Novels

This story isn’t lost. It’s unfolding.

It’s the story of when my aunt Gertie got in trouble again. Her fourth husband had vanished, and she had been discovered in her car, covered with blood. Everyone was making a big fuss about it, but there was no dead Gerald, so he could be anywhere, and also, I couldn’t stop wondering how many times throughout history, a man had lost his fourth wife, and no one had batted an eyelid.

To be fair, Gertie’s three last husbands had died under mysterious circumstances. ‘But who’s counting?’ asked Aunt Gertie when I talked to her on the phone, after the police had taken her to the station for questioning.

I was quite certain that the police were counting, and I advised her to stop being Aunt Gertie, and not tell them anything, and then made arrangements to return to my childhood home outside of Brighton the same day. I knew Mum would have called everyone, but I wasn’t sure if all my siblings would make it back to The Pie Whisper Hotel to solve this crisis. I felt certain, however, that somehow Fiona would find her way back under these circumstances. That alone made the trip worthwhile.

My sister Fiona was exactly like my aunt which worried a lot of people. The thing about the two of them, however, was that they were just living with the freedom that comes with being a man.

What I learned from my aunt and sister at an early age is that there comes a point in every girl’s life when she realizes that she will have to fight harder for certain opportunities simply because she was born without a penis. In my family, all the girls decided to take it kicking and screaming and sometimes while kicking penises.

Fiona once said that every family has three secrets except our family. We have twenty-seven. She said that our whole timeline is full of stories but somehow the stories got lost. She said that the stories about Aunt Gertie’s husbands are in there somewhere. It’s just a matter of asking the right questions to the right people. My sister says a lot of things, however.

‘I’ve been a mosquito once, but I have also been a ghost,’ she said, as I stepped into the lounge room at The Pie Whisper Hotel. Your classic old, seaside, temporary home of many with paint peeling off the sides because the salt from the ocean was too ruthless for father to keep up. My feet had stepped down every corner back when everyone was calling me ‘Babybug’.

It was past everyone’s bedtime, and Fiona was lounging across a large chair covered in blue velvet. The armrests had been worn down by all the times Fiona had rested her legs on them. And tourists.

I was pleased to find my brother Davin sitting opposite her, nodding his head because that was what you wanted to do when Aunt Gertie or Fiona went off on one of their accounts. Davin was wearing a suit jacket, and Davin’s wife Olga was sticking out like a sore thumb, sitting straight in her seat next to him, hands resting in her lap and tight lips in a nice blouse. My father had settled on the other side in his overalls.

‘When were you a mosquito?’ asked Davin, and I lowered myself into a seat in front of the fireplace, welcoming the heat.

‘When I was in Vietnam,’ said Fiona.

Davin smiled at me. Fiona didn’t see me and continued. ‘My skin was almost white from staying in the jungle. That was when the locals started calling me the Ghost. They never saw a white person who had been out of the sun for three months.’ She chuckled and turned her head staring at me.  

‘Babybug!’

‘Tabby,’ I said.

‘Tabby. I haven’t seen you in a decade!’

‘Four years,’ I said. ‘You were in Vietnam?’

Fiona shook her head. ‘No. I’ve been travelling a bit everywhere. I lived in Argentina for a year. I got married there, but then I got divorced again.’

‘Of course you did.’ I said while Davin tried to sit down on top of me and embrace me at the same time. Davin had a pleasant scent of spices and ocean. I knew that if I let him to stay too long, he would fart on me or burp in my face. I started the struggle of pushing him away again.

‘That’s not important,’ said Fiona and continued. ‘I was in North Korea for a brief interlude. It didn’t suit me though. They had me stay at this hotel far away from everything, and every time I wanted to leave, I had an escort, so I got the sense that everything was staged. I mean, it was a bit peculiar that the children were always standing around singing in the streets. They wore the cutest little scarves though. It was like North Korea was entirely populated by Girl Scouts.’ She squinted her eyes at a distant memory. ‘Which freaked me out. I left after three months.’

‘That makes sense,’ I said, while Davin returned to his seat.

‘Then I was a skiing instructor in Norway. Somewhere outside of Oslo.’

‘Oh, Davin didn’t say that you were good at skiing.’ This was Olga, Davin’s wife with the tight lips and nice shirt.

My father waved at me. I blew him a kiss.

‘I’m not,’ said Fiona. ‘I just told the people at the hotel, and it only lasted a week then I met this guy. He was handsome, so I stayed with him for a while.’

‘But when were you a mosquito?’ asked Davin.

‘In Vietnam.’

I stared at Fiona who now had purple shiny hair. I think I spotted a new tattoo on her right shoulder. A lightbulb or a nose.

Olga leaned towards Davin. ‘Is it normal, that none of us are talking about the fact that your aunt is a murderer?’ she asked.

Davin nodded with a smile on his face. ‘Yes. Aunt Gertie is fine. You should worry about the police.’

‘And she’s allegedly a murderer,’ I said. ‘Which is what I’ll tell the police tomorrow.’

Olga smiled at me then straightened her necklace.

‘But you will make an effort to get her free?’

‘Yes. Of course. But they won’t be letting her out tonight.’

‘How is mum?’ asked Davin.

‘She has baked pie enough to feed an army,’ said my father. ‘So probably not good.’

‘I love pie,’ said Fiona.

‘How were you a mosquito?’ I asked her.

‘Oh. It was just for one day. It was a mess of a day. I fell out of my body in the morning. Then you know right off the bat that you’ve had a poor start.’

My niece Wilma had snuck into the room. She walked up next to me and planted a kiss on my cheek. ‘Hello, Flower,’ she whispered.

‘Hello, Flower,’ I whispered back and tried to straighten her hair. It was a three-year-old mess. Her diapered buttock was sticking out of her stockings.

‘Was Fiona really a mosquito?’ she whispered.

‘I’m not sure,’ I whispered back. ‘It’s quite irregular for people to be mosquitos, but it’s hard to tell when it comes to Fiona.’ I picked up Wilma and put my arms around her little, warm belly.

‘Why did you fall out of your body?’ asked Wilma. ‘Didn’t you like it anymore or did you get in a fight with it?’

Fiona shook her head. ‘I got out of bed too fast.’

‘Can I fall out of my body if I get out of bed too fast?’

‘Yes,’ said Fiona.

‘No,’ said Olga. ‘Things like that only happens to special people.’

‘Thank you,’ said Fiona.

‘I want to be special too,’ said Wilma. Her little hand started playing with my watch.  

‘You’re super special,’ I said. ‘You’re just a different kind of special.’

‘You are chocolate cake,’ said Wilma, pointing a small finger back at me, turning on my lap. Her finger looked sticky and suspicious. Her eyes widened, indicating that she thought she had insulted me. I didn’t take it lying down.

‘No. You are chocolate cake,’ I said, rolling my eyes at her.

Wilma giggled and jumped down.

‘Everyone in this room smells!’ yelled a deep voice behind me.

I turned my head and stared at my twin, Tully.

‘No, you smell!’ yelled Wilma then she giggled and ran off towards the hallway.

Tully leaned in to hug me. ‘Sister.’

‘Holly brother of the twinhood.’

Tully lowered himself into another chair. I noticed that he wasn’t wearing shoes which puzzled me.

Davin turned towards Fiona again. I could tell that his mind needed to make sense of her. ‘What happened after you fell out of your body?’ asked Davin.

‘I poked one of the locals with a needle.’ She guffawed. ‘He thought he had been stung by a mosquito. He panicked, so I had to confess that I had poked him.’

‘You stung a man with a needle?’ I asked staring at her.

My mother stepped into the room. ‘Oh. All my babies are here. Your rooms are ready, and chef has made dinner. Chop chop.’

I stared at Fiona. She turned in her seat. ‘Mum!’ she yelled, and her story was frozen in the air. Unfinished. Leaving at least me to wonder why my older sister would poke a man in the forest with a needle.

I hugged my mum then walked up the stairs.

My old room had morphed into an anonymous guest room. It was neat and clean but looked like Fiona had done the decorations. The walls were covered with framed paintings of men smoking pipes. There was an old, brown, leather recliner in front of the small fire.

I opened my suitcase and started placing my clothes in the dresser drawers. My door jumped open, and Fiona marched in.

‘Oh. They’ve got a man smoking pipe room now. My room is an ordinary hotel room. I think it’s a sarcastic comment from mum. It’s freaking me out.’

‘I can imagine. How are you, Fiona? No card from North Korea or Norway. No phone call. Mum’s been worried sick.’

‘I’ve been worried sick,’ said Fiona, throwing herself on my bed. ‘You have no idea.’

‘Good. It’s good to worry. But the next time you worry, you should call us and talk about it.’

‘Oh, you know I don’t do boring family stuff.’

‘Calling isn’t boring family stuff. That’s I’m not dead stuff.’

‘You’re so dramatic, Tabby. It’s your legal job. Isn’t it? It must be a dramatic job.’

‘Everyone dies, and you’ve got a proclivity for putting yourself in situations that resemble other situations where people have in fact died. We get worried when we don’t hear anything for years.’

I sat down on the edge of my bed.

‘Pish posh.’ Fiona sat back up then she leaned in and embraced me in a hug. She smelt of lavender and weed. The last time I had seen her, she had been opposed to showering, since it was part of men’s plot to oppress women.

‘You smell great,’ I said, trying to not sound surprised.

‘Ah. It’s my new scheme. I lure men in and spend their money.’

‘Hm.’

‘Don’t judge me, Tabby. I can’t stand it when you judge me.’

‘I’m not judging. I’m trying to keep up.’

‘And I’m trying to keep up with you. Are you still in law school?’

‘Graduated.’

‘Living in Oxford?’

‘London.’

‘Engaged to what’s his face?’

‘Left him.’

‘Aw. Why?’ asked Fiona.

‘Because he was rich, and he wanted me to stop working, so we could have babies.’

Fiona’s eyes widened. ‘What a massive dick.’

‘Now that would have made me reconsider.’

Fiona laughed. ‘How did this not come up before you got engaged?’

‘I don’t know. I think the signs were there. I may have closed my eyes to a few indications.’

‘I must admit that I’m a bit disappointed. Didn’t I teach you anything?’

‘Yes, always wear pointy boots so you can kick guys in the privates. And then you left.’

‘You can’t expect me to stay here.’

‘I didn’t. I expected you to stay in touch.’

Fiona threw herself back on the pillows. ‘You’re exhausting. How’s Aunt Gertie? Did anyone talk to her?’

‘I talked to her last night on the phone, after the police picked her up. I’m allowed to see her tomorrow.’

‘Did she say what happened?’

‘Gerald is missing and that the police arrested her.’

‘Oh. Shit. She needs us. Mum said on the phone that there was blood.’

‘Yes. It looks bad.’

‘How’s mum?’

‘I don’t know any more than you do.’

Fiona shrugged then her classic I’m up to no good smile appeared. ‘Let’s go see Davin.’

‘Let’s give Davin and Olga some peace to settle in.’

Fiona’s smile was frozen, telling me that Davin and his wife had five seconds left to get dressed before Fiona charged their room.

‘Wilma sure is a fine little lady.’

‘Fiona. For the love of Davin’s poor wife.’

Fiona jumped off my bed and charged out of the room. I shook my head. ‘Poor Olga,’ I mumbled. Fiona had missed the wedding. Fiona had also missed the initial introductions. Olga had no idea what was about to hit her.

I heard the door in the room opposite mine slam open, followed by screaming and cursing.

Chapter 1,2.

The first time I experienced the feeling of unfairness that comes with being a female was in 1983. It happened on a regular Tuesday. Nothing had warned me that life was about to change. I was seven years old, going on eighty. It was a math class, and I loved math.

People had warned me that school would be hard. There would be something called homework, and most adults seemed to dread homework. People had also warned me about Math. However, I had found that math was like little puzzles that the teacher would give me to solve. On that day, I had been presented with a new page of wonderful puzzles, except one of them was bugging me.

A few girls had given up and formed a line at our male teacher’s desk. At this point of my little life, I didn’t think too much about males and females. Most of my friends were boys because they played with the toys I liked. My world was divided into adults, children and the big children.

My classmate John, who had a stamp collection and sometimes picked his nose, left his seat and joined the girls in the queue. I glanced down at the problem which was more of an obstacle than a delightful puzzle. I could feel my brain spill out of my head from the exhaustion.  

I moaned. Someone laughed. Our male teacher hushed and then smiled at the next girl in line. I gave in to my inadequacy. I pushed myself out of my seat and lined up behind John, hugging the impossible math problem against my chest. I was already embarrassed. Our teacher smiled at Evelyn. She bit her lip.

‘When you divide a hundred and fifty with three then you get fifty,’ he said. ‘Don’t you see?’ Evelyn nodded. She took her book and returned to her seat.

John stepped up to our teacher. My teacher shook his head. ‘What are you doing here, John?’

‘It’s too hard,’ said John, putting his book down and pointing to the same problem that was causing me tribulations.

Our teacher pushed the book away and pointed back to John’s seat. ‘Go back to your seat and try again.’

I was only seven, and my heart started pounding in my chest. I tried to pretend like I wasn’t standing in line, but John and I were the only ones there, so it was hard to be invisible. I felt a sting of anger at our teacher for not having given clear instructions. I thought we were allowed to ask for help. My cheeks started burning. John protested in front of me. Our teacher insisted and looked agitated. I felt my eyes tear up. I froze in an awkwardness of having misunderstood instructions. 

John almost did as well then returned to his seat, making a big fuzz, slamming his book into his desk.

My teacher smiled at me. ‘What can I do for you, Tabby?’

I didn’t move. He waved for me to step closer and smiled a kind smile. I was reluctant but obliged.

‘Uh. I also had a problem,’ I said, terrified.

‘Let me see,’ he said, leaning in.

And that was when I was struck with a notion. Something wasn’t right about this.

I shook my head and pulled my book back against my chest.  

‘What’s wrong?’ asked my teacher.

‘Why didn’t you help John?’ I asked, staring at my teacher’s face.

My teacher kept smiling. ‘That’s different. John knows how to do math. He doesn’t need my help.’

This was the part where anger shut into my little seven-year-old body.

‘Are you saying that I’m not as clever as John?’

‘Oh, no, Tabby. You’re clever.’

He held out a hand towards my math book. I shook my head. ‘Then what’s the difference?’

My teacher continued smiling, and then he said the dumbest thing I ever heard.

‘He’s a boy. Boys are better at math.’

It was too early in life for me to understand that when Fiona held up her middle finger it was a sign of disapproval, so I had nothing in my arsenal. But I could feel that something should be done, so I marched back to my seat with the same amount of drama as John had just displayed.

I pulled out my chair, making as much noise as possible. I sat down, slamming my book into my desk. I flipped it open to the impossible problem. Then I made myself a promise. I would never ask for help again.

I had it figured out. John wasn’t getting any help, so he would return to his seat and work on the problem again. I didn’t know how this would work, but sooner or later, he would figure it out on his own accord, and he would be a better mathematician than me. If my teacher told me the solution to the problem, like he had told Evelyn, he would ensure that I would never be great at math – just like a girl wasn’t supposed to be.

I wish I could say that staring at the problem for the remainder of the class made me a mathematical genius, but I would be lying. I carried the problem home, and it had changed to homework. I sat for hours in the kitchen and stared at it.

‘Do you need some help, Babybug?’ asked my father, in passing.

‘No!’ I yelled, leaving him dumbfounded.

When he passed again just before dinner, he asked me one more time, and I burst into tears. He slipped into the seat next to me. ‘What’s the matter, Babybug?’

‘I can’t win!’ I yelled, slamming my little hand into my math book. I’m sure I looked adorable. I’m sure my blond hair was tied in a ponytail in the back, but most of it was sticking out left and right because no one had ever been able to tame any hair in the Boatman family.  

‘Math is not about winning,’ said my father. ‘It’s about seeing the logic in numbers.’ He put his big arm around my shoulders and leaned in to see.

‘No.’ I tried to push him away with my little seven-year-old hand. ‘I can’t let anyone help me because then I’ll always be dumb like a girl, but I’ve been staring at it for three hours, and I can’t do it.’

‘You don’t have to do it on your own, Babybug. And girls aren’t dumb.’

‘John didn’t get any help, so he’ll figure it out alone. I have to figure it out on my own. I don’t want to be a stupid girl.’

My father smiled and brushed my impossible hair out of my face. ‘You’ll never be a stupid girl, Babybug. You’ll be a brilliant, smart, clever, astute, girl and woman.’

‘Does that mean that you can help me a little bit?’

‘Yes. Let’s look at the problem together, and then I can tell you how to think about the problem, but not the solution?’

‘Yes, please.’

My father asked questions that steered me toward seeing the problem in the right light, and I solved the problem. I might have grown two centimetres on that day. I never asked a teacher for help again. And then I started wondering why my teacher had assumed that I would be bad at math.

‘I love math,’ I said, as my father was tucking me in that night.

‘I know you do, Babybug. And you should. You should love anything you want.’

‘I also love stamps,’ I said.

My father chuckled. ‘Stamps are great.’

He kissed my cheek. ‘Let me get Fiona. I think she should read you a bedtime story tonight.’

‘Fiona?’ I asked, feeling my eyes widen. ‘She’ll eat me.’

‘She wouldn’t eat her sister,’ said my father, winking at me. He chuckled again and got up. ‘I’ll send her right in.’

I pulled the duvet over my head and held my breath while I counted to twenty.

‘Is there a hot Babybug hiding under the covers?’ yelled Fiona. She pulled the duvet aside. I screamed.

‘Oh. Calm down, Babybug. Father said that you had your first sexist experience, and that I should have a chat with you.’

She sat down on my bed, pushing me aside. I almost fell off, but she put her arm around my shoulder. She had a strange smell. Like burned plants of some sort. Her hair was pink and there was a drawing of a huge spider on her right leg. I stared at the spider.

‘The spider won’t hurt you.’

‘I know. I just don’t like it.’

‘What are you talking about? Spiders are beautiful.’

I shook my head. ‘They are hairy and scary.’

‘His name is itsy bitsy.’

She caught me off guard, and I laughed.

‘Now what was this sexist thing?’ asked Fiona. ‘Who has touched my favourite sister?’

‘No one touched me,’ I said, confused.

‘Good. Because then I’ll punch them in the face. What happened?’

‘My teacher wanted to help me with a math problem, but he wouldn’t help John.’

‘Yup,’ said my sister. ‘He’s trying to keep you down my sister.’ Her eyes narrowed as she examined my face. ‘You understood that?’

I smiled a proud smile.

‘Babybug!’ said Fiona. She pulled me closer and squeezed me. ‘I’m so proud of you.’

‘You are?’

‘Yes. You were right. You’re not helpless just because you were born without a penis. You are a smart, resourceful woman, and you will not take this oppressive bullshit from a man.’

‘I’m seven,’ I said, staring at my sister and her pink hair.

‘Yes. But someday you’ll be just like me.’

It had been a long day, so this was when I started crying.

‘No, Babybug. That’s a good thing.’

‘Everyone says that you’re crazy.’ I bawled.

‘They are the crazy ones. They just haven’t understood that yet.’

‘Paul from class said that his father said that you’re a floozy.’

‘I bet you don’t even know what a floozy is,’ said Fiona. She smiled but she also flinched, so I knew it was something ugly.

I shook my head.

‘It’s a sort of rabbit. A smart rabbit, who can’t be domesticated.’

‘What does “domesticated” mean?’

‘It’s when you teach a dog not to pee everywhere.’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t understand anything you’re saying.’

‘You don’t have to. All you have to understand is that Paul’s father is trying to influence you through his son, and you will not listen to it. If Paul tells anyone again that I’m a floozy, you tell everyone that your sister is a stud.’

I felt my nose wrinkle up, as I tried to understand what my sister was.  

‘It’s all right, Babybug. Just stay away from Paul, his father, and your teacher.’

‘I don’t think I can stay away from my teacher,’ I said.

‘There,’ said my sister, touching my nose with her finger. ‘So smart this one.’

The idea for the War Treaty was thought up by an internum. She Wrote the treaty and tried to push it to several units, until one day, it was picked up by the United Unions.

The campaign to approve the War Treaty was run like any other political campaign by the company which had turned dog lipstick into a global success.

The campaign emphasised everything that was lost during a war. Security. Hope. Dreams. Futures. Plans. Economy. Bees, Children. Lovers. Homes. Wardrobes. Televisions. Books. The internet. Stuffed animals. Lives. Hats. Cats.

It didn’t catch on, until a little internum was caught dancing to the campaign, and her mother loaded the dance into the sky. Soon the planet started dancing along with the little internum.

The campaign was overtaken by recordings shared in the sky, showing world leaders, both internum and externum of birth, bursting into dance during political meetings about a pending invasion or negotiations about an embargo on trade. This led to a whole year of mortals resolving their issues at the desk or sometimes on sofas and then more dancing.

And then the War Treaty was signed by every unit on the planet. It was hard to believe. The year 3000 was the year that the planet agreed to stop fighting. Most mortals were happy. The arms industry was outraged. Then mortals were outraged that the arms industry was outraged. This led to some rioting, but it all stopped on the day the Peace Sphere was finished, standing in the middle of Gazmania, a proud monument to new times of peace. Soldiers lost their jobs, but then they were hired in new jobs, and the planet looked forward to a time where no one would walk across a border and kill.

Then the War Tribunal opened its page in the sky, and six applications were intercepted.

Article 1

The object of this treaty is to secure every mortal’s right to a full life without war. Thus, this treaty sets forth that all beings have the right not to get involved in a war they do not wish to be a part of.

Chapter 2

‘I can’t stop being mad about it! It makes me furious every time I look at those stupid applications!’ yelled Yarrow, stomping her purple, army boots.

Lox stared at Yarrow’s army boots and wondered if Yarrow was dressing ironically. ‘Then I have to question whether this position was the right one for you, Yarrow. We are administrative workers, and you do this every time we look at the applications.’

‘It’s the number!’ yelled Yarrow. ‘Six applications to enter into war!’

Lox shrugged. ‘As opposed to what number of applications?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘What number of applications wouldn’t have made you angry?’

Yarrow was red in the face – her hair was a brown mess. 

‘Argh, Lox. Just argh!’ She inhaled and seemed to calm down a bit. ‘I’m going to need drinks tonight.’

‘Yes. It’ll be interesting to face the delegations. I fear we may all need drinks tonight.’

Yarrow shook her head. ‘It’ll be complicated to face the delegations. In particular, the ones that have applied to go to war. I’m excited to meet the rest.’

‘You can’t discriminate any of the delegates, Yarrow. The delegations didn’t send the application. They have just been chosen to represent their units.’

‘I know. I’ll be on my best behaviour.’

The door opened and Filo poked his head in. ‘The first delegation has arrived. Are you coming?’

‘Yes. The Unit of Kramland,’ said Yarrow, turning off the screen. ‘I want to give them all a hug.’

Filo shook his head. ‘Kramlandians are famous for not touching people until they meet for the twentieth time.’

‘But there’s something about that name and this moment. I want to hug all of them.’

Filo held the door open for Yarrow and Lox. ‘Did you see Hetmar? I feel we should all be there when the first delegates arrive.’

‘Haven’t seen him,’ said Lox.

They walked down the sloping, glass hallway, as it curved around the hollow centre of the spheric building. Lox was clutching his tabbyphone against his chest.

Yarrow stared at the large planet painted on the floor in the middle of the hall. The planet was divided into the units. Most of the units had the word peace written on them. Thirteen beings were standing on top of the map, heads tilted back, spinning, glaring.

‘That looks about right,’ said Yarrow.

‘Yes,’ said Filo. ‘Ophidistan will be here soon as well.’

‘Ophidistan,’ said Yarrow grimacing, I don’t want to hug them.’

‘If you hug a Kramlandian then you have to hug the Ophidistanians.’ This was Lox.

‘Please don’t hug any of them,’ said Filo. ‘It will be an insult to one unit, and then an insult again that you hug one unit but not the unit to which hugging is an insult. Just contain yourself.’

He was marching a few steps ahead of them, wearing a large, black sweater. The sleeves covered his hands. His dark curls were falling from his head. ‘Where is Hetmar? I thought he was in charge of the delegation from the Unit of Ophidistan.’

Lox shook his head and pushed the button for the lift. ‘I’m in charge of Ophidistan. And Hetmar will pop up like a troll from under a bridge and start talking to the delegation anytime soon. I’m sure.’

‘And I’ve got Kramland. Everything is ready,’ said Yarrow, walking with a bounce. ‘It’ll be interesting to see how all these units interact when they get together. I mean Kramland and Ophidistan are so different. Should we split them up at lunch?’ she stared at Lox. ‘I feel like lunch is a hundred hours away.’

A hundred imaginary hours later, there was an awkward silence below the dining room’s coloured chandeliers. Red crystal glasses were standing untouched on the table. Gold cutlery was lying pristine next to gold plates.

All the internum delegates from Ophidistan were wearing hats, and their eyes were darting around the room. All the delegates from Kramland kept stealing glances at the hats, frowning then smiling then changing their minds and frowning again. Yarrow had brought a knitted beany which she kept putting on and taking off.

Lox was sitting crammed in between two delegates from Kramland. Opposite him, Hetmar had made an entrance, towering a head higher than two delegates from Ophidistan. Hetmar was talking to both delegates, turning left and right, waving his large hands around in the air in front of him. A smile was reaching every corner of his face in stark contrast to the birthmark below his right eye which formed a permanent tear. 

Snippets of conversation floated across the table. ‘You have to remember that in general internums weigh less than externums. Their body build is just smaller and more delicate. This means that you, as an externum yourself, always have the power. Always.’ Hetmar looked past the externum he was talking to and smiled at an internum wearing a green bowler hat. ‘Imagine what it’s like for them to always live with this knowledge. It’s fascinating. Isn’t it? They are such brave creatures.’

The delegate who Hetmar was staring at tried to open his mouth, but Hetmar hadn’t finished. ‘I imagine that they just decide. They just look at you and somehow their hearts tell them what to do, and then they decide whether they can trust you or not. I can’t imagine living like that. We have to take care of them in that regard. Don’t you think? We have to honour the trust they give us.’

Hetmar’s red shirt had white roses on it, and it was pressed. He continued. ‘Imagine the amount of trust that takes. Every day. I mean, the internums are surrounded by us externums.’ He shook his head as if this was a fact that was hard to believe.

Hetmar turned to the delegate on his right. The delegate stared back. His mouth was a thin line. Hetmar stared some more. Lox couldn’t stop smiling at this.

The internum from Kramland next to Lox looked at him. ‘Perhaps this seating plan was a bit too bold?’

Lox smiled back. ‘Perhaps this seating plan was exactly the right one.’ He winked at her.

The internum grimaced. ‘I’m too scared to start eating. I may insult someone.’ She leaned in and whispered the last bit. ‘And the internums from Ophidistan are wearing hats.’

‘There will be evening tea in the common room, and we made certain that there will be plenty of biscuits tonight.’

Lox stared back at Hetmar. The delegate next to Hetmar had started talking.

‘That’s why we protect the internums,’ said the delegate. ‘They are fragile mortals. They can’t walk around on their own. They will be violated by externums.’

‘And why can’t the externums be the ones who are regulated?’

‘What do you mean?’

Hetmar’s teeth indicated that at some point in life, he had smoked a lot of cigarettes. He didn’t shy away from smiling, however. ‘Most of the planet regulates against externums seeking instant gratification. This limits externums that can’t control themselves. The internums already control themselves, for the most part. Why should they be the ones that are regulated? Are your externums weaker than the externums on the rest of the planet?’ Hetmar eyed the delegate with a curious stare.

The delegate stared back. ‘I think you misunderstand the situation, sir.’

‘Brilliant,’ said Hetmar. ‘Please tell me how.’

‘It’s in the great book of Ophidistan. The great immortal wrote the great book.’

Hetmar shook his head. ‘It isn’t in the great book and even if it was, it’s not in tune with reality. There are internums who chose not to believe in the great book. Furthermore, some of us believe that the great book is a fable. And internums are not creatures in a fable from a time that has long passed. Internums are real mortals who are terrified of you, and your rule is oppressing them.’

The externum pushed back his chair and stood. He looked like he planned on towering over Hetmar, but his head was almost level with Hetmar’s face.

‘I will not sit and take this insult!’ yelled the delegate.

Hetmar continued smiling. He lifted his head a little, staring at the delegate. ‘I meant no offence, sir. I was merely pointing out that your country has legislated in such a way that limits the freedom of an entire population group. I hope there is a good reason for this.’

‘I will not break bread with this insolent, big mouth!’ yelled the delegate.

‘Then you’ll starve,’ said Hetmar in a calm tone. ‘This is the Peace Sphere. If you want to break bread, you break bread with everyone.’

Hetmar pushed his chair back, stood and pulled back his shoulders. The Ophidistan delegate had to tilt his head back to keep eye contact. ‘Sit down.’ The smile disappeared from Hetmar’s face. His eyes narrowed.

Everyone around the table was staring at Hetmar and the Ophidistanian delegate. Someone grunted something in an unintelligible language. The Ophidistanian delegate sat down.

Lox stood. ‘I apologize for forcing everyone to dine together, but I assure you that it will benefit the proceedings of this trial.’

A young external with a beard raised a hand. ‘Could you tell us more about these proceedings?’

‘Of course,’ said Lox. ‘Proceedings will commence tomorrow. There are six applications. Ten delegations.’

‘I’m sorry. Did you say six applications?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m sorry, but are you sure?’

Lox nodded ‘I know. We didn’t expect that many applications either. Anyway. We understand that your cultures are different, but we beg of you all to put that aside inside the Peace Sphere. Get to know each other. We’re all stuck together here until the end of the proceedings, and we do expect the proceedings to drag out a bit.’

‘But we’re going to war against each other.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Lox. ‘Perhaps not.’

The awkward silence returned and settled on the two, massive tables.

Someone took the first bite, and lunch was finished with just the sound of cutlery clinking against porcelain, and Hetmar talking at the two Ophidistanian delegates.

Yarrow felt her stomach start to act up after lunch. She sat down in the first coffee nook she could find. It must have been showing on her face because Hetmar sat down next to her.

‘You look a bit nervous or constipated,’ he said, smiling. ‘I can’t tell which it is.’

Yarrow folded her arms around her stomach. ‘I’m afraid it’s nervousness. Is he really on his way?’

‘I suspect that you’re referring to Nutip of Assuria and the answer to your question is yes.’

‘But that’s insane. What if he kills us all?’

‘You don’t have to worry about that. I think he’s quite famous for letting everyone else do his dirty work.’ Hetmar leaned in and gave Yarrow a shove with his elbow.

‘But it’s Nutip of Assuria.’

‘I heard that he’s bringing his daughter.’

‘He is? I hadn’t realize.’

Hetmar lifted an eyebrow. ‘I know you know everyone’s files.’

Yarrow felt herself blush. ‘It didn’t want to read it.’

‘I’m surprised and intrigued.’

‘Intrigued?’ Yarrow stared at Hetmar.  

‘Yes, Yarrow. I’ve you pinned as a perfectionist. You always stay half an hour longer than the rest of us. You’re the one who puts every report in binders and decided that cleaning will leave chocolate on the delegate’s pillows. And I know you have a law degree.’

Yarrow shook her head. ‘None of that is true.’

‘If you say so.’ Hetmar smiled a cunning smile.

All of it was true. She looked at the clock on the wall where time was marching towards a new type of war.

‘It’s time,’ said Hetmar, following her gaze. He clapped his hands together. ‘I want to meet him.’

‘I don’t,’ said Yarrow, copying his clap.

Hetmar stared into her eyes. ‘You have to come. You’ve already greeted delegates who weren’t under your care.’

Lox stepped up next to Yarrow’s chair. ‘Are you greeting Nutip?’

‘She is. If she doesn’t, and Nutip realizes that this bundle of joy greeted the other delegations then we may have a unitarian crisis on our hands.’

Yarrow felt her eyes widen. Hetmar looked at her with a wide grin on his face.

‘Don’t worry. I won’t let him murder you. Not right away, anyway.’

Yarrow didn’t say anything but marched towards the door, and Hetmar and Lox followed.

Yarrow was tapping her foot against the floor of the lift. Hetmar was rocking his body to the rhythm.

‘Please stop doing that,’ she whispered.

‘Doing what?’

‘Never mind.’

The lift came to a stop and the doors slid open.

The painting on the floor of the main lobby was massive, but the little externum, standing in the middle of it, was shorter than Yarrow had anticipated. She forced a smile and held out her arms.

‘Nutip of Assuria! Welcome to our sphere of peace!’ She tried to put a bit more emphasis on peace than she had before.

Nutip of Assuria was wearing a large coat, but it didn’t conceal the fact that he made Hetmar look like a giant. Lox was standing a full step behind Hetmar.

Nutip of Assuria had narrow eyes which were staring at Yarrow. Yarrow started moving across the floor and then paused for a moment, as she spotted a little internum by his side.

‘Heus, there. You must be.’

‘Alina,’ finished Hetmar, stepping up next to Yarrow.

Nutip glared at Yarrow. ‘This is my favourite daughter.’

‘I see,’ said Yarrow. ‘How many daughters do you have, Mr Nutip?’

‘General Nutip,’ said Nutip.

‘I’m afraid that all titles associated with war are not legal in the Peace Sphere, Mr Nutip,’ said Hetmar.

Nutip glared at Hetmar. ‘Who are you?’

Hetmar held out a hand. ‘I’m Hetmar. Yarrow and I are administrative workers. We’re here to see that everything runs smoothly.’ 

Nutip ignored the hand. Hetmar held his awkward position.

Yarrow lifted her gaze and caught sight of shadows behind the glass on the fifth floor. The rumour had travelled, and the other delegations had come to see the show.

Hetmar smiled at Nutip. ‘We will be serving a late-night soup in the dining room at nine, so you will have time to settle in. The other delegates have been arriving during the day.’

‘I’m not eating with other delegates.’

‘Then you don’t eat.’ Hetmar crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Nutip. Yarrow bit her lip.

‘I will not be treated like this!’ yelled Nutip.

‘Then you should leave. We have a lot of applications to handle. The other delegates filled out the entire application. We couldn’t help noticing that your application was incomplete. For example, it wasn’t quite clear who you wish to declare war against.’

Yarrow put her hand on Hetmar’s arm. ‘Perhaps we should allow Nutip and Alina to find their rooms and settle in?’

Hetmar stood tall for another ten seconds then he gave a short nod and allowed Yarrow to pull him away.

Yarrow was back in her private quarters when she heard the noise. It was loud and unfamiliar – feet shuffling, voices and a scream. Her administrative bracelet buzzed. She jumped up from her chair. ‘Coming.’

Once in the hallway, she looked to the left but saw nothing then looked to the right and saw the same type of nothing. She lifted her head and stared through the glass and towards the other floors. Her eyes were caught by dark shadows dancing on the opposite side of the sphere. She turned right and hurried to follow the curving glass upwards.

Catching up with the commotion, she noticed a shadow laying on the floor. The shadow was circumvented by delegates and mumbling.

She pushed past a lot of delegates when an arm reached out and held her back.

‘Don’t go any closer,’ said Filo. His black sweater had lifted a bit, and Yarrow caught a glimpse of a scar.

‘Someone is on the floor. We need to help,’ she said.

‘There’s nothing we can do to help.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Can everyone please leave this area!’ This was Lox’s voice reaching Yarrow from the middle of the crowd. ‘There is nothing to see here!’

Some shadows started turning and moving away. Yarrow pushed forward. Filo allowed her to slip out of his grip.

Yarrow gasped. Nutip of Assuria was lying on the ground. His head had an open wound. His face was a mess.

‘This is outrageous,’ said a delegate next to Yarrow. ‘We were promised that our safety would be guaranteed here. We’re meeting with our enemies.’

‘I agree,’ said Lox. ‘This should not happen under any circumstances, and we will clear this up.’ His eyes were darting around, and it was hard to tell how Lox would clear up a dead dictator. ‘Could everyone please leave this area? We will get this situation under control and keep you up to date.’

‘But it’s not under control. Nutip of Assuria has been murdered,’ said someone in the crowd.

‘We don’t know that he has been murdered.’ Lox did a half-turn and stared at a delegate.

Another delegate pointed to Nutip’s head.

‘It’s quite clear that he took several blows to the head. A mortal can only fall once.’

Yarrow bent over and vomited on the floor.

The delegate that Lox was talking to, shook his head. ‘I’m out.’ He turned and walked down the hallway.

‘Sorry,’ said Yarrow.

‘Should we be noting who’s here?’ asked Filo, stepping up next to Lox.

‘The cameras would have seen mortals coming and going,’ said Lox.  

Filo put a hand on Yarrow’s back and patted her. ‘Perhaps you should leave, Yarrow.’

Yarrow straightened up and shook her head. ‘I’m fine.’

The last delegates started moving away. Yarrow stared down at Nutip.

‘Why would anyone murder Nutip?’

‘Why wouldn’t they?’ asked Lox. ‘He’s not the type to have many friends.’

‘He could be the mortal with the most enemies on this planet,’ said Hetmar. ‘Both inside and outside this sphere.’

‘But he was respecting the rules. He applied for his next war, and everyone was cleared before entering the sphere. The screening committee only picked delegates who we trust to respect and listen to their enemies.’

Hetmar shrugged. ‘He shouldn’t have left Assuria without his guards.’

‘But that’s not how the rules are,’ said Yarrow. She pointed at Nutip. ‘This is our responsibility.’

Hetmar held up his hands. ‘I’m not taking the blame for this.’

‘What are we going to do?’ asked Yarrow.

‘We’re going to send him home in a casket and ask Assuria to consider whether they want to send a new delegate or new delegates,’ said Lox. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head, but his smile remained plastered on his face. ‘I think this will be a long day. I hope you’re prepared for this.’

‘Where do we find a coffin?’ asked Yarrow shifting on her feet.

‘It’s not our problem,’ said Lox. ‘Service will fix this. I’ll call them.’

‘They can’t move him,’ said Filo. He squatted down next to Nutip’s head.

‘What are you doing?’ asked Lox.

‘Investigating,’ said Filo. ‘He was murdered. We have to find out who did this.’

Hetmar squatted down next to him. ‘What are you thinking?’

‘I’m thinking that he suffered a blow to the back of the head. He must have fallen on his face, but it wasn’t enough for the killer. They turned him over and hit him in the face several times.’

Yarrow decided to move closer. She stared past Filo’s head. From the mess of Nutip’s face, it was clear that someone had left nothing to chance.

‘I concur,’ she said. ‘There’s a lot of anger in this.’

‘None of us has any qualifications to solve a crime,’ said Filo. ‘Perhaps we should just call the police.’

Lox shook his head. ‘We can’t do that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because the War Tribunal has started. We can’t let an investigation interfere with that.’

Filo shook his head. ‘I don’t see how it will interfere. They will remove the body.’

‘And then they will start questioning everyone. We can’t let anything interfere with these trials,’ said Lox. He shrugged. ‘For all we know someone did this to disrupt our work. Our protocol says that we have to move on.’

‘Yes,’ said Filo. ‘But the protocols haven’t been approved by the units. They are just for us, and you are about the only one who read them.’

‘I object,’ said Yarrow.

Lox ignored her. ‘They instruct us to never diverge from the path under any circumstances.’  

‘You’re right,’ said Filo. ‘But how do we know that everyone else is safe? What if this is the beginning?’

‘We will investigate and stay alert,’ said Lox.

Yarrow stared at his little mousy nose and his effervescent smile feeling a little admiration for how natural the man was being assertive.

‘We have cameras,’ she said.

‘Head of security likes me,’ said Hetmar. ‘I’ll take a walk and talk to Creton.’

‘I want to help,’ said Yarrow. 

‘I would love some help.’ Hetmar nodded for Yarrow to come along and took a step past the remains of Nutip.

Yarrow was glad to turn her back on the problem.

‘You were brave back there,’ said Hetmar as they strolled along. ‘I like strong internums. Filo just talked to you like you aren’t capable. I find that many Internums are strong.’

‘I think most internums have to be strong,’ said Yarrow, leaving it at that.

Hetmar started rambling. ‘My mother was a strong internum and smart. She left my father and managed all on her own. We went travelling together after school.’

They reached the security office. Hetmar gave the door one knock and entered. 

‘Creton, my externum,’ said Hetmar addressing a short externum sitting in a black office chair.

‘Hetmar. What a treat. I got those boots that you recommended. It made all the difference.’

Yarrow stared at Creton. She didn’t recall seeing him before.

‘That’s good Creton. We have a problem on the ninth floor. We were hoping that you could help us.’

Creton’s brows furrowed. He looked at a wall full of screens. ‘Ah shit. I didn’t see this. I have been distracted by something else. An accident?’ he asked.

Hetmar shook his head. ‘We don’t think so.’

‘Oh. I didn’t expect this.’ Creton stared back at the screen. Yarrow could see his chest rise and fall as his hands got moving.

Creton had small, chubby fingers, but they were fast. On the wall, the screens changed one by one. Creton’s eyes were moving again. Yarrow tried to keep up.

The screens showed the hallways from every possible angle. One camera showed Nutip lying on the floor.

‘Can you reverse that?’ asked Hetmar. ‘Can we see who did it?’

Creton rewound the tape. On the screen, Filo and Hetmar were kneeling next to Nutip of Assuria. Lox stepped up behind them then Yarrow vomited on the floor. 

‘Uh,’ said Yarrow. ‘My hair is crazy today.’ She reached up and started patting the bun on top of her head.

Yarrow, Hetmar, Filo and Lox disappeared. The delegations were staring at the body then they started leaving the place. Backwards. The screen went black.

‘What?’ asked Creton. His fingers started moving faster. One screen enhanced, showing the body, Filo and Lox from a different angle and further away.

Hetmar and Yarrow turned up. Walking backwards.

‘Uh,’ said Yarrow once more. She turned her head away and realized that Hetmar was standing right by her side while there was plenty of space to stand somewhere else.

Creton cursed. Yarrow looked back at the screen. It had turned black again.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t see this.’

‘What was the distraction?’ asked Hetmar.

The screens shifted. ‘I was monitoring that situation,’ he said, pointing a finger at the new image.

Yarrow tilted her head and stared.

‘What is that?’ asked Hetmar.

Creton shook his head. ‘I think it’s a lemur.’

‘Why is there a lemur running around in the Peace Sphere?’

‘I think Nutip brought it.’

‘But how did it end up swinging from the chandeliers in the dining room?’

‘The little girl who came with Nutip let it out. It was in a cage when they arrived.’ Creton turned in his seat and stared at Hetmar and then Yarrow.

‘Where is Alina now?’ asked Hetmar, nodding towards the screen.

‘Are we speculating on whether his daughter has something to do with his death?’ asked Creton.

‘That poor girl. We need to tell her what happened.’ Yarrow spun, but Hetmar reached out and put his hand on her arm.

‘Wait. We need to see where she was when it happened.’

‘Are you serious?’

Hetmar let go of her arm and turned back towards the screen. His eyes started moving across the little screens.

‘There,’ said Hetmar. He pointed at a small screen. ‘Where is that?’

Yarrow recognized one of the outside gardens on the 9^th floor.

‘She looks frightened,’ said Creton. ‘But this is five minutes after the screens went blank.’

‘Can we see the crime scene after the images return?’

Creton moved around again. Nutip appeared on the screen. Dead. Delegates had already turned up. Filo was squatting again. Hetmar talked to him. Hetmar and Yarrow walked away.

‘She’s not there,’ said Creton.

‘Let’s go find her,’ said Hetmar.

In the hallway, Yarrow tried to hurry because Hetmar had slowed down, and Yarrow felt like this was a situation which should be hurried. They all stepped into the lift, and Hetmar pushed the button for the 9^th floor.

‘Perhaps I should talk to her?’ asked Yarrow.

‘I think I should talk to her,’ said Hetmar.

‘Why? I’m sweet. Did you see me down there greeting everyone, even the ones who deprive internums of basic rights?’

‘Yes. Your enthusiasm was frightening.’

‘Frightening!’ Yarrow shrieked then realized that she had shrieked. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I see.’

‘Show us to the garden.’

Yarrow had been to all the gardens. She never told anyone, but she preferred sunflowers, and she named them. The first sunflower was always named Yarin. She steered towards the sliding doors and made a particular point of inhaling just as the doors revealed the fresh air and the smell of plants. 

She guided everyone past Yarin. She smiled at her own little secret. 

‘The statue is over here,’ she said, leading the way through some bushes. She could hear sniffling. ‘Listen.’

She paused and Hetmar bumped into her. She giggled and then covered her mouth with a hand before removing it again and pointing towards a paved path.

‘I think she’s in there,’ she whispered.

Hetmar nodded then held up a hand for Yarrow and Creton to stay back. Yarrow watched him disappear down the path then she heard his voice.

‘Hello there.’

There was no reply.

‘You’re Alina, right? We met earlier.’ A pause. ‘Did something frighten you?’

Yarrow tried to stand on her toes, but it didn’t help her hear what Alina replied.

‘That’s fine,’ said Hetmar. ‘I can understand that. Can I sit down next to you?’

No sounds.

‘Can I ask a question? Did you see what happened to your father?’

Silence.

‘I’m sorry. Let’s go to your room, and then you and I can talk about who you want us to call. How about your mum?’

More silence. Yarrow tapped her foot. 

Hetmar reappeared. He was holding Alina’s hand. Alina’s eyes were red. She stared at Yarrow and Creton with wide eyes.

‘It’s all right,’ said Hetmar. ‘This is Yarrow and Creton. They are good mortals. You met Yarrow. She can say strange things sometimes, but she’s funny and sweet. And Creton is a security worker.’ Hetmar moved in front of Alina and placed both hands on her shoulders. He got down on his knees and stared into her eyes. ‘Nothing will happen to you, Alina. I promise.’ Alina didn’t reply. Hetmar continued. ‘I know that we didn’t keep your father safe, but your father had a lot of enemies.’

‘I know,’ said Alina.

‘Creton will help us find out who did it. They will not get away with it.’

‘I want to sleep,’ said Alina. She looked up at Hetmar. ‘Can I just sleep?’

Hetmar got back up and took her hand. ‘Of course. We’ll get you cleaned up and then I will keep you company until you fall asleep. They walked past Yarrow and Creton.

‘I’ll get back to work,’ said Creton. ‘There must be something somewhere on camera.’

Hetmar tucked in Alina who fell asleep, and he then decided that he needed a drink. He walked to the common room and found Lox standing by the bar. Hetmar picked a green lounge chair in front of the fire and sat down. His knees reached above his hips. Lox pushed a cold beer into his hand. Hetmar looked up. ‘Thank you.’

‘You looked like you needed one.’

‘Yes. I think I had higher expectations of this little experiment. It was a quiet dinner and a violent evening.’

Lox sat down in another green lounge chair. ‘You can’t expect everything to fall into place in one day.’ Lox was still wearing his work suit and slung a leg across the other.

‘No, but I’m concerned. I couldn’t get through to delegates from Ophidistan. If I can’t even talk sense to a delegate, how will any of this work?’

‘We could try alcohol?’ Lox smirked. ‘I find it does wonders.’

‘Alcohol is a sin in the Unit of Nagaland.’

‘Then we’ll have to drug them.’

‘Yes. And me. I feel like I have already lost faith in this project. You can’t make a war tribunal. We utterly fucked this up and on the first day no less.’

Lox shook his head. ‘Trust in the War Tribunal, Hetmar. All units signed the War Treaty. The units will decide whether there is just cause for a war. And we’ll just help the delegates to understand what the consequence of war is.’

Yarrow entered the common room and marched across the floor, lowering herself into a chair on the other side of Hetmar. Yarrow was wearing a black dress and her purple army boots. Hetmar smiled at her, wondering how Yarrow had made it to a position like this, given the fact that on most days she was a unicorn, seeming a little out of time and space.

‘It was a brilliant beanie that you kept putting on and taking off,’ he said. ‘Very respectful to both Kramland and Ophidistan.’

‘Exactly.’ Yarrow patted her head then appeared to be surprised that she wasn’t wearing a beanie. She bit her lip and stared into the fire.

Filo entered the room. He plummeted into the last empty chair in front of the fire and smiled a tired smile at Hetmar.

Lox jumped to his feet. ‘Do you want a beer, Filo? Yarrow? 

‘Cider?’ called Yarrow.

Lox returned with two bottles.

‘What a fuck dinner,’ said Filo. He looked out of place in his long black sweater. ‘It was so quiet. I almost wanted to fart, just to see what might have happened.’

Hetmar laughed.

‘Aren’t you sweating?’ asked Yarrow, staring at Filo.

‘Yes,’ said Filo. He pressed the beer against his cheek.

‘Units declared war against another Unit and now they are all here dining together,’ said Hetmar. ‘There is bound to be a bit of tension. If one of the Units can prove just cause, then another Unit has to go home and prepare for an invasion which is supported by the entire planet.’

Filo shook his head. ‘I just see internums and externums at a dinner table. I don’t see the wars.’

‘Good,’ said Hetmar. He turned towards Yarrow and took a big gulp of his beer. ‘I noticed you scribbling something earlier in one of the coffee nooks. What were you scribbling?’

Yarrow stared at him with hazel eyes. ‘Words. I like words, and I like writing.’

‘I didn’t realize.’

Yarrow shrugged. ‘It’s just for me.’

‘I see.’ The fire crackled, warming Hetmar’s face. ‘You were just writing down random words then?’

‘Uhuh,’ said Yarrow, smiling at him. ‘That’s how writing works. Isn’t it?’

Hetmar laughed and noticed how fine her nose was and the shape of her lips.

‘Do you write?’

‘I do. A little,’ said Hetmar. ‘I published some articles.’

Yarrow’s eyes widened. ‘Really?’

Hetmar shut out his chest. It felt good to have Yarrow’s admiration. He glanced around and realized that Lox and Filo had left. He pushed himself up. ‘I need to sleep. Will you be all right tonight? Perhaps I should see that you get to your room?’

‘I would like that.’

A moment later they stopped outside Yarrow’s door.

‘All right. No murderer. That’s good. Do you want me to take a peek inside?’

Yarrow shook her head. ‘No. I don’t feel like I’m as high on the list as Nutip of Assuria.’

‘Good. See you bright and early in the dining room from hell.’

‘That’s the spirit, Hetmar.’ Yarrow grinned. ‘And thank you for keeping me safe.’

Hetmar waved a hand and decided to follow the path to the fifth floor and his room. On his right side, he could see the sun on the edge of the planet. Red. He tried to ignore it, hoping that it wasn’t a warning.

He made it to his room. The evening routine was finished on autopilot. The red sun watched through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

He sat on his bed. He pulled out the box from its hiding place and removed the lid. First, he stared at a picture that had been worn away by time and tears. The ghosts dancing in front of him. He felt the usual punch to the gut. This made him reach out and grab a cigarette. He placed it between his lips but didn’t light it. Next, he picked up the hand grenade. He held it in an outstretched hand in front of his face, eyeing it with his light, blue iris – the permanent tear rolling forever.

He put two fingers around the safety pin and stared at his ghosts. He pulled the pin.

‘Three, two, one.’ Nothing.

He put the grenade and the picture back in the box and stowed it away then he pulled the covers aside and crawled into bed.

Diary – March 13^th 2994

It is night, and we can hear the bombs on the other side of the river and the gunfire outside in the streets. We blew up the bridge, but now there is ice on the river, and they can walk across it anytime. I don’t have a clear picture of who they are, but I keep imagining them moving across the ice and into our yards.

I can’t tell how close they are, but my wife is scared. My children are scared. Well, the little one doesn’t understand what’s happening, but the five others are old enough to wonder why everything has changed. My family wants to leave, but I fear that if we flee into the winter then we will freeze or starve to death.

Everything was fine a year ago. Life was how life should be. I had a solid office job in the government, and my wife worked in a hat store. I cycled every day to the big, white, square, government building, kissing my children goodbye in front of the school on the way. The little one stayed at home with my mother. My mother died just before the war started and somehow, I’m grateful for this.

I loved watching my children’s smiles. I couldn’t give them everything, but I gave them a million kisses and hugs.

I have isolated the basement with bags filled with sand. We sleep in the basement at night because we fear that they will break our windows and kill us in our sleep. The basement is large. The children have made themselves little rooms in every corner on matrasses which we have dragged down the stairs. My wife has been sleeping on her own mattress because of the baby. I try to sneak onto her bed, and she giggles and banishes me to my own corner.

I don’t know how long I can wait before I run away with my family. I don’t know if they will make me stay and fight. I don’t want to. I may be an externum, but I don’t believe in fighting, and I was never good at running or aiming. I would die in a moment if I went into battle. Then my family would be alone in this chaos, and I need to protect them.

I don’t understand this war, and I don’t wish to kill anyone. We have all been neighbours for as long as I can recall, and now I’m expected to take a weapon and murder beings I know. We used to take vacations on the other side of the river. We have friends there. My wife’s family lives there. Do they want me to shoot her brother? Would he shoot me?

I hope that our army will keep the enemy at bay, but our army is just everyday mortals who were never meant to be soldiers. They don’t have military training. The major is handing out riffles. I wouldn’t know how to use one. I don’t think anyone does. I don’t think anyone knows that this will scar us all for life.

And what about later? I want to live here. I want to visit my wife’s family on the other side of the river. I don’t want to hate them. Soon they will cross the river and murder us.

We hear rumours of old mortals slaughtered like they were nothing. We hear rumours that they are burned alive, that their faces have been chopped open with axes. We hear rumours about bodies hanging from trees with ropes around their necks.

I don’t want to believe in the rumours, but we see the bodies floating by in the river. I cover my children’s eyes, but there are so many bodies floating in the river. They must have seen them.

My heart still refuses to accept that it’s true. I sat at their tables and talked and drank. I have felt their hearts. I have wept for their losses. I believe that they are thinking the same about me. The mortals who decided to go to war are too far away from it all. They are never the ones who die or lose their families. War is just a concept to them.

Why this war? Whose conflict is this?

And do we stay or do we go?

The why report – The Unit of Kramland

This statement has been submitted by the independent board to evaluate the War Treaty on behalf of the Unit of Kramland. The War Treaty has been voted through with a 78/100 majority of mortals living in the Unit of Kramland.

The reason why the Unit of Kramland wants to sign the War Treaty is that Kramlandians feel like the planet is yearning for peace, and any unit that doesn’t sway in that direction will be alienated.

Kramland has been lucky when it comes to staying clear of invasions. Kramland knows that this is due to our ridiculous climate and lack of natural resources. Kramland however have plans to change our ridiculous climate and lack of natural resources. We, therefore, believe that it’s prudent to sign the War Treaty.

Kramland also feels like there has been an obscene amount of advertising towards signing the War Treaty. This would all have been a waste if the War Treaty isn’t voted through.

At last, Kramland is a free democracy which supports all mortals’ rights to live and not die while living. It is illegal to die in Kramland. War, therefore, is not in agreement with national Kramlandian law, and we therefore see no national obstructions to signing the War Treaty.

Kramland fully supports any initiative to deter the great powers of the planet from invading, plundering, murdering, disrupting, and forcing themselves on other units. The Unit of Kramland also salutes the marketing department and bows down to a fine initiative.

Article 2

(1) All units on the planet will be represented in the War Tribunal by the following members;

a. Two representatives from each country of a political stance

Half of the representatives must be internums and the other half must be externums. 

One philosopher

One law professor

One historian

One sociologist

One expert in native culture

One representative of the public, found by election

One being under sixteen, but no younger than 12.

One being with an offspring.

 One being must be dedicated to the rights of internums

One being must be dedicated to the rights of externums

It was any other day, until Jeanette’s mother used a strange word in the living room.

“Holly fuckzoids!”

Jeanette didn’t even know that fuckzoids was a word.

This strange word was followed by a muffled debate of some sort. At first, she thought that her mother was talking to some invisible friend, but then she recognized her father’s voice. This was odd indeed at four in the afternoon. Then silence followed and then a;

“Jeanette. Could you come in here?”

Her mother was using the voice she had used that one time when Jeanette had played with matches.

“I’m doing my homework.” she called back. She couldn’t recall having done anything as bad as playing with matches.

Sometimes her father said that his meetings were important, and mother would let him get away with it. She tried; “It is very important homework.” She brushed her blond hair out of her face and chewed on the end of her pencil.

“Just leave it, and come in here,” called her mother. Now she was using a strange voice which Jeanette hadn’t heard before.  

Jeanette hurried to her feet then she ran barefooted into the living room. She stopped with her feet in the soft carpet.

The television was on. This was odd at four in the afternoon as well, and it disturbed her. It also disturbed her that her father was home. Perhaps he was sick. She squinted at the television but couldn’t make out anything but a big blur on the screen.

“We decided that we wanted you to see this,” said her mother. “This is history. It may be hard to understand, and it may be frightening, but your father and I felt that it was important for you to remember.”

Jeanette stared at her mother then back at the television, uncertain of what to do. She pointed back towards her room.

“But I didn’t finish my homework yet.”

“You can do that after dinner. Just lay down and watch this.”

Jeanette picked a spot on the carpet and laid down, just in front of the television. She was puzzled by the complete absence of her mother saying;

“Don’t lay so close. You will ruin your eyes.” Perhaps her mother was ill too.

She placed her head in her hands and ogled the television. This close she could make out two tall sticks next to each other. One of them was floating out into the air at the top. It looked like two matches next to each other.

The carpet was soft under her elbows. The living room was silent. It was making her nervous. It was frightening that her father hadn’t said a word. She turned towards him and smiled a wide smile. He was leaning forward, sitting in his chair in the corner. His eyes were following the blur on the screen.

“Father. What is your third favourite animal?” she said.

Her father shook his head.

“Jeanette. This is not the time for silly questions,” he said.

She didn’t understand what he meant by silly question.

“Look at the screen,” he continued, nodding towards the blur.

She turned towards the screen again.

“What is it?” she asked, after watching the blur for a while.

“It’s an attack,” said her father. “Which will define history.”

Jeanette felt startled by the word attack. Her stomach felt a bit ill. 

“Did someone attack us?”

“Yes,” said her mother.

“No,” said her father. “Don’t tell her that. It’s not happening here in Denmark. It’s happening in America.”

Jeanette eyed the blur on the screen. She had never been to America. She tried to push herself forward, moving just a little closer. Again, her mother didn’t say anything about being too close to the screen. This had to be important, but it was hard to understand why when America was so far away.

“Isn’t America on the other side of the world?” she said, looking back at her parents.

Her father smiled at her from the chair.

“It is,” he said.

“Then why is it so important?” she tried.

“It is important because America is our allies. We have entered an agreement that if someone attacks America then all of us must fight back.”

“Did aliens attack them?” she asked. She wasn’t quite certain on the existence of aliens, but if everyone in the whole world had agreed to fight back then it would have to be aliens.

Her father laughed.

“No. Well not the little green men anyway,” he said.

“Then who?” said Jeanette. She inched closer to the television.

Her father opened his mouth then he closed it again.

“They don’t know yet,” he said. “It just happened. It’s happening right now on the other side of the planet.”

Jeanette looked back at the television. One of the big blurs disappeared downward, until it was gone.

“Oh, my goodness,” said her mother. “Oh, all those people. This is horrible.”

Jeanette turned around again and stared at her mother trying to understand what was going on, but she couldn’t see anything on the screen which made sense to her. Her mother hid her eyes behind her hands, and Jeanette hurried to move another inch forward.

The blur turned into a building, engulfed in smoke. She felt the pain in her stomach get worse. 

“There are people in there?” she said.

“Yes,” said her father.

“How many people?”

“No one knows.”

“Are someone getting them out?” she asked.

Her father got that vacant expression on his face.

“I don’t think so sweetheart.”

Jeanette felt herself tearing up. She couldn’t bear the thought of people being trapped in that tower. A dust cloud was spreading out underneath it. It wasn’t making sense to her.

“Why not?” she cried.

“I don’t think they can get to them.”

“Why did someone attack them? What did they do?”

Her father leaned forward in his old brown chair, placing his hands below his chin. It made him look fragile.

“I don’t know. We don’t even know yet who did it, so it’s hard to speculate. Go sit on your mother’s lap.”

She turned and looked at her mother, and her mother reached out her arms, but Jeanette shook her head. She wanted to see the people walk out of the other tower. She whipped her eyes with the back of her hand.

“I’m fine,” she said, in an adamant tone.

Her father stared at her, while a proud glare.

Jeanette watched as the second tower collapsed into a dust cloud, spreading all over Manhattan. She didn’t know where Manhattan was.

 “Why are you home already?” she asked, turning towards her father. 

“Because of this,” said her father. “No one could get any work done.”

“Did they ruin your office too?” said Jeanette. She was finding it hard to keep up.

Her father shook his head then looked at her mother. “Perhaps she’s too young to understand this.”

Jeanette shook her head.

“I’m not too young,” she said. “I am five and three quarters.”

“I think I’m too young,” said her mother. “I can’t watch this.” She looked at Jeanette, but Jeanette looked back, making her eyes big. 

“I want to stay,” she said. 

The picture changed to another picture. It was a big building with just a few floors. It looked like a pentagon. It had smoke coming out of the side.

“Oh whoa,” said her father.

Her mother nodded. “This is serious.”

A red tape with letters on it began crawling across the screen.

“What does it say?” whispered Jeanette.

“It says that a third plane has crashed into the pentagon,” said her father.

Jeanette wondered why the Americans had a giant pentagon laying around. She scratched her head. Adults were complicated creatures.

“My favourite form is the triangle,” she said. “Because it looks like a dress.”

“That’s good,” said her father. He sent an odd look to her mother, who shook her head.

“Do we know anyone from America?” Jeanette gasped and turned towards her father. “Is aunt and uncle from America?”

Her father smiled and shook his head.

“No. They are from Sweden,” he said. “That’s much closer.”

“Good,” said Jeanette. “How about granddad?”

Her father laughed.

“No. He just speaks funny, because he is from a different part of Denmark. He is speaking Danish you know.”

Jeanette shook her head.

“No, he isn’t.”

Her father laughed again.

“I insist,” he said. “It’s called a dialect.”

Jeanette sat up on her buttocks and turned her back on the television. She looked at her mother.

“Is he being serious?”

Her mother burst out laughing. Tears were still on her cheeks however.

Jeanette felt good about having made her mother laugh. She didn’t like how she had looked today. It had been worse than after the match incident.

“Your father is right,” she said. “It is Danish. In fact, they claim that we are the ones who are speaking wrong Danish.”

“No?” Jeanette’s eyes widened. “But they can understand what we are saying, and I can’t understand what they are saying, so how can they be right?”

“She does make a valid point,” said her father then his eyes fixed on the screen. “Look. Another plane has crashed.”

Jeanette turned back towards the screen and watched some field where smoke was rising from a pile of debris. She couldn’t tell if the field was a Danish field.

“Why didn’t it hit anything?” said her mother.

“I think there were heroes on that plane,” said her father. Jeanette looked at him again. He had a solemn expression on his face. He leaned forward and placed his head in his hands. “That’s amazing.”

“Those poor people,” said her mother. “What a sacrifice. Where do you think they were heading?”

“My money is on the White House.”

“The one down the street?” said Jeanette. The whole thing felt big and chaotic.

“No sweat pea. The White House is in America too.”

“The only have one white house in America?” said Jeanette. That didn’t seem right. There were several white houses, just one street away, and several on the way to school.

Her mother laughed again.

“They have many white houses,” said her father. “But the White House is what they call the house where the president lives.”

Jeanette nodded and glanced back at the screen. She wasn’t sure what a president was, but assumed him to be an important sort of fellow. On the screen, they kept switching between the dust cloud spreading in the large city far away, the strange pentagon and the crash site of the hero’s.

“Father, what sort of heroes were on that plane?” she said. One of the boys in her kindergarten class, was always dragging around a superhero named Buzz Lightyear.

“They were regular people sweetheart. Just like you and me and your mother. They were just ordinary people, but they must have put up a fight and crashed the plane.”

“But why would they crash the plane?” said Jeanette. “They are dead now. Right?”

“Yes, but they knew that the plane was going to be dropped on some more people. Like the planes that flew into the Twin Towers and the Pentagon. They probably saved hundreds of people from dying too. They are much bigger heroes than any super hero, because they didn’t have super powers.” There was a sound of awe in her father’s voice.

She heard a sob coming from behind her. Her mother was whipping her right eye with her hand.

“I wonder if there are more planes out there,” she said.

Jeanette got on her feet. “I have to go to the loo,” she said and hurried out of the living room. She didn’t go to the loo. She walked into the bedroom and stared into the sky. She stared at it for a while, but then realized that she had never been able to see airplanes in the sky, and today would be no different. She returned to the living room.

Her mother reached out and grabbed her as she passed by. She pointed at the television.

“I want to lay in front of the television,” she protested.

“You will,” said her mother. “I just need you to give me the biggest hug in the world.”

“The biggest hug in the world?” said Jeanette, smiling.

“The biggest one in the world ever!” said her mother, holding out her arms.

Jeanette leaned in and hugged her mother, as tight as she could. Her mother squeezed her tight. Tighter than usual. Jeanette was feeling uncomfortable.

“I love you to the moon,” said her mother.

“I love you to America and back,” said Jeanette. Her mother let go.

“Can I have one of those too?” said her father.

“I just gave mother the biggest hug in the world ever,” she said. “So, you can only have the second biggest.”

“I will settle for that,” he said, reaching out his arms.

Jeanette laid back down. There was no dinner. Just mother making some sandwiches to eat on the sofa. They even tasted burned. The skin on her elbows turned red and started burning. Jeanette didn’t do her homework. She asked her mother about it around eight, but her mother shook her head.

“I’m sure it will be all right,” she said.

Her father moved over on the sofa after eating the sandwich. He put his arm around her mother, and they just sat there watching the television. At eleven o’clock, no one had told Jeanette to go to bed. She was hammered. In the end, she got on her feet and turned towards her parents.

“I think I shall go to bed now,” she said.

“All right,” said her mother. “I will come read you a story in a minute.”

Jeanette shook her head.

“I don’t need a story tonight,” she said.

She brushed her teeth alone then combed her hair alone then she walked into bed. No one came to say goodnight, but she didn’t notice. She made a wall from her pillows, all around her bed then laid down and fell asleep right away.

She was late for school the next morning, and it was the most embarrassing thing she had ever experienced. Her mother was late too, so Jeanette had to walk in alone. She knocked on the door to the classroom then opened it.

Mr. Hansen stared at her.

“You are late Jeanette,” he said.

She just nodded and stared into the ground.

“Do you have a note from your parents?” he said.

Jeanette shook her head. She bit her lip and stared harder into the floor. It had been washed by a mop leaving strange patterns in a dirty chalk white colour.

“All right Jeanette. Go sit at your desk.”

She ducked down on the way there.

In the first break, she was playing with three of the boys.

“Buzz Lightyear is much better than Spider-Man,” said Daniel. “Because he can fly.” He held up Buzz Lightyear.

“He can’t really fly,” said Morten. “He has a suit on. If he takes the suit off, he’s just a regular person. Just like everyone else. Spider-Man has cobweb shooting out of his fingers.” He pointed one of Spider-Man’s hands at Buzz Lightyear.

“I think they are both better,” said Martin.

“My super heroes are all the people who died on that plane yesterday,” said Jeanette. “My father says that they are real heroes.”

The boys all stared at her.

“People died on a plane?” said Morten. “We are flying to Sweden this weekend.”

“It wasn’t that plane,” said Jeanette. “It was a different plane. She pondered it for a moment. “I think.”

Morten got a strange expression on his face. 

“You didn’t see it?” said Jeanette.

Morten, Daniel and Martin shook their heads.

“You didn’t see the building either?” continued Jeanette. “There was a big building with a lot of people inside. It collapsed.”

“Was it someone we know?” said Martin.

“I don’t know,” said Jeanette.

Martin got a disgruntled look on his face too.

“It was in America,” said Jeanette. “I have never been to America.”

“I have,” said Morten. “I went there for summer vacation.”

“Aww,” said Martin. “That’s so cool. We went to my summer house. It rained the whole time.”

Jeanette bit her lips. They hadn’t gone anywhere.

“There was another plane that fell down,” she said, trying to regain some playground credit. “It fell into a Pentagon.”

“What’s a pentagon?” said Morten.

“It’s when a square has five sides,” said Jeanette.

“Ah!” said Morten. “Why do they have a pentagon?”

“I don’t know,” said Jeanette. “But it was enormous. It was bigger than the airplane. And the airplane flew into it.”

“I don’t want to fly in an airplane,” said Morten.

“But maybe you don’t have to, if it was that plane that fell down yesterday. There was a lot of planes that fell down yesterday.”

A dark spot spread out on Morten’s trousers.

Jeanette looked away for a moment then turned back again.

“Don’t be scared,” she said. “It wasn’t here. It was somewhere else.”

“You wet your trousers,” said Martin, pointing at Morten’s crotch.

“No, I didn’t,” said Morten.

“Did too,” said Martin, sounding annoyed. “You’re a little baby.”

“I’m not a baby,” said Morten. His face clenched up then he started crying.

Jeanette bit her lip again.

Mrs. Thompson walked up to them.

“What’s going on?” she said.

“Morten wet himself,” said Martin. “He’s a baby.”

“I’m sorry,” said Jeanette.

“He’s not a baby,” said Mrs. Thompson. “It can happen to anyone.” She reached out a hand towards Morten. “Come Morten. Let’s go see if we can find some clean trousers.”

The next class was Mathematics, and Jeanette began feeling a pain in her stomach, remembering that she hadn’t done her homework. She tried to avoid Mrs. Madsen’s eyes, but they kept returning to Jeanette. They were only at the third problem, when Mrs. Madsen called out her name.

“Jeanette. Could you go to the blackboard and give us the solution to problem three?” she said.

Jeanette pretended not to hear.

“Jeanette? Are you busy there?” said Mrs. Madsen.

Jeanette didn’t say anything. She stared into her desk, and she could feel tears watering her eyes.

“Did you do your homework?”

Jeanette shook her head, staring into the desk. She had never felt this humiliated in her entire life.

“You knew that you had homework to do?”

“Yes,” said Jeanette. “Problem 1 to 12.”

“But you didn’t do it?”

Jeanette shook her head again. The tears were crawling down her cheeks.

“You always do your homework.”

Jeanette just nodded. 

She was relieved when the bell rang, and she hurried into the school yard, dodging Mrs. Madsen’s gaze. She sat down on the seesaw, hoping for someone to come along. A tick went by then Peter, Martin, Morten and Thomas stepped up.

“What was that nonsense you were telling Martin and Morten in recess?” said Peter, glaring at her. The situation had an ominous feel to it.

“I was just telling them about all the planes that crashed yesterday,” she said.

“You are making that up,” said Peter. “You are a liar.”

Jeanette shook her head.

“I never lie,” she said. “You are not supposed to lie.”

“Well I think we would know if an airplane had fallen down,” said Peter.

“Four airplanes,” said Jeanette.

Peter stepped up right in front of her. He planted both feet on the ground and his hands on his hips.

Jeanette stood up and took a step back from the seesaw. She scanned the playground for adults, but she couldn’t find any.

Peter took another step forward and pushed her in the chest. She stood her ground. She was filled with an overwhelming sense of anger towards her parents. They should have known better than to allow her to bail out of homework and watch the news. Still she had insisted that she was old enough to watch it. She took a deep breath and shoot out her chest.

“There were four airplanes that crashed yesterday,” she said. “All of them were crashed on purpose, by terrorites. Terrorites are people who are mad at other people, so they murder a lot of other people who they don’t know and who they are not mad at. That’s what happened.”

She folded her arms across her chest and stared straight into Peter’s eyes. Peter shook his head.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” he said.

“I know,” said Jeanette. “But they are adults.”

She didn’t see Peter’s hand coming but just felt it punch her on the nose. She screamed with surprise then stared at Peter.

“Why did you do that?” she asked. “I didn’t do anything to you.” Her first reaction was outrage.

Peter turned on his feet and walked away.

Jeanette couldn’t feel her nose. Mrs. Madsen stepped up to her.

“Jeanette what happened?” she said, sounding worried.

“Peter is a terrorites,” said Jeanette.

Mrs. Madsen laid a hand on her shoulder, and Jeanette felt overwhelmed by emotions. Anger towards her parents, anger towards the terrorites, sadness for all the people who had died even though she had never met them, and anger towards Peter for hitting her and calling her a liar in front of everyone. She felt exhausted.

“I didn’t do anything,” she said, then she burst into tears.

“It’s all right Jeanette,” said Mrs. Madsen. “Let’s go see the nurse for a moment.”

“The nurse?” Jeanette was staring at Mrs. Madsen through her wet eyes.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Madsen, smiling a warm smile. She grabbed Jeanette by the nose, tipping her head back. “Let’s hold your head back a little.”

Jeanette didn’t protest. She found that it was too exhausting to understand adults.

At the nurse’s room, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and started crying again. Her left eye was red, and blood was running out her nose.

“Hi there Jeanette,” said Mrs. Malling. “Did you fall?”

Jeanette shook her head.

“Peter hit me. He’s a terrorites.”

Mrs. Malling looked at Mrs. Madsen who smiled.

“I think she means a terrorist.”

“Yes,” said Jeanette. “He just hit me. I didn’t do anything.”

“I think perhaps he was upset about what you told Morten,” said Mrs. Madsen. “Terrorists are frightening to hear about, when there are no adults around to explain it. I think you should only talk to adults about it from now on. Would that be okay?”

Jeanette starred at Mrs. Madsen then she nodded, staring down at her feet. A drop of blood feel from her nose and landed on her left sock. She felt anger again, having witnessed this great event which had now turned into a secret. She stared at the red spot and she cried some more.

She was late for the next class, and again she felt embarrassed. She looked at Mr. Nielsen and felt her cheeks blush.

“I’m sorry,” she said, then stared down at the red spot on her sock.

“It’s all right Jeanette,” he said. “Just go sit.”

Jeanette hurried to her desk and pulled out her English books. Her nose and her eyes had begun to hurt. She sat at her desk, kicking her feet in the air, staring into the pages of her book, where today’s problems still hadn’t been solved. She tried to dodge Mr. Nielsen’s eyes.

She sat at the desk, and all the death and horror on last night’s television returned to her. It merged with the shame and guilt of having failed to do her homework. On top of that was the anger at her parents and the anger towards Peter, guilt over making Morten wet himself and frustration with having lost control over the whole day. She felt like she was being tossed around by forces bigger than her. This day was worse than the day with the matches. All of it added up to her thinking that she didn’t care much for being punched.

She had got on her feet, before she could reflect on what she was doing. She walked straight up to Peter’s desk, and before he had time to even look up at her, she made a fist and punched Peter right on the nose.

Peter screamed with surprise then began crying.

“Don’t hit me!” she yelled, in an angry tone. Then she felt Mr. Nielsen grab her around her stomach, pulling her backwards away from Peter’s table. He put her down in front of the door and pointed a finger at her.

“Go to the principal’s office!” he said, in an angry tone. Jeanette began crying again. She turned on her feet and trotted on towards the building across the school yard and towards the principal’s office.

She sat down in an empty chair outside his office. Robin from sixth grade was there.

“What did you do?” he said.

Jeanette didn’t say anything. She had done a lot. She had never missed her homework before. She had never made a boy wet his trousers before. She had never punched a boy before either, but neither had she ever been punched herself. Now her stomach was hurting from the thought that they would call her mother. She would yell at her and send her to her room, just like she had that one time with the matches. No one had spoken to her all day. She have had no dinner. At bedtime, no one had red her a story, and no one had come to wish her a good night. Ashamed, she had crawled into bed.

Jeanette stared at the principal’s door. She had overheard some of the six graders talking about the principal, saying that they feared him. She had heard one of them tell a story about how the principal had once gotten so mad that he had hammered his hand into the wall, and a brick had fallen out. The brick was still loose in the wall. Allegedly. 

Jeanette imagined the principal hammering her in the head. Mother wouldn’t like that. The tears were now streaming down her face.

“I jumped out the window,” said Robin.

Jeanette gasped.

“You jumped out the window?”

Robin smiled a pleasant smile. 

“I was bored. We are doing these math problems which are so easy it’s ridiculous.” He shrugged. “I just went out to play for a bit.”

“It wasn’t my fault what happened,” said Jeanette. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Whatever,” said Robin.

The bell rang, and the halls filled with children. Everyone could see her sitting there, and she lowered her eyes, staring back down at the bloodstain.

“I like your shiner,” said Robin. “Does it hurt?”

“Yes,” said Jeanette.

“I will go get you some ice,” he said. He got out of his chair and walked down the hallway.

“But the principal,” said Jeanette.

“Is taking his time. He will let us sit out here and fry for about an hour before he calls us in. Trust me. Let me just get that ice.”

Robin returned a few minutes later and handed her an icepack. She looked at it, uncertain of what to do. He smiled and took it away from her again.

“I see. It’s your first time getting a shiner.” He leaned in front of her and placed the ice package on top of her left eye. “There. Hold this, and don’t remove it. It will keep your eye from swelling up any further.”

“Thank you,” said Jeanette. The cold against her eye felt good.

“Who hit you?”

“It was Peter,” said Jeanette, in a disgruntled tone.

“Why?” said Robin. “What did you do to him?”

“I didn’t do anything. He got mad because I told Morten about the attacks that happened yesterday.” She covered her mouth. “I wasn’t supposed to talk about them anymore.”

She stared back down at her blood stain, with her right eye.

“That was the most horrendous attacks,” said Robin, leaning back in his seat. “I’m surprised that your parents allowed you to watch it.”

Jeanette sat up straight in her seat.

“They thought it was important that I saw it. Because it will define history.”

Robin nodded. “It sure will. I watched the news all night. Barely slept a few hours. It was so new and extreme. They didn’t even use a bomb. They used humans as a bomb to destroy other humans. I can’t remember ever seeing anything like it before.”

Jeanette nodded then stared back down at her bloodstain and she felt exhausted.

“My parents cried last night,” she said.

“And this scared you?” said Robin.

“I have never seen my father cry, and my mother only cries when she drops things on her toes.”

Robin laughed.

“Does she do that a lot?”

Jeanette shrugged.

“She dropped a big stone in the garden, and she dropped a bucket on her foot last summer. And for Christmas she dropped a duck on her foot.”

Robin laughed again.

“Was it dead or alive.”

Jeanette peaked up at him.

“It was dead. It was our Christmas duck.”

“Oh no,” said Robin, but he was still smiling. “Listen, don’t worry about your parents all right. Sometimes adults get frightened too. They don’t want us children to know, because they want us to believe that they can handle everything. You know what. They can. You parents will do everything in the whole world to keep you safe. So, you don’t have to worry about a thing.”

Jeanette felt a bit of relief.

“Really?”

“Promise.”

Jeanette kicked her feet in the air.

“Do you have a sister?” she asked.

Robin laughed.

“I have an older sister.”

“Do you have a brother?”

“I have a younger brother.”

“I wish I had a brother. Do you have a rabbit?”

“I don’t have a rabbit.”

“Oh.”

The door to the principal’s office opened, and the principal stepped out. He was taller than life itself and had a big head with no hair on it. Jeanette looked down at the bloodstain.

“Jeanette Larsen,” he said. “I have never seen you at my office before.” His voice was a thunder, interfering with her pain. She looked up at him with her right eye.

“I’m sorry,” she said then began crying again.

She felt Robin put an arm around her shoulder.

“Step into my office,” said the thunder. “Robin, you may join us.”

Robin pulled her up from the chair and walked her into the principal’s office. She sat down in another chair. Her feet couldn’t reach the floor, and she began kicking at the air again.

“I was told that you hit Peter on the nose.”

“He hit me first,” cried Jeanette.

“I was also told that you have been telling the other children stories about a terrorist attack that happened yesterday, causing one of your classmates to wet his trousers.”

“They were not stories. It really happened!” she was yelling this. She had given up on ever being a good girl again.

“She is right about that,” said Robin.

“Yes, you are,” said the principal. “But it’s not a good idea to tell such news stories to young children.”

“Fine,” said Jeanette, kicking at the air.

“And you didn’t do your homework? This is entirely new.”

“I wanted to, but my parents wouldn’t let me!” she yelled. Her eye was hurting, her nose was hurting, her heart was hurting. She looked up at the principle.

Robin laughed.

“I bet you never heard that one,” he said to the principal.

“I haven’t,” said the principal, raising an eyebrow.

There was a squeaking noise, as he leaned back in his seat.

“Listen Jeanette. I have called your mother. She will come and get you. Now I know that Peter hit you first. I can see that on your face right there below the icepack, but even though someone harm you, it’s not right to harm them back. At least not with an attack. If someone hit you, you should let the adults sort it out, all right?”

Jeanette nodded, feeling flustered. She looked back down again. The pain in her stomach was getting worse. She led her free arm down to hold her stomach. She felt Robin put his arm around her shoulder again.

“My mother will murder me,” she mumbled.

“It’s illegal to murder children,” said the principal.

Robin laughed again.

There was a knock on the door.

“Please enter,” called the principal.

Jeanette’s mother poked her head through the door.

“Hello. I’m Jeanette’s mother.” She looked at Jeanette then her face was coloured by fear. “What happened?” she called out, burst through the door, and scooped Jeanette into her arms.

“Jeanette got in a fight,” said the Principal.

“Someone hit her?” said her mother, sounding appalled.

“Yes,” said the principal. “And she hit him back.”

There was silence for a moment. Jeanette pressed her cheek against her mother’s cheek, wondering if she would ever get to do that again.

“Can I take her home now?” said her mother.

“Yes,” said the principal. “I expect her back tomorrow.”

“Of course. And the boy?”

“He will be allowed back as well. I had a long talk with him. He hit her to protect a friend. I can’t punish him for doing something he believed was the right thing to do. Jeanette told a story about the attack yesterday, and Peter’s best friend wet himself and got ridiculed by one of the other children. Peter has been picked up by his parents as well, and we are assuming that both will get back to normal behaviour by tomorrow.”

Jeanette’s mother went silent again. She put Jeanette down and took her by the hand.

“Come on Jeanette. Let’s go home.”

Jeanette looked back at Robin. He smiled and waved at her.

Jeanette’s mother held on to her hand, until they reached the bikes. Then she let go of Jeanette’s hand and unlocked her bike. Jeanette was waiting for the thunder to start again. Her mother pulled her bike out of the rack then turned and stared a Jeanette.

“You know what I think we should do?”

Jeanette hesitated then shook her head.

“I think we should go to the toy store and buy that Star Wars pencil case that you have been talking about for a billion years. And then afterwards I think we should go by the café and get you the biggest ice cream they have.”

Jeanette felt her mouth drop open.

“Is this a joke?” she said.

Her mother smiled then shook her head.

“No. I’m serious. Come on. Grab your bike and let’s go.”

Jeanette unlocked her bike and pulled it out of the rack as well. She followed behind her mother, wondering how her mother would make the Star Wars pencil case disappear again. They stopped outside the toy store, and Jeanette was too afraid to walk inside.

Her mother took her hand and walked in front of her towards the shelf where they had looked at the pencil case so many times. Jeanette stared at it. It was on a shelf just above her eyes, so she could only make out the side of it, but she had held it in her hands on several occasions.

It had a picture of Anakin Skywalker, Queen Amidala and Obi-Wan Kenobi on the front. Inside were black pencils with Yoda quotes on the sides. There was an eraser that looked like Jar Jar Binks and were pens in the shape of light sabres.

“This is the one. Isn’t it?” said her mother, taking the pencil case down.

Jeanette nodded following the pencil case’s route through the air.

“Let’s go get it then,” said her mother.

“But it’s 250 kroner.” Said Jeanette. “That’s a lot of money.”

“I know,” said her mother. “But I think you should have it.”

Jeanette shook her head.

“But I was a bad girl. I didn’t do my homework, I made Morten wet himself and I punched Peter.”

“I know you did,” said her mother.

She laid the pencil case on the counter.

“We would like to purchase this,” she said.

The clerk took the pencil case and rang it in the register then she put it in a bag. She handed it to Jeanette. Jeanette took the bag and stared at it.

Her mother paid then took Jeanette’s hand, pulling her back outside. “Let’s see about that ice cream.”

“I didn’t have lunch yet,” said Jeanette. “You shouldn’t eat ice cream before lunch.”

“Then we will have lunch first.”

Jeanette put the pencil case into her school bag. On this day adults had completely and utterly confused her. Jeanette and her mother walked down the pedestrian shopping area, and she spotted the days newspaper. There was a picture of one of those buildings that had collapsed the night before. A man was flying downwards.

“Don’t look at those,” said Jeanette’s mother. “I think we saw enough last night.”

Jeanette hurried to look away.

She got a tuna sandwich for lunch and a hot chocolate then her mother ordered the big banana split with ice cream, whipped cream and chocolate and sprinkles on. It was almost larger than Jeanette’s head. Jeanette’s stared up at her mother again.

“Eat it,” she said, smiling at Jeanette.

“I don’t get it,” said Jeanette. “When will I be punished?”

“You won’t be punished,” said her mother. “Your father and I owe you an apology.”

Jeanette stared at her mother with wide eyes then she started crying again. Her mother moved around the table and embraced her in a hug.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said. “Well. I would prefer if you hadn’t hit that boy, but I’m also sort of glad that you didn’t just let him get away with it.” She laughed. “Don’t tell your father I said that.” Her mother kissed her on her cheek. “It was your father’s and my fault that you didn’t do your homework. It was our fault that you made Morten wet himself, and Peter hit you because of that. I am sorry we put you in this position. We just didn’t want you to miss out on the biggest event in our lifetime.” 

Jeanette kicked her feet at the air and ate her ice cream. It tasted of banana and chocolate and it was the best she could recall eating.

“I’m never going back to school,” said Jeanette, as they made it home. She threw her school bag into the floor in the hall.

“I’m afraid you will have to return tomorrow,” said her mother.

“But I don’t even know half of my homework.”

“Just do the homework you know,” said her mother.

“I am going to my room,” said Jeanette.

Her mother smiled then leaned down and grabbed her bag on the floor. She reached it out towards her.

“You might want to use your new pencil case.”

Jeanette grabbed the bag and hurried to her room.

The next morning, she was kicking and screaming all the way to school.

“Peter will hit me again,” she tried. Her bruise was now purple and hurting every time she touched it.

“Stop touching your bruise,” said her father. He was driving them to school. Jeanette had refused to get on her bike. “He won’t hit you again.”

“The others hate me,” she tried.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” said her mother. “Trust me. Everything will be fine. And you get to show everyone your new pencil case.”

“The principal hates me,” said Jeanette. “Mrs. Madsen hates me.” She was on a roll. “That new kid in the third grade who always pics his nose hates me.”

“No one hates you,” said her father. “Because you are such a delightful ray of sunshine.”

“Grr,” said Jeanette.

Her father laughed at her.

Her mother walked her into the first class. It was with Mrs. Madsen. Mrs. Madsen smiled at Jeanette.

“Hello Jeanette. Are you feeling better today?”

Jeanette tried to reply but stumbled on her words.

“I, Yes, No.” She didn’t recall being sick. “A little,” she said.

“Good. Why don’t you go have a seat?”

Jeanette sat down at her desk and watched her mother and Mrs. Madsen talk for a bit. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Mrs. Madsen kept nodding her head with a concerned look on her face.

She was too afraid to turn and look at Peter or Morten, so she just sat there, kicking her feet in the air.

Mrs. Madsen didn’t ask her to answer any questions, and soon the bell rang.

She was afraid to walk into the playground. She tried to move to the far end of the young grades playground and keep to herself. She found a spot on a tree trunk and sat down. She was carrying her new pencil case, and sitting on the tree trunk, she opened it.

She pulled it up to her face and sniffed the eraser. It smelled like bubble gum. She pulled out one of the pens, formed like a light sabre and waved it around in the air, pretending to be Obi-Wan. “Darth Wader. I will destroy you,” she said, then stared straight at Peter. “Go away,” she said. “I don’t want to hit you again.”

Peter stood his ground. Morten, Martin and Thomas stepped up next to him.

Jeanette wondered if Peter would hit the same eye or the other one.

“I will tell the principal if you hit me,” she said. “And then he will kick you out of school.”

“I punched you yesterday, and all that happened was that I got the day off. I like your new pencil case. I didn’t get a pencil case.”

Jeanette got on her feet. She was feeling a sense of hopelessness. She had told her parents what would happen, and they hadn’t listened. Peter took a step forward. She didn’t even bother to move.

“What’s going on here?” said a voice, coming from right behind Jeanette. “I hope no one is bothering my best friend Jeanette.”

Jeanette turned and saw Robin standing right behind her. He put his hands on her shoulders, giving them a rub. Jeanette turned back, staring Peter straight in the eyes.

“Now listen up,” said Robin. “That story Jeanette was telling you about yesterday. That happened! Your parents just thought you were too small to get it. All right?”

He paused, and Jeanette smiled widely, imagining Robin gazing at all the boys, one at a time. Then he continued.

“Jeanette and I are best friends now, so if she ever tells me that any of you lot has been giving her a hard time then I will end up at the principal’s office. Right after I pound the living daylights out of you then stuff your head in the toilet. Is that understood?”

All the boys bobbed their heads up and down.

“Good,” said Robin. “Now scram. You are almost trespassing on the big kid’s playground.”

All the boys turned around and hurried back to the other end of the playground. Jeanette turned and smiled at Robin.

“Thank you, Robin,” she said. “I thought he was going to hit me again.”

“I won’t allow that kiddo. I got your back from now on.” He winked at her.

Jeanette felt relief wash over her body. She wanted to do something for Robin. She reached into her pencil case and pulled out one of the pens.

“Here,” she said. “My mother got me a new pencil case yesterday.”

“That’s good,” said Robin. “I was worried about you.” He looked at the pen. “I can’t take that. It’s yours.”

Jeanette moved her hand closer to him.

Robin took a quick look over his shoulder then he grabbed the pen and stuffed it in his pocket.

“Don’t tell anyone I got this,” he said, winking at her. “Thank you.”

When she walked into the classroom, people were staring at her. The girls were sticking their heads together, whispering, and the boys gazed at her with respect colouring their faces. She sat down behind her desk, placing her Star Wars pencil case in the upper right corner of her desk. She flipped it open, so she could see all the pens and pencils. Tine leaned in towards her.

“Is it true that you are best friends with Robin from sixth grade?” she whispered.

“Yes,” whispered Jeanette back.

She didn’t have to stay by the edge of the playground for the remainder of the day, and when her mother picked her up, she still only had one purple eye.

“How was your day?” said her mother.

“It was good,” said Jeanette. “I got a new friend.”

“See,” said her mother. “I told you it would be fine.”

Jeanette just smiled.

Back at the house, she hung her backpack on its spot on the wall then grabbed the pencil case and her books for homework. She sat down at the kitchen table and unfolded her pencil case. She picked a pencil then started her homework.

“What happened to the pencil?” said her mother, leaning in.

Jeanette shrugged.

“I lost it.”

“All right. Try to hang on to the others thought.”

“I will,” said Jeanette.

She squinted her eyes to see the clock on the wall. Her mother looked at her eyes then up at the clock. Her face cleared up with understanding. She took a couple of steps back then held up a hand.

“Jeanette. How many fingers am I holding up?”

Jeanette stared at her mother’s hand. It was a bit of a blur.

“Five?” she tried.

“Holly fuckzoids,” said her mother.

There was that word again. Fuckzoids. She would have to ask Robin about it.

Kapitel Orange:

Vi er en helt normal, unormal familie, siger far og mor til os, hver gang vi føler, at vi ikke er helt normale. Man tænker altid, at det man er vandt til, er sådan som tingene er for alle andre, men selv jeg kan se, at min familie er helt normal på den unormale måde. Jeg er selv så normal at jeg er lidt kedelig, men mine søskende har det med at skille sig ud fra mængden. Når man ser os udefra, så virker det hele lidt useriøst. Især siden far malede huset orange. 

Vores hus er stort og gammelt, med mange sære rum, et lille tårn og et stort rundt vindue øverst i gavlen. Det ligger uden for en ikke særlig stor, men lidt større by, midt I England. Jeg bor her sammen med mine fem brødre, tre søstre, mine forældre, og en lille, plettet hund der hedder Ko.

Silas er min ældste bror og min bedste ven. Han er tyve år gammel og burde måske være flyttet hjemme fra, men hans eneste talent er som bugtaler, og det er en svær branche at tjene penge på. Han render altid rundt med Ruth på hånden. Ruth er en sort pingvin med kæmpestore øjne. Silas øjne er normal størrelse og brune. Hans hår er mørkt.

Silas og Ruth sidder ved siden af mig lige nu og snakker. Jeg ved godt at det lyder mærkeligt, men nogle gange tror jeg faktisk at de snakker på samme tid.

Ruth er den mest irriterende pingvin jeg kender, men hun er så også den eneste pingvin jeg kender. Nogle gange er hun sjov, men jeg syntes nu godt, at Silas kunne lære hende lidt bedre manerer.

Lige nu sidder hun med de store tekop-øjne og stirrer helt vildt på mig. Det får mig altid til at grine. Nogle gange glemmer jeg at Ruth ikke er et rigtigt dyr, men Silas opfører sig også som om Ruth er et menneske. Han insisterer for eksempel på, at vi fejrer hendes fødselsdag.

Mine søskende Hakan, Selma, Nuno og Noam er lige gamle, men de er ikke firlinger, som man ellers kunne tro, når nu de alle fire er mine søskende og lige gamle.

Nuno og Noam er tvillinger, men da far og mor var på hospitalet, så var der nogen der havde glemt at tage Hakan og Selma med hjem, så far og mor besluttede sig for at de gerne ville have et ekstra sæt tvillinger. Hakan og Selma har mørkere hår end os andre, men det er der ingen der bemærker, for Nuno har grønt hår. Alle stirrer på Nuno når vi går ned ad gaden, men det er hun ligeglad med. Hun elsker sit grønne hår. De er alle fire 15 år gamle.

Hakan er vild med dyr, og dyr er vilde med Hakan. De følger tit efter ham hjem til hans værelse. Far siger at han har dyretække. Engang kom han hjem med en vaskebjørn. Far sagde at den ikke kunne blive boende, og at Hakan skulle tage den tilbage til der hvor han havde fundet den. Far fulgte med og kom rasende hjem og fortalte, at Hakan havde stjålet den i zoologisk have. Far holdt en lang tale om, at man ikke må tage dyr med hjem fra zoologisk have. Hakan er ikke helt enig.

Ko blev forvist til hundehuset i en hel uge. Han plejer ellers at sove inde hos Hakan. Ko er en hvid skotsk terrier med sorte pletter. Hakan har efter episoden fået lov til at hjælpe til i zoologisk have en gang om ugen.

Hakan er også god til at synge og danse, men han er lidt genert. Jeg har dog set ham danse og synge foran dyrene, når ingen mennesker er i nærheden. Jeg ville ønske at han turde danse og synge for os andre. Jeg tror ikke han selv ved hvor god han er.

Selma er super flink og modig. Hun elsker at læse, og så interesserer hun sig meget for hvad andre folk laver. Hun er især interesseret i hvad Noam laver. Noam er lidt sær. Han siger aldrig noget, og han er altid på vej et eller andet sted hen. Han skal også helst holde et eller andet i hånden og samler tit klamme ting op, som vi andre helst undgår, og så står han bare og stirrer på det. Selma sidder tit og glor på et eller andet sammen med ham. Ikke fordi det interesserer hende, men fordi hun prøver at forstå ham. Jeg kan rigtigt godt lide Noam, men han er sværd at kommunikere med.

Silas påstår, at Nuno blev født med grønt hår, men jeg tror ikke på ham. Måske faldt Nuno engang i en pool med alt for meget klor i eller noget i den retning. Nuno kan få ting til at bevæge sig uden at røre ved dem. Det er ret smart, for når man sidder så mange som vi gør rundt om aftensbordet, så kan det være svært at nå alting. Så kalder man bare på Nuno og beder om kartoflerne, og så kommer de flyvende. Hun snakker altid om en prins på en hvid hest, som en dag skal komme og redder hende fra os alle sammen. Jeg burde være fornærmet over at hun vil redes fra os, men jeg er ret spændt på at møde ham prinsen.

Cornelius og jeg er begge tretten år gamle, og det kan godt være lidt svært at forstå når nu vi ikke har fødselsdag samme dag. Det må betyde, at en af os ikke født ind i familien, og jeg er sikker på at det er mig. Jeg er simpelthen for kedelig i forhold til de andre. Jeg skriver hele tiden historier, og så bliver jeg konstant mobbet i skolen på grund af min familie. Jeg har aldrig følt at jeg ikke hørte til, men jeg har altid tænkt på at jeg skulle spørge en eller anden om, hvordan det hele hænger sammen.

Cornelius går i søvne. Han ender tit ude på taget om natten, og ingen af os kan finde ud af, hvordan han kommer derop. Silas påstår at han flyver, men Silas er fuld af fis.

Ruth sidder stadig og stirrer på mig. Jeg prøver at stirre tilbage, men ingen har nogensinde vundet en stirre konkurrence mod Ruth.

Kevin er ti år gammel. Han elsker detektivromaner. Især Sherlock Holmes. Han vil gerne kunne spille violin ligesom Sherlock Holmes, men han gik kun til violin tre gange, så gad han ikke mere. Han hiver dog stadig violinen frem til tider og forsøger at spille på den. Så lyder det som om man hiver en kat i halen, og så brokker vi os alle sammen, indtil han putter den væk igen. Han vil gerne være detektiv og er god til at finde ting man har mistet. Han er dog ikke altid lige god til at finde det man helst vil finde. En gang havde jeg tabt mit ur og bad ham om at hjælpe mig, men i stedet for at finde mit ur fandt han et stort gammelt sværd. Jeg blev glad for sværdet, men jeg ved aldrig hvad klokken er. Kevin går altid i meget farvestrålende tøj. Det er lidt som om han er bange for, at vi ikke ser ham.

Freja er fire. Far siger, at Freja er et geni. Hun har bare en ret dårlig stedsans og en tendens til at forsvinde. Kevin bruger meget tid på at lede efter hende. Ruth siger altid at vi burde binde en snor om livet på hende, så kan vi bare følge den når hun forsvinder, og så ville vi ikke spilde så meget tid på at lede.

Freja ved en hel masse om mange ting. Hun elsker biler. Første gang hun kørte væk i fars bil var hun bare 2 år gammel. Hun havde bundet dåser fast under sine fødder og brugte et spejl til at se ud af foruden. Far siger at hun er alt for klog for sin alder, og vi burde finde en skole til hende hvor hun kan få noget udfordring. Freja er nogle gange lidt trist til mode. Hun siger, at hun ikke passer ind i verden. Hun er den eneste i familien der har rødt hår. Hun går tit og stryger sit hår tilbage, og så blive det siddende i en stor filtret klump. Hvis far forsøger at frisere hende, så skriger hun indtil han holder op. Hun kan godt lide at gå i prinsesse kjoler.

Mor er gravid igen og endnu engang ser maven farligt stor ud. Vi tror det bliver to drenge. Mor har allerede fundet skøre navne til dem og broderet dem på hovedpuder og tæppe og hagesmække efter at have trævlet Frejas navn op. Den ene stakkel skal hedde Barnabas og den anden skal hedde Anton. Jeg håber ikke Barnabas bliver typen der løber væk, for jeg nægter altså at løbe rundt og råbe, hvor er du Barnabas!

Mor hedder Cammille, og hun syntes selv at det er et forfærdeligt kedeligt navn, hvilket nok er grunden til at vi børn alle sammen er blevet belemret med mærkelige navne. Far kaldte hende engang Camomille, og så faldt hun pladask for ham. Far hedder Henry og er hjemmegående far, imens mor har et advokatfirma i kælderen. Til efternavn hedder vi alle sammen Rudeberry. Nå ja, og jeg hedder Wilma.

Far siger, at vi altid har plads til en til, men jeg syntes nu, at der er lang kø til vores to toiletter om morgenen. Hvad gik der galt, tænker jeg nogle gange, men det er nu ikke så galt endda i det store orange hus, for vi har jo alle sammen hinanden.

Kapitel lyseblå

Det er tidlig morgen, og jeg har skrivekrise. Jeg har en ide i hovedet. En historie om en pige, som vågner op en dag og opdager, at hun ikke kan tale, men at der kommer bobler ud ad munden på hende når hun prøver. Jeg skal bruge noget papir, men har stået på hovedet i alle skuffer uden at finde noget.

Silas og Ruth passerer mig i gangen.

‘Silas. Hvor er der papir?’

‘Der er toiletpapir på toilettet,’ siger Silas, og går videre.

Jeg vender mig om og ser, at toilettet er ledigt. Jeg skynder mig derind og låser døren. Jeg hiver min kuglepen ud og ruller noget toiletpapir ud på gulvet. Det kan godt lade sig gøre at skrive på det, hvis man holder lidt igen på papiret og skriver forsigtigt. Der går ikke lang tid, så har jeg skrevet på hele toiletrullen. Der lyder en høj banken på døren.

‘Kom nu ud. Der er optaget ovenpå!’ Det er Cornelius.

‘Øjeblik!’ råber jeg tilbage. Jeg skynder mig at rulle toiletrullen på plads. Så smider jeg den under armen og åbner døren.

Cornelius skynder sig forbi mig og lukker døren bag sig. Jeg går ind i køkkenet. Mor og far er ved at jonglere en masse potter og pander. Det er ikke nemt at lave mad til så mange mennesker.

‘Her Wilma,’ siger mor. ‘Hjælp mig lige med at røre i sovsen.’

Jeg sætter toiletrullen fra mig på bordet og tager imod den ske, som mor har rakt ud imod mig. Jeg begynder at røre i gryden.

‘Tak siger mor. Hendes mave stritter, og hun ser lidt træt ud.

‘Wilma!’ råber Cornelius. ‘Du har taget det sidste toiletpapir!’

‘Åh nej,’ siger mor. ‘Wilma, kan du ikke lige tjekke ovnen for mig? Så redder jeg Cornelius.’

Jeg nikker og vender mig om for at tage grydelapper på, men da jeg går hen mod ovnen, ser jeg, at min toiletrulle er væk.

‘Mor!’ råber jeg, men det er for sent. Jeg kommer løbende ud i gangen, lige tids nok til at se døren til toilettet lukke i. Mor vender sig og går tilbage mod køkkenet. Jeg løber forbi hende og banker på toiletdøren. ‘Cornelius! Du må ikke tørre dig i min roman!’ råber jeg.

Mit hjerte banker. Jeg syntes selv, at historien var blevet ret god, og jeg havde også fået skrevet rigtigt meget på den.

Døren går op foran mig. Cornelius stirrer på mig. Hans læber er presset sammen, og toilettet lugter. Han rækker hånden ud imod mig og presser verdens mindste toiletrulle ind i hånden på mig. ‘Undskyld,’ siger han.

Jeg kigger ned på toiletrullen. ‘Du har næsten brugt det hele.’

‘Jeg har virkeligt dårlig mave,’ siger Cornelius. ‘Hvorfor har du skrevet en historie på toiletrullen?’

‘Jeg er løbet tør for papir.’

‘Undskyld,’ siger Cornelius igen.

Jeg kan ikke helt forklare det, men at miste alt det jeg har skrevet føles lidt som om der er noget af mig der er forsvundet. Jeg bliver rigtigt ked af det og styrter op på mit værelse. Her kaster jeg mig ned i min dyne. Jeg prøver på ikke at græde, men det er svært. Efter lidt tid, begynder jeg at skrive det jeg kan huske af historien ned på mit lagen. 

Vi er alle sammen samlet ved det store spisebord den aften. Jeg sidder ved bordenden imellem mor og Silas og Ruth. De store tekop-øjne stirrer på mig igen. Der dufter af mors kylling med koriander.

‘Er det her et dyrskue?’ spørger Ruth. Jeg ryster på hovedet og tænker, som så mange gange før, at der må være en båndoptager i hende.

‘Hvad laver du så her?’

Jeg trækker på skuldrene. Jeg er ikke så nem at mobbe, for jeg er ligeglad med hvad folk siger til mig, og det gælder også pingviner.

‘Opfør dig ordentligt, Ruth,’ siger far, og peger sin gaffel af hende, ‘Ellers kan du spise på værelset.’ Han har vist også glemt at hun ikke er en person.  

Jeg kalder på Nuno og beder om mælken, som kommer flyvende gennem luften og hælder sig selv op. Jeg giver hende en op-vendt tommelfinger som tak og stop. Jeg kommer i tanke om at jeg mangler papir at skrive på og vender mig imod mor.

‘Mor kan jeg få to pund?’

Mor kigger på mig. ‘Skal de muligvis bruges til papir, min lille forfatter?’

Vi er alle sammen hendes lille et eller andet. Hendes lille forfatter. Hendes lille Sherlock Holmes. Og hendes lille bugtaler. På tyve år.

Silas og Ruth sidder nu begge og stirrer på Nuno. Jeg smiler undskyldende til mor.

‘Du Nuno,’ siger Ruth. ‘Der er noget jeg ikke forstår med ham der prinsen på den hvide hest.’

Nuno stirrer olmt tilbage på Ruth.

‘Hvis prinsen på den hvide hest har redet så længe for at finde dig, så må hesten godt nok være udmattet.’

Nuno bliver rød i hovedet og spisebordet letter et par centimeter over gulvet. Jeg tager min tallerken og rykker lidt væk. Nuno er ikke så god til det med landinger. Lidt efter slapper hun af igen og bordet lander med et kaplonk. Vi spiser videre og far peger på Ruth med sin gaffel, men siger ikke noget.

Vi har en masse regler i huset. Det skal man havde, når man bor så mange mennesker sammen, ellers fungerer det ikke. Det er ligesom man skal overholde færdselsreglerne i trafikken, for ellers cykler vi alle sammen ind i hinanden, og det gør ondt.

Regel nummer et er, vi laver ikke grin med Nunos prins.

Jeg ser igen bedende på Mor. ‘Mor jeg har jo faktisk fødselsdag meget snart,’ siger jeg og håber den går.

Hun smiler til mig. ‘Jamen så er dig og Cornelius nærmest tvillinger. Der kan man bare se.’ Hun tager sin pung op af lommen og hiver to pund op. ‘Her. Og så vil jeg ikke have flere toiletpapirsepisoder.’

‘Jeg lover at jeg ikke skriver på flere toilet ruller,’ siger jeg og mor smiler.

‘Det er jeg glad for at høre, for vi kan jo ikke gå rundt og holde os, når du beslutter dig for at skrive dine romaner på toilettet.’

Jeg vender mig imod Hakan. ‘Oh Hakan. Vil den flotteste fyr i verden med mig ind til byen i morgen formiddag?’

Hakan smiler tilbage. Han ved godt at det betyder; Mor vil ikke have at jeg tager alene ind til byen, men jeg kan altså ikke vente med at købe det der papir, så vil du ikke nok tage med?

Hakan nikker. ‘Ja, hvis det betyder at jeg kan bruge toiletpapir, når jeg går på toilettet.’

Næste morgen vækker jeg Hakan tidligt, og han tager med mig ind til byen.

Hakan tager på cafe imens jeg bruger næsten en time i boghandelen. Det er lidt som om når jeg er der, at alle notesbøgerne bare gerne vil med mig hjem. Jeg kan aldrig rigtigt bestemme mig til, hvilken en af dem, som måske har den bedste historie gemt mellem siderne. Det lykkes mig til sidst at vælge, da ekspedienten stirrer surt på mig. Så betaler jeg og går ud igen. Jeg finder Hakan og så tager vi bussen tilbage. Den stopper et godt stykke fra huset så vi går det sidste af vejen.

Halvvejs nede ad den lange grusvej møder vi Noam. Han har samlet noget jord op og går i den modsatte retning af os. Jeg tager fat i skulderen på ham og drejer ham den anden vej. Han syntes at være ligeglad med, hvad vej han går, bare han går.

Jeg har lyst til at tage jorden fra ham, men det er bedst at lade være. Han bliver rigtigt gal, når man tager noget fra ham. Så skriger han og stamper i jorden, og han stopper ikke før han får det tilbage. Vi har stået på hovedet i skraldespanden for at finde en dingenot eller en dippedut, som en eller anden har taget fra ham og smidt ud.  

Regel nummer to er, hvad Noam holder i hånden, er midlertidig Noams.

Da vi kommer hjem, sætter jeg mig på verandaen og skriver videre på min historie. Silas og Ruth sidder og snakker. Jeg kigger nogle gange på Silas, men hans mund bevæger sig ikke.

Far kommer forbi og siger, at vi skal spise frokost på en restaurant. Han vil gerne forkæle mor lidt, inden der kommer to nye babyer. Silas smiler et smørret grin, og jeg mistænker, at det bliver en af den slags frokoster, som er typisk for vores familie. 

 Den første halvdel af frokosten går egentligt meget godt. Folk stirrer altid på os, når hele familien er samlet i offentlighed, men det er vi vandt til. Jeg stirrer jo også på andre mennesker, ellers ville jeg gå ind i dem. Jeg har fået en bøf og sidder og nyder smagen af HP-sauce.

Far kalder servitricen over for at bestille femten ekstra colaer, hvilket er for mange. Det sker tit, at far ikke helt har styr på, hvor mange børn han har. Servitricen smiler og skriver noget på sin lille blok, så kigger hun op.

‘Er der ellers noget i skal bruge?’

Vi kigger alle op på hende og ryster på hovedet, men så siger en stemme fra Silas bøf; ‘Jeg kunne godt tænke mig lidt ekstra sovs at bade i.’

Jeg begynder at grine. Servitricen besvimer. Far prøver at gribe hende inden hun rammer gulvet. Nuno kigger på bøffen, og så begynder den at flyve rundt i luften. Det hele er kaos. Folk ved de nærmeste borde begynder at skrige og forsøger at komme væk. En mand i jakkesæt kommer løbene og begynder at undskylde for den flyvende bøf. Han ser meget bleg ud, og det bliver ikke bedre da Silas igen ligger stemme til bøffen og den begynder at råbe; ‘Jeg kan flyve, jeg kan flyve.’

Far, som står og fumler med at holde den bevidstløse servitrice oprejst, kigger på manden i jakkesæt og rømmede sig.

‘Uhm, jeg tror der er sket en fejl,’ siger han. ‘Vi har altså bestilt bøf, og uanset hvor rå den bliver serveret, så burde den altså ikke kunne flyve.’

‘Ja, det må i undskylde. Jeg kan forsikre dig om, at det ikke er et problem vi er støt på tidligere.’

Far sender manden et skarpt blik. Jeg bider mig selv i tunger for ikke at flække af grin.

‘Jeg er chef for restauranten,’ fortsætter manden. ‘Og jeg vil gerne tilbyde jer en kupon på et gratis måltid for hele familien. Hvis altså i lover, at I ikke siger noget til nogen om det her.’

Han kigger nervøst på bøffen, som holder op med at flyve og lander midt på bordet.

‘Urgh!’ siger den.

‘Det kan vi ikke sige nej til,’ siger far.

‘Godt. Det er jeg glad for. Og igen. Jeg er virkeligt ked af det. Jeg får kokken til at lave en ny bøf til din søn. Og denne gang skal vi nok stege den helt igennem.’

Far nikker, og servitricen åbner øjnene. Hun ser helt forfjamsket ud og rejser sig op.

‘Jeg henter de colaer,’ siger hun, og skynder sig væk fra bordet.

Jeg drikker to colaer og får så ondt i maven, at jeg ikke kan sove.

Der er ikke nok værelser til at vi alle sammen kan havde et for os selv, så alle deler værelser med hinanden. Jeg bor øverst oppe, ved det runde vindue. Der deler jeg værelse med Nuno, Cornelius, Og Silas, og Ruth selvfølgelig. Jeg har fået lov at have min seng under det runde vindue, og hver morgen vågner jeg lidt før alle andre, fordi solen skinner ind og varmer mine kinder.

Silas har sin seng oppe imod væggen i den ene side, og Nuno har sin seng op ad væggen i den anden side. Cornelius seng står oppe på en slags hems, hvor der er en lille trappe op til. Vi har malet den ene væg orange, og så hænger der lyskæder over det hele.

Hakan, Selma, Noam og Ko deler et stort værelse på anden sal i vores tårn. Det er et sekskantet værelse med masser af vinduer. De har udsigt langt ud over alle markerne i alle retninger. De har et stort blåt gulvtæppe i deres rum, som far har skåret til helt ud til væggen. Selma har samlet små luftballoner, som hun har hængt op i loftet. Det er lidt som om man er oppe i himlen når man er i deres rum.

Freja og Kevin har et fælles værelse, som også ligger på anden sal. Deres værelse ligner et værelse, hvor der bor to studerende. Der er to skriveborde, en masse dingenoter og dimser. Fagbøger, Sherlock Holmes bøger og en violin. 

Det er langt efter midnat, da jeg beslutter mig for at snige mig ned og drikke et glas mælk. Jeg kan alligevel ikke sove, og både Silas og Ruth snorker. Jeg lister ned ad trappen, men da jeg kommer ud på balkonen over stuen, er der noget helt galt. Lyset er slukket, og der lister en skygge rundt. Skyggen er meget større end nogen jeg er i familie med.

Mit hjerte begynder at banke alt for hurtigt. Så vender jeg mig langsomt om og lister ovenpå igen.

Jeg vækker Silas og Nuno og henter Ko inde hos Hakan. Så lister vi os ned på balkonen og kigger ned i stuen. Skyggen er begyndt at rode igennem vores skuffer. Han ser ud som om han er interesseret i det bestik vi har fået af farmor og farfar.

Nuno løfter Ko op i luften og flyver ham ud over balkonen. Jeg holder vejret, imens ko stopper i luften lige bagved skyggen. Ko er vandt til Nunos flyveture og siger ikke noget. Silas adamsæble bevæger sig, og Ko siger, ‘Hrm hrm.’

Tyven vender sig om og stirrer på ko.

‘Muhhhh,’ siger Ko.

Jeg har svært ved ikke at fnise. 

Tyven laver en mærkelig lyd.

‘Hvad?’ siger Ko. ‘Havde du forventet at jeg sagde vov? Hvor stigmatiserende.’

Jeg fniser endnu meres, selvom jeg ikke ved, hvad stigmatiserende betyder, og Nuno falder sammen på gulvet og holder sig for maven.

Så har tyven endeligt besluttet sig for hvordan man reagerer på en flyvende hund der siger som en ko. Han smider alt hvad han har i hænderne og begynder at bakke ud af stuen. Ko flyver efter ham.  

‘Muhhhh,’ siger Ko igen. Vi sniger os ned ad trappen og hen til vinduet og følger tyvens flugt tværs over haven. Han skvatter over en cykel og træder på en rive på vejen til lågen.

Nuno styrer Ko tilbage til huset og ind i stuen. Far vader op bag ved os. Jeg har slet ikke hørt ham komme. ‘Hej unger, hvad sker der?’ spørger han, imens han gnidder sine øjne. Ko fortsætter hen til fars ansigt.  

‘Det var en udbrudstyv,’ siger Ko.

Far nikker. ‘Ok.’ han vender sig om og går tilbage op ad trappen.

Jeg spærrer øjnene op og kigger på Nuno. Hun trækker på skuldrene og sætter Ko tilbage på gulvet.

‘Hvad lavede du hernede?’ spørger Silas.

Nuno snurrer rundt og forsvinder hen imod trapperne.

‘Jeg kan ikke sove. Jeg har ondt i maven.’

‘Cola eller grin?’

‘Begge dele tror jeg.’

Silas smiler. ‘Okay. Lad os finde et glas mælk til dig.’

Vi tuller begge to ind i køkkenet, og Silas hælder et glas mælk op til mig. Jeg drikker det og nyder smagen et øjeblik. Så smiler Silas til mig. ‘Jeg er vågen nu,’ siger han. ‘Skal vi ikke smutte ud og se om de der stjerner stadig hænger i himlen?’

Jeg nikker. Det gør vi nogle gange, uden at de andre ved det. Så ligger vi på et tæppe og snakker om alt muligt.

Vi har fået øje på tre stjerneskud, da Silas pludseligt sætter sig op.

‘Du, er klokken efter tolv?’

‘Det ved jeg ikke. Hvorfor?’

‘Jeg har lige fået øje på et spøgelse.’

Jeg kigger den samme vej som han gør og ser en skygge gå rundt oppe på taget. Jeg sætter mig også op.  

‘Det er altså mystisk,’ siger Silas. ‘Udbrudstyven kan da ikke være kravlet derop. Han løb alt hvad remmer og tøj kan holde.’

Jeg nikker og vi rejser os begge og går om for at hente stigen. Jeg holder den imens Silas kravler op på taget. Lidt efter stikker han hovedet ud over kanten. ‘Det er Cornelius. Kan du hente far?’

Jeg nikker og løber indenfor.

Far forsøger at hive stigen op på taget, men kan ikke nå derhen hvor Cornelius er. Til sidst giver vi op. Cornelius er alligevel ikke faldet ned. Så sidder vi alle tre og stirrer på Cornelius i et stykke tid, indtil skyggen forsvinder fra taget. Vi skynder os tilbage ind i huset, og Cornelius ligger i sin seng. Jeg kravler også i seng, og det lykkes mig endeligt at falde i søvn.

Elleve mennesker og et toilet er verdens dårligste regnestykke. Der er komplet kaos den næste morgen, da vi skal af sted til skole. Jeg plejer at stå op meget tidligt. Så styrter jeg ned og låser døren. Man har nøjagtig tre sekunder så kommer Hakan og Selma og banker på. Så vågner resten af huset, og efter det er det bare en masse råben og skrig og banken på døren, og folk der børster tænder og spytter ud i de andres hår, og folk der klager over at den anden tog alt mælken eller den sidste havregryn.

Tit vælter vi alle sammen af sted til busserne med tøjet halvt på eller med vådt hår. Vi burde måske organisere det hele lidt, men jeg tror vi ville savne kaosset, hvis det rent faktisk fungerede.

Den morgen vågner jeg ved at Ruth stirrer mig lige ind i øjnene.

‘Du nåede det ikke,’ siger hun, og Silas grinende fjæs kommer til syne. Jeg sætter mig op med et spjæt og kigger på mit vækkeur. Klokken er kvart over otte. Jeg har et kvarter til at få tøj på og børste tænder og spise og pakke taske og nå bussen.

Jeg flyver forbi Silas og begynder at hive tøj ud af skabet, så styrter jeg ind på toilettet og klarer tandbørstning, imens jeg hiver tøj på. De andre griner af mig da jeg kommer styrtende og når bussen i sidste øjeblik. Jeg får pusten tilbage på vej ind til byen. Først da vi stiger af bussen fortæller Kevin mig, at min trøje er på vrangen, og at mine sokker er forskellige. Både i farve, mønster og længde.

Jeg skal havde matematik i første time, men jeg beslutter mig for at styrte ind på toilettet først. Jeg tager sokkerne af og smider dem i tasken, og så vender jeg trøjen. Jeg står med hovedet i det ene ærme og begge arme på ryggen da klokken ringer til time. Jeg kan se en lille smule gennem ærmet, så jeg løber ud på gangen og ned mod mit klasseværelse.

Jeg kan ikke rigtigt se hvad der står på dørene, så jeg ender med at vælge den der ser mest lovende ud og braser ind. Jeg kan høre nogen der griner, og jeg kæmper desperat for at få armene fri. Jeg kan mærke ulden hænge fast i mine fingre. Det mislykkedes, men til gengæld får jeg endeligt hovedet igennem det rigtige hul og kan se, at jeg har valgt den forkerte klasse. Jeg kigger mig omkring og ser at jeg er vadet ind til Hr. Bears klasse. Hr. Bear er heldigvis min favorit lærer.

‘Hvad har vi her?’ siger han og kigger på mig.

Hr. Bear hjælper mig med at få armene ud af de rigtige huller.

‘Hej Wilma. Man har nok fået det forkerte ben ud af sengen til morgen.’

Jeg ryster på hovedet. ‘Nej det er lige nøjagtigt de rigtige ben, men jeg er ikke helt sikker på armene.’

Han smiler. ‘Nå, men når nu du har besluttet dig for at gå i niende klasse i dag, så kan du måske lige hjælpe mig. Jeg skal nok forklare din lærer hvorfor du ikke kom til timen.’

Jeg trækker på skuldrene. ‘Tja.’

Hr. Bear vender sig mod klassen. ‘Wilma her har lovet mig at hjælpe i dag med at demonstrerer.’ Han tager fat om armen på mig og strækker den ud i luften. Så bøjer han den så alle kan se at jeg ikke har nogen muskler.

‘Er der nogen der kan fortælle mig i hvor mange retninger man kan bøje det led der sidder i albuen.’

Hænder ryger i vejret foran mig. Åh nej, tænker jeg. Jeg kigger ud over klassen på alle ansigterne og håber at Jack ikke er der. Dejlige skønne Jack, som ikke helt er klar over at jeg eksisterer. Det er han så nu, for han sidder midt i klassen og stirrer på min bløde arm. Jeg bliver helt rød i hovedet.

Åh nej, åh nej, åh nej, åh nej, tænker jeg bare hele timen, hver gang Hr. Bear finder en eller anden ny måde at bøje og strække mig på.

Da klokken endeligt ringer, har jeg bare lyst til at løbe ud ad døren, men Hr. Bear siger at jeg lige skal vente et øjeblik, så vi kan gå ned og snakke med min matematiklærere. Jeg står ved døren og tænker at det nok havde været bedst, hvis jeg ikke havde nået bussen, men så er der pludseligt en der stopper op foran mig. Jeg kigger op og det er fantastiske, perfekte Jack. Han rækker en hånd ud imod mig. Jeg er lidt forvirret og bliver vist bare endnu mere rød i hovedet. Så sniger hans hånd sig om bag ved min nakke, og jeg kan mærke at han stikker vaskemærket ned på plads.

Han smiler til mig og blinker med det ene øje. ‘Dit vaskemærke stak op.’ Så forsvinder han ud på gangen.

Jeg sværger jeg åbner munden og siger noget, men lidt ligesom tyngdekraften ikke helt har været til at stole på heromkring, så er lyden forsvundet midlertidigt. Til gengæld er mine kinder brandvarme. Jeg ligner nok mest en guldfisk, som jeg står der og åbner og lukker munden med røde kinder.  

Det viser sig, at jeg kun har ramt et lokale ved siden af. Hr. Bear forklarer min matematiklærer, at jeg har hjulpet ham med hans time, og jeg får skrevet ned, hvad vi har for i lektier, så skynder jeg mig videre til næste time.

Jeg når kun at havde cirka tyve minutter af timen, så bliver alle os Rudeberry unger kaldt over samtaleanlægget. Far har ringet og forklaret, at mor er ved at føde, og han vil gerne havde familien samlet, hvis nu der skulle være komplikationer. Jeg er lettet over mors timing og tager hjem med de andre.

Da vi kommer hjem, er far og mor taget ind på hospitalet. Far er altid nervøs, når mor skal føde, men denne gang er der måske grund til det, for hun er kun otte måneder henne og allerede større end en elefant. Det påstår Hakan i hvert fald. Babyer skal helst blive i maven i 9 måneder, for hvis de kommer ud for tidligt, så er de ikke helt færdige, og har det lidt sværere end andre babyer.

Der er kaos derhjemme. Freja er væk, og Noam går rundt og rundt om huset. Ko følger efter, men lægger sig ned ved hver tredje runde og venter til Noam kommer rundt igen.

Silas har ansvaret og ser lidt nervøs ud over, at han mangler nogle søskende. ‘Der er fem pund i dusør til den der finder Freja,’ siger han.  

Jeg kan altid bruge fem pund, så jeg går ud for at lede. Jeg tager Ko med. Jeg følger grusvejen væk fra huset, og lidt efter støder jeg ind i Hakan. Han har fundet en kanin som han går og synger for. 

‘Har du set Freja?’ spørger jeg. ¨

Hakan ryster på hovedet. ‘Er hun væk igen?’

Jeg nikker. ‘Silas har lovet fem pund.’ Jeg skynder mig videre.

Jeg drejer ind i skoven, imens jeg begynder at kalde på Freja. Lidt efter hører jeg en klynkene lyd komme fra et buskads. Jeg følger lyden og finder Freja i en busk. Hun kigger op på mig.

‘Jeg tror jeg har en fraktur på ulnarius,’ siger hun. Hun mener at hun har brækket armen. Den er vredet i en mærkelig stilling.

‘Hvad har du dog lavet?’ spørger jeg og løfter hende op. ‘Her, hold din arm ind til maven,’ siger jeg og hjælper hende.

‘Jeg ville teste Newtons teorier om tyngdekraften.’

Isaac Newton var en Englænder der levede i 1600 til 1700-tallet. Han opdagede, at ting altid faldt ned, og da han havde spekuleret over det i lang tid, så besluttede han, at det var fordi jorden er et objekt, som roterede rundt om solen, og det gjorde, at der var en tiltrækningskraft. Denne kraft gør, at alt hvad du smider op i luften, falder ned igen. Det er ret smart, for ellers ville vi alle sammen flyve op i loftet hele tiden.

‘Hvorfor dog det? Er der noget galt med Tyngdekraften?’ siger jeg.

Freja rystet på hovedet. ‘Tjooo.’

‘Tjoooo? Har du set noget der ikke faldt ned, når man smider det op i luften?’ Jeg ved i det øjeblik jeg spørger, at det er et dumt spørgsmål.

Freja nikker. ‘Det er der faktisk ret mange ting der ikke gør heromkring.’

Jeg nikker. ‘Ja, nu du siger det, så kan man godt komme lidt i tvivl om tyngdekraften virker som den skal.’ Jeg smiler til hende. ‘Så hvordan besluttede du dig så for at teste tyngdekraften?’

‘Uhm. Jeg kravlede op i det højeste træ jeg kunne finde og så hoppede jeg ud.’

Jeg ryster på hovedet. ‘Ved du hvad? Bare fordi man er et geni, så kan man altså ikke være klog på alting.’

Freja nikker. ‘Jamen altså Sokrates sagde jo at det første skridt til at blive klogere er at indrømme at man ikke ved alt, så det ved jeg godt.’

Sokrates var en mand der levede for over 2000 år siden i Grækenland, som tænkte meget over livet. Den slags mennesker kalder man filosoffer. Mor siger nogle gange at jeg er hendes lille filosof, men jeg er i hvert tilfælde ikke en gammel mand eller Græker.

Jeg tager med Silas og Freja på skadestuen. Silas giver mig fem pund, imens vi venter på at lægen skal give Freja gips på armen. Skadestuen lugter desinficeret. Det er når man har fjernet alle bakterier. Det er sådan en lidt mærkelig lugt. Jeg finder en slik automat og køber slik for de fem pund, som jeg giver til Freja. Hun får en gips på armen og syntes at det hele har været det værd. Hun fortæller dog at hun stadig ikke er helt overbevist om. at tyngdekraften er konstant, og hvis jeg skal være helt ærligt, så er jeg også lidt i tvivl. Jeg banker på hendes gips, som føles hård og lyder hul.

‘Far og mor får aldrig det her at vide,’ siger Silas, på vej hjem i bilen.

‘Øh gips,’ siger Freja og svinger sin arm i hovedet på os.

‘Lad som om du har haft den et par dage,’ siger Silas. ‘De opdager det ikke. De har lidt travl lige nu.’

Jeg tygger på tyggegummi, som Freja har give mig. Det smager af kirsebær, og Frejas gips er rød.

Freja og jeg finder en ny måde at regne ud om tyngdekraften er konstant. Vi limer badevægten fast til badeværelse gulvet og sætter et skema op på væggen. Så finder vi en stor trækasse som vi beslutter os for at veje hver morgen inden vi tager i skole.

Hvis den samme boks, vejet på den samme vægt, på det samme sted, på samme tidspunkt, hver morgen, vejer det samme hver dag, så burde tyngdekraften i teorien være konstant. I hvert fald på badeværelset.

Hen mod aften falder huset lidt til ro, men vi er alle sammen for urolige til at spise aftensmad. Vi går tidligt i seng, men jeg vågner midt om natten og føler at der er noget galt igen. Jeg sætter mig op i sengen og tænder lyset.

Cornelius ligger ikke i sin seng, og Nunos seng er helt væk. Silas ligger og mumler. Jeg kigger over på ham.

‘Er der noget galt?’

Han nikker. ‘Ruth er væk. Hun lå nede for fodenden af min seng, og nu er hun væk.’

Jeg kigger over på den tomme plads hvor Nunos seng plejer at stå.

‘Og du tror ikke måske, at det der er et større problem?’ spørger jeg.

Han ryster på hovedet. ‘Nuno er derude.’ Han peger ud ad det runde vindue.

Jeg vender mig og kigger ud. Først kan jeg ikke se noget, men så flyver en seng forbi vinduet. Nuno ligger og sover sødt.

‘Hmmm. Det er interessant.’ Nede i haven ser jeg Noam kommer rundt om hjørnet, og kort efter ser jeg Selma følge efter. Jeg er sikker på at Cornelius er på taget. Jeg rejser mig og går nedenunder. Freja er væk. Kevin sover.

‘Tæl bananerne inden de løber væk,’ mumler han. ‘Nej tæl bananerne.’ Jeg rusker lidt i ham til han vågner. Han stirrer forskrækket på mig.

‘Jeg tror du havde mareridt. Men jeg er ikke helt sikker.’

Han nikker. ‘Hvad sker der?’

‘Jeg tror det er ved at være tid. Hele huset er på den anden ende.’

Kevin smiler. ‘Så pakker jeg lige en taske.’

Jeg smiler tilbage og fortsætter ned ad gangen. Hakan kommer vadende ned ad gangen. Han skubber mig til siden og vader forbi.

‘Nu er det nok!’ råber han. ‘Hvis der er nogen der skal bruge mig, så er jeg på toilettet!’ Han smækker døren demonstrativt bag sig. Jeg kan næsten mærke gulvbrædderne ryste.

Uden for mine forældres rum hører jeg en lyd og stopper op. Jeg åbner forsigtigt døren og kigger ind. Far sidder midt på sengen og læser Anders And blade. Jeg går hen og sætter mig ved siden af ham.

‘Far. Hvad laver du her? Burde du ikke være på hospitalet? Du ved, der hvor din kone er ved at føde.’

Han ryster på hovedet. ‘Jeg er blevet bortvist, indtil babyerne er født.’

‘Hvad har du nu lavet?’

‘Øhm, jeg har muligvis skubbet et par patienter, i deres senge, ud fra deres værelse, fordi jeg mente at mor skulle have det bedste, og så kom jeg til at sætte ild til en sofa, fordi jeg glemte at jeg ikke ryger og prøvede at tænde en cigaret.’

Jeg griner. ‘Så kan jeg godt forstå de sendte dig hjem.’

Far smiler. ‘Nej, men det gjorde de først da jeg besvimede.’

‘Besvimede du?’

Far bliver lettere rød i hovedet. ‘Jamen altså jeg blev lidt stresset af det hele og gik ud som et lys.’

‘Burde det ikke være mor der er stresset?’

Han nikker. ‘Jo, måske.’

Nuno kommer flyvende forbi vinduet.

‘Du far. Tror du de nye babyer bliver lige så mærkelig som de andre?’

Far smiler. ‘Tja. Måske får vi en ny Nuno.’

Hun flyver forbi vinduet igen.

‘Far. Hvorfor er vi så underlige?’

Han stryger mig over håret. ‘Vi er som vi er,’ siger han og blinker til mig. ‘Og du er da ikke underlig. Du er bare dig.’

Jeg smiler. ‘Nej det er klart, men alle de andre er da lidt mærkværdige. Hvorfor er vi ikke ligesom de andre i skolen?’

Far kigger alvorligt på mig. ‘Der er nedkaldt en forbandelse over os,’ siger han.

Jeg ser forskrækket ud, og han griner. ‘Nej, bare rolig. Og vi er da helt normale alle sammen. Vi er bare mindre kedelige.’

‘Far er det mig eller Cornelius, der ikke er rigtig familie?’

‘Nå, det har du lagt mærke til,’ siger far. Han putter den ene arm om skulderen på mig og

giver mig et kram.

Jeg nikker.

‘Cornelius blev afleveret på verandaen en dag for snart tretten år siden,’ siger far. ‘Jeg

tror at der nok var nogen der gik ud fra at vi var et børnehjem, når nu der var så mange børn. Han ved det godt. Han spurgte os for mange år siden.’

Jeg nikker, og far giver mig et Anders And blad. Lidt efter kommer Silas ind og sætter sig

hos os. Far går ned i køkkenet for at lave varm kakao, imens jeg prøver at trøste Silas.

‘Ruth flyver nok bare rundt et eller andet sted derude,’ siger jeg. ‘Nuno er lidt forstyrret i nat.’

‘Pingviner kan ikke flyve.’

Far kommer og rækker os hver en kop med kakao og skumfiduser i. Koppen er varm i mine hænder, og det beroliger mig lidt midt i alt kaosset.

‘Vi kan sende Kevin ud og finde Ruth, lige så snart han har fundet Freja,’ siger far.

Desværre for Silas så er Ruth allerede fundet. Pludselig træder Selma ind.

‘Jeg er altså virkelig ked af det,’ siger hun.

Vi kigger alle tre op.

‘Ked af hvad?’ spørger far.

Selma rækker bagud og hiver Noam ind i rummet. Han står og knuger Ruth i hænderne.

‘Åh nej,’ siger Silas.

‘Nu ved vi hvor hun er,’ siger jeg, men Silas vender blikket væk.

‘Vi aner jo aldrig hvor han slipper henne og hvornår. Nu kommer jeg til at styrte rundt efter ham hele dagen. Ligesom Selma.’

Far kigger forvirret på Ruth i Noams hænder og tilbage på Silas, som ser ud som om han er klar til at bryde sammen. Far rømmer sig. ‘Jeg tror desværre vi bliver nødt til at bryde en af vores regler. Selma kan du ikke prøve at finde noget andet, som Noam måske ville syntes var spændende at kigge på?’

Selma nikker og farer af sted. Kort efter kommer hun tilbage med en af mine blyanter.

‘Typisk,’ mumler jeg, men beslutter mig for at Ruth er familie og skal redes. Selma vinker blyanten foran næsen på Noam. Han kigger på den men krammer stadig Ruth. Jeg fornemmer et slagsmål, så jeg tager min kakao og trækker mig tilbage til mit værelse.

Derinde er ting værre end da jeg forlod det. Min og Cornelius seng er også lettet, og skabet står og tripper frem og tilbage. Jeg dropper at fange min seng efter et par mislykkedes forsøg og ender med at tage en lur i badekarret. Hakan ligger alligevel og sover i en bunke håndklæder på gulvet.

Næste morgen da jeg vågner, står Silas og griner i hele hovedet. Jeg når lige at hoppe op af badekarret, inden han tænder for bruseren. Han har Ruth på hånden. Bag ved ham står Noam og krammer Frejas sovedyr. Det er en stor tøjgris, som siger ØØØØØØØØF når man krammer den. Freja er ret glad for den, men prøver nogle gange at lade som om hun er blevet for gammel til den.  

‘Vi fik redet Ruth,’ siger Silas og stråler af glæde.

‘Øh. Stakkels Freja,’ siger jeg og tager bruseren fra ham. Jeg vender den mod ham, og han bliver komplet gennemblødt, men er ligeglad. Intet kan slå ham ud.

Far holder os hjemme fra skole igen. Man kan nærmest mærke spændingen i luften. Far tripper rundt i stuen og ringer til hospitalet hvert tredje minut. De er ved at være godt trætte af ham.

‘Ring til dem et par gange til,’ forslår jeg. ‘det lyder som om de er ved at være modne nok til at lukke dig ind igen.’

Far nikker og ringer hospitalet op en gang til. ‘Hej, det er mig igen.’ Han kigger på mig og viser mig en tommelfinger så lægger han på. ‘Kom unger. Pak en taske. Vi skal ind på hospitalet.’

Vi har alle sammen haft pakket siden dagen før og er klar ved bilerne et minut senere. Vi har to store biler. En van med plads til ti mennesker og en stationcar med ekstra sæder bagi.

Det tager femogfyrre minutter til hospitalet. Far fører os alle sammen op til fødegangen, hvor vi bliver parkeret i venteværelset. Far går ind for at holde mor i hånden.

Vi fylder hele venteværelset og folk stirrer på os. Jeg stirrer bare tilbage og så kigger de fleste væk igen.

Vi venter i tretten timer. Så er der pludseligt flere af os.

Det bliver en Barnabas og en Anton. Barnabas har grønt hår ligesom Nuno. Nu bliver jeg nødt til at tro Silas, når han siger at Nuno blev født sådan.

Barnabas og Anton ligger i kuvøse og skal ligge der et godt stykke tid, indtil man er sikker på at de kan klare sig selv. En kuvøse er en maskine der sørger for at passe godt på babyer, som er født for tidligt eller har andre problemer. De ligger derinde, hvor de ikke kan blive udsat for sygdomme og bakterier, før de en dag bliver klar til det.

Vi får lov at gå ind hvor de ligger og kigger på dem gennem glasset. Det er ikke så svært at kende forskel. De ligner hinanden som to dråber vand, men Barnabas hår får en til at tænke på forår.

Anton græder og prøver at bevæge sine små arme og ben. Barnabas har hikke. Jeg håber han holder op inden han kommer hjem.

Freja står og stirrer på Barnabas.

‘Prosit,’ siger hun hver gang det giver et ryk i den lille. Kevin prøver at forklare hende, at man kun siger prosit når folk nyser, men Freja er ret ligeglad.

Efter at vi all har været inde og give mor et kram, tager vi hjem igen.

Da jeg kommer hjem, hjælper jeg Silas med at lave frokost til os alle sammen. Vi laver store pizzaer og smider dem i ovnen. Freja kommer ind i køkkenet. Hun ser lidt betuttet ud.

‘Jeg kan ikke finde Øf,’ siger hun.

‘Det kender jeg ikke noget til,’ siger jeg.

‘Den har Noam,’ siger Silas.

Freja ryster på hovedet. ‘Noam render rundt med et stetoskop.’

‘Åh nej, Freja. Så har han nok glemt den på hospitalet.’

Freja ryster på hovedet. ‘Nej. Jeg så Øf i bilen.’

‘Nå, men så er den her jo et eller andet sted. Prøv at kigge under trappen ude i gangen. Der kan han godt lide at lægge ting.’

Freja nikker og forlader os.  

Da vi har spist, tager jeg ud i skoven til skæbnetræet. Der er hvad jeg kalder mit klatretræ, fordi jeg tit sidder deroppe i timevis for at afgøre folks skæbner i mine historier. Det ligger langt væk fra larmen, men jeg kan se grusvejen der fører ned til huset. Det er mit hemmelige træ. Jeg har selvfølgeligt ikke tinglyst det. Det er hvad man kalder det, når man får papir på at man ejer et sted. Hvem som helst kan komme og fælde mit træ, men hvis nogen prøvede, så ville jeg blive rigtigt ked af det.

Jeg tager en kuglepen op af lommen og begynder at skrive nogle noter. Men penne falder ud af hånden på mig. Der ligger efterhånden en del kuglepenne under skæbnetræet. Det er faktisk lidt sjovt, at jeg kalder det skæbnetræet, for den dag vores eventyr begynder, der sidder jeg igen i træet.