and tried not to start crying.

‘Darling, let me explain,’ she said.

‘Fuck you,’ he said and left the room.

She expected to hear the front door slam, but instead it was the door to the bathroom that was opened and closed. She sank back down in the chair and took her head in her hands.

‘Shit,’ she said.

‘You were just being honest,’ the boy said.

She shot daggers at him. ‘I’m going to him now, no matter what you say, and I don’t give a shit if it goes against your rules.’

The boy shrugged. ‘It’s a free country, and there are no rules. You can do what you want, as long as you manage to convince me that you two should be together. Right now I have my doubts.’

She got up from the chair.

‘This isn’t over yet,’ she said.

‘Honey?’ she knocked carefully on the door.

No answer. But she could hear him inside. It sounded as if he were hyperventilating, but she knew that it was his struggling to hold back tears. She tried the door handle. It was locked.

‘Honey, won’t you open up?’

Still no answer.

‘Talk to me, baby,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry about what I said in there, but we have to talk about it if we’re going to have a chance.’

She could hear him mumble something half-­stifled.

‘What did you say? I couldn’t hear you.’

‘Leave me alone,’ he said.

‘Honey,’ her voice cracked, and she could feel the tears welling up. She leaned against the door. ‘Forgive me. You know how much I love you. I have the whole time, but that evening was the first time I was 100% sure.’

The door opened and she nearly fell in.

He looked at her with an empty expression in his eyes, which scared her more than anything else. ‘Two years,’ he said tonelessly. ‘We were together for two years without your really knowing whether you loved me.’

‘Listen to me, baby,’ she said. ‘Of course I did, otherwise we wouldn’t have stayed together. But it wasn’t until that night when I realized how much you can love another person. Suddenly I could see the rest of my life crystal clear before me, and you were with me the whole way.’

He frowned. ‘Fuck you,’ he whispered, but he smiled when he said it. ‘You know I can’t be angry with you when you cry.’

She raised her hand up to her face and found that her cheeks were wet. She hadn’t even realized she had cried.

He stroked her gently over her cheek. ‘I lied in there,’ he said.

‘When?’

‘When I said that I didn’t know when I fell in love with you.’

‘But . . .’

‘I already loved you the first time we saw each other. You had had a study group meeting and I was coming to pick up Julie, but instead we all decided to go to a café, and we wound up sitting beside each other. That’s where I fell for you. I tried not to, but it just got worse every time we met, and that was one of the reasons why it didn’t work out between me and Julie.’

‘Why have you never told me that?’

‘Because I felt so damn guilty about Julie, and that didn’t exactly make me stand out as the best boyfriend material.’

She laughed. ‘You might be right about that, but right now you’re Mr. Perfect compared to me.’

‘Yes, who would have thought it would come to this?’ he said and pulled her to him.

They remained standing like that until she dried her eyes and pulled loose. ‘What do you say? Shall we go in and throw that little brat out on his ass? Right now I don’t give a damn if he reports us to the police or his parents, whoever they are.’

He shook his head. ‘No, you had it right before. If we touch him, he’s won. We can only beat him by standing together. We’re behind on points, but I know we can do it.’

She kissed him. ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘but afterwards we trash the little bastard.’

The boy glowed like a sun when they sat down again.

‘Outstanding,’ he said. ‘That’s what I call fighting spirit. Shall we continue?’

‘Do your worst,’ she said.

‘Good. Tell me, what is your worst fear about each other?’

They exchanged glances.

‘That he doesn’t want to have children,’ she said.

‘That I love her more than she loves me,’ he said.

‘What?’ she said.

‘Interesting,’ the boy replied.

‘Did you say that because I just . . .’

‘No,’ he interrupted her. ‘I’ve felt it the whole time. Since we started going out, I’ve feared that one day you’d realize you can do better, so when you said that other thing a little earlier, you confirmed my worst suspicions.’

‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘You have to forgive me, baby. That wasn’t what I meant.’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘But what do you mean that I don’t want to have children? There’s nothing I want more than to have a family with you.’

She threw up her hands. ‘It’s just that whenever we’re around children, I don’t get the impression that you’re wildly excited about them.’

‘In what way?’

‘You don’t really talk to them, and you’re not interested in what they do.’

‘They’re children. What should I talk to them about? Tax regulations? Teletubbies?’

‘That’s what I mean. You don’t even make the attempt. If you can’t do it with other people’s kids, what about our own?’

‘Whoa, whoa,’ he said. ‘Just because I don’t find our friends’ children intellectually stimulating, that doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t be there 100% for our kids. And your brother’s girls and my sister’s boys seem happy with me.’

‘Yes, but I’ve also seen how when we babysit you can’t wait for them to be picked up again so we can be by ourselves. I don’t doubt that you love them, but you’d rather be with them in small doses.’

‘You yourself have to admit that it can be a little exhausting to be with them for a long time, and you said yourself that you felt totally worn out after we’d watched the boys for a whole weekend last time. They’re great kids, but you’d think they had Duracell batteries in their bloodstream.’

‘Your nieces aren’t much better. When they run amok, it’s like watching a children’s edition of Bridezillas,’ she said.

‘Let me reiterate: they are not our children,’ he said. ‘There’s a bloody difference how one treats his own children and other people’s children. So you can’t just transfer my behavior and say that’s how I’d be as a father. If I did the same thing with you, I’d have good grounds for being seriously worried.’

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

He took his head in his hands. ‘Forget it. I shouldn’t have said that.’

‘No, no,’ she said coolly. ‘Go on and say it. I’m really interested in hearing what opinions you have of my skills as a mother.’

‘Honey, nothing good is going to come of this.’ He looked over at the boy. ‘Can’t you see, we’re doing it again.’

Her eyes shot icicles. ‘The damage is already done, so come out with it.’

He rubbed his neck. ‘I think,’ he said slowly, ‘that you’re a little too indulgent when you’re with kids. It’s probably me there’s something wrong with, but you let them get away with too much, and you let them run circles around you.’

‘Like you yourself said: there’s a difference between if it’s one’s own kids or someone else’s that one’s dealing with. I can’t start teaching good manners to kids that aren’t mine.’

‘You’re right, dear,’ he said. ‘Forget what I said. That was stupid of me.’

She snorted irritatedly. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake. Why don’t you grow a pair of balls?’

‘What the hell?!’

‘Now it’s you who’s too indulgent.’

‘And is there something wrong with that?’

‘Yeah, who wants a pussy-­whipped man for a husband?’

‘There are apparently a lot of women who do. Just look at the sorry excuses for men some of your girlfriends have picked.’

She laughed. ‘You’re one to talk. Your brother-­in-­law can hardly walk three steps in a straight line because your sister has him grabbed so hard by the balls.’

‘Your brother . . .’ he began.

‘What about my brother?’ she said.

They stared at each other.

‘Fuck,’ he burst out and banged a clenched fist on the table­top so that it shook.

She smiled sadly. ‘This isn’t going so well, is it?’ she said.

‘No,’ he admitted.

The boy raised a finger.

‘Might I point out something?’ he said.

It happened so fast that he didn’t have time to react.

‘You,’ she sneered at the boy, and suddenly she had the bread knife in her hand and was standing behind him, with a firm grip on his hair and the serrated blade against his bare throat.

He gaped. ‘Dear, what the fuck are you doing?’

‘I swear,’ she said to the boy in a voice that no longer sounded like her own. ‘One more word from you, and I’ll cut your throat. Understood? Don’t say anything. Just nod.’

The boy nodded. The self-­assured attitude was all gone, and now he just looked like a scared little boy.

‘Honey.’ He got up slowly from his chair and reached his hand out. ‘Honey, give me the knife.’

She trembled. Not just her head, but her whole body, and he was afraid she’d wind up cutting the boy.

‘I . . . can’t . . . take . . . any . . . more,’ she said.

‘I understand that,’ he said. ‘But this isn’t the right way.’

‘Why not?’ she said. ‘One little slice, and the whole thing is over.’

The boy whined.

‘Quiet!’ she hissed and pressed the blade tighter against his skin.

‘Believe me, I’ve considered the possibility myself,’ he said. ‘But it will only do more harm than good. What would we do with the body? How do we get rid of it without the neighbors seeing it? What about all the blood?’

She broke into a loud laugh. ‘Just listen to yourself. Your fiancée, the woman you love, and whom you want to marry and have kids with, is threatening to slit a child’s throat and your first thought is how you can clean up after her.’

He looked at her in disbelief. ‘Tell me, are you bluffing?’

‘Only partly,’ she said. ‘I still feel really tempted, but it was interesting to hear your reaction.’

He blinked. ‘Sorry, but just who is it standing there with the knife? I mean, I’m the one with more reason to be concerned.’

She looked at him with a pained expression on her face. ‘I just want all this to stop.’

‘So do I,’ he said.

‘So we agree? Can you forgive me?’

‘Always,’ he said.

‘Good,’ she said and laid the knife down.

The boy turned around in the doorway. He hadn’t said anything since he got up from the table and went out into the entryway.

‘Thanks,’ he said.

‘For what?’ she said.

‘Your generous contribution.’

Neither of them had any desire to know what he meant by that.

‘The pleasure was all yours,’ he said to the boy.

That was meant as a sarcastic comment, an ‘I-­got-­the-­last-­word’ reply, but he could himself hear how lame it sounded.

‘Farewell,’ she said.

The boy just smiled and went down the garden path. They remained standing in the doorway and watched him go, as if to assure themselves that he had entirely disappeared from their life. Only when they could no longer see him did they close the door and lock it.

They looked at each other.

‘Did we win?’ she asked.

‘I hope so,’ he said.

 

 

Translated from the Danish by James D. Jenkins