Tiger Milk (15 page)

Baby-seat-guy turns on the TV and ARD is showing a
Terra X
nature documentary. He zaps from one channel to the next, god dammit isn’t there a music channel, he says, but then he finds music videos on VIVA.

Now you’re going to dance real nice for us, says baby-seat-guy, I know you two love to dance, he laughs taking off his trousers and opening a beer.

Right, take your clothes off, says the guy in the wheelchair grinning like an idiot from the bed.

Jameelah smiles and takes off her top and starts shaking her hips to the rhythm of the music. I’ve never done a striptease before but like Rainer always says there’s a first time for everything so I strip, meaning I dance and while I’m dancing I undo my bra and toss it onto the bed and then at some point I take off my underwear and do the same thing, toss them on the bed. I just do it the way I imagine it’s supposed to be done. My hands, arms, knees, everything is in motion and my naked feet twist around on the carpeting until they start to get warm from the friction.

Keep cool, whispers Jameelah putting a hand on my shoulder, just keep dancing.

When I was younger, before Jessi arrived, I used to dance to Mama’s favourite music in the living room all the time. Sometimes I was allowed to put on Mama’s red leather skirt and she did up my hair with hairspray and put makeup on me and we got in the car and drove around to her friends’ places like a pair of vacuum cleaner salesmen and I sang ‘99 Red Balloons’ in front of them. She’s going to be a singer they said to Mama and laughed until they cried, I’m telling you she’s going to be on TV one day, but I just wanted to sing, I didn’t want to go on TV because Tarik told me the singers on TV don’t even sing they just move their mouths to the music and moving your mouth to your own music is shit.

When I think about it, sad poems are way better than happy poems anyway. And who knows, maybe it’s just the first verse of my life that’s not so happy, I mean nobody said it was impossible, I’m sure there are poems that start out not so happy but are happy by the end. Anything is possible and why should it be that nobody on earth ever hit on the idea, who knows maybe my life will even turn out to be a proper fairytale and fairytales always begin disastrously and end up happy.

Look, says the guy in the wheelchair pointing at me, she’s crying.

Everything okay, asks Jameelah looking at me with shock.

Yeah I say quietly, it’s just the song, it makes me sad.

Baby-seat-guy knocks back another miniature schnapps bottle.

What are you crying for, he says.

I’m not crying, I say, I have something in my eye.

Baby-seat-guy looks at me searchingly.

With you women you never know if you’re really crying or just acting.

Ah let her cry, says the guy in the wheelchair.

No, you’re going to go wash your face, says baby-seat-guy switching the channel back to the nature show,
Terra X
.

When I come out of the bathroom I see Jameelah lying in bed with baby-seat-guy. The guy in the wheelchair is waiting for me, his cowboy hat is sitting on the nightstand and he’s taken off his trousers and t-shirt. With his pale skin and long blond hair he looks like an albino slug. As I crawl toward him in bed I wonder if he can even get a hard-on. He presses me down onto the bed and starts to lick me all over and it leaves me cold. When he lets me go for a second I reach into Jameelah’s rucksack which is between the beds and search for a condom. I find a red one and put it in my mouth with the tip facing in. Wheelchair guy is ready, I can see his thing didn’t catch any friendly fire so I put the condom on it and he moans.
Terra X
is still on in the background, they’re talking about glaciers and perpetual ice. Polar bears don’t bury themselves in winter they lay down on icebergs and wait for the snow drifts to cover them and once they are totally covered they give birth to their offspring, says the man on TV.

It’s actually good that the guy in the wheelchair doesn’t have any legs because at least that way he can’t get on top of me, in fact he can barely move around at all, which is good. I close my eyes and imagine someone nice is sitting next to me on the edge of the bed and says go ahead you know how it works it’s not so bad and you know it’s just practice no different from frogs or corpses, listen that’s not a real person it’s just practice, I think to myself, this is all just a form of practice. I do it slowly so it doesn’t hurt but somehow it doesn’t hurt at all, even if I go faster it still doesn’t hurt, it just feels like something is wedged in there but maybe it’s because I’m drunk. I move back and forth and the guy thrusts as best he can using his upper body and the overall effect is kind of like when Mama used to let me ride that mechanical horse at Kaufland, the one you can ride for fifty cents a minute, though I have no idea whether that’s what it feels like to ride a real horse because I’ve never ridden a real horse and maybe I’m making this association only because people always talk about riding when they talk about fucking, Rainer does anyway, and Rainer is like everybody.

I take the cowboy hat from the nightstand and put it on. Wheelchair guy has his eyes closed, he moans, and in the background
Terra X
. They’re still talking about the North Pole and it occurs to me that I used to watch
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with Papa sometimes, I remember one episode about the rainforest where aboriginal boys about the same age as me and Jameelah had to wait in line. They had their hands in front of their balls like in a soccer game when there’s a free kick, except that they were all naked and instead of standing in front of a goal they were outside a little tent. Crying boys kept emerging from the tent with blood on their cocks.

Wheelchair guy moans again.

It wasn’t about soccer, it was about becoming an adult, at least that’s what the man on TV said. You could see the boys were scared shitless but the man on TV said boys waited their entire lives for this day because afterwards they’d finally be accepted as adults and as a result they weren’t scared, they were excited and proud. I’m not scared, excited or proud but when I close my eyes I see a purple spiral staircase. I’ll have to ask Jameelah what that means later, I think, she’s good at interpreting dreams. Wheelchair guy moans some more but then thankfully he stops and lets his head fall to the pillow as if he’s dead. I slowly disconnect myself. My thighs hurt a little like after gym. For a little while I lay there next to the guy and then he starts to snore quietly which makes me think of Nico, I wonder what he’s doing right now, probably working off the books somewhere, painting at a hotel or whatever. That’s what he usually does on Sunday, work off the books, because he can’t live on the money he makes from his apprenticeship.

I look over at the other bed. Jameelah is sitting on the edge of the bed in her tank-top smoking. She doesn’t look at me, she’s looking toward the window. Baby-seat-guy throws his legs out of bed and stands up. I gather my clothes as quickly as I can. Jameelah stubs out her cigarette and just as she reaches for her rucksack baby-seat-guy puts his foot on her passport, which must have fallen out when I was rummaging in her bag for a condom.

What’s this, he says picking up the passport with his toes. His nails are yellow like Frau Struck’s but even worse because he’s a guy.

Give it back, says Jameelah grabbing for the passport. As she wrestles for it her residency permit falls out. The guy looks at it calmly.

Your residency permit is about to expire, he says.

I’m aware, says Jameelah, grabbing the permit and stuffing it together with her passport into her rucksack.

Did you know Jameelah means beauty in Arabic, says baby-seat-guy. When she doesn’t answer he laughs loudly and says, why didn’t you say anything, we could have done it in the ass and you’d still be a virgin when you get married.

I look him up and down.

What the hell are you looking at, he says.

His cock is dangling between his hairy thighs, long and thin and red like a sick worm, so ugly I have to look away. Still laughing he disappears into the bathroom.

Jameelah quickly puts on the rest of her clothes and crouches down on the carpet in front of the black bag. Inside, baby-seat-guy’s wallet has at least five hundred euros in it. I turn and look over at wheelchair guy. He’s still asleep.

It’s cheap, I whisper.

From the bathroom comes that noise that only men make, hacking up yellow mucus and spitting it in the sink, hacking up from deep inside, again and again like an Olympic sport. As I get dressed Jameelah shoves the money into her Chucks. Then we rummage around in the bag some more.

Look, I whisper grabbing a bottle of Tabac cologne, Amir loves this stuff.

The nearly full bottle finds its way into my rucksack.

Jameelah smiles and shoves a pack of gum, an expensive organic lip balm and a nail grooming kit into her rucksack.

What a little girl, she says, come on let’s get out of here.

Did it make you bleed asks Jameelah when we’re back out on Nollendorfplatz.

No, I say, you?

No, me neither, there was just a weird feeling between my legs.

Me too. Like a muscle ache.

Now what?

No idea, just not home.

Planet?

Planet.

We get a currywurst on the corner and then we get the train to Wilmersdorfer Strasse. Apollo and Aslagon are sitting at the planet and Aslagon is cleaning his fingernails with a toothpick.

Here, says Jameelah pulling out the nail grooming kit, it’s a gift from me.

Is it made out of silver, asks Aslagon suspiciously.

No, I don’t think so.

Then no thanks.

Why not?

I’m only allowed to accept gifts of silver. All other metals let evil in.

Bullshit, says Jameelah, there’s no way that nail clipper you had the other day was made of silver.

Do you see a nail clipper anywhere around here, asks Aslagon holding up his toothpick.

We sit down at the planet and stare at the dry cement basin. I’m itchy all over, I hope the guy in the wheelchair didn’t have some kind of disease, I think. Apollo and Aslagon start whispering to each other.

Lies are told in whispers, I say.

We’re not lying, says Apollo.

No, says Aslagon, we’re not telling lies, we’re talking about you guys, about your wings.

What about them, says Jameelah.

They’re gone, says Apollo, where did your wings go?

We sold them at the flea market.

Then you’re no longer wing-children, just so you know.

I think we can live with that.

Somebody came by looking for you by the way, says Aslagon looking at me.

Who?

The big guy who always has pot in his bag, says Apollo with his gravedigger’s grin, he wrote something on the phone booth.

I hop up and go have a look.

Nini call me right away, Nico
it says and next to it is today’s date.

Come on I have to buy minutes for my phone.

Wait a second, says Jameelah, we have to take care of something first.

What?

The jewellery she whispers.

Oh yeah, I say, that’s right.

We walk over toward the S-bahn together. Right where the road goes under the tracks is a bin.

Anybody looking, asks Jameelah.

No, I say, take it easy.

We rummage around for Jasna’s jewellery among the lip balm, condoms, tampons, and pens.

One piece after the next goes into the bin. Then Jameelah’s eyes light on my hand and she stares angrily at the ring.

Are you completely fucking crazy, she says grabbing at my finger.

What, I say, I’ve had it on the whole time.

Are you planning to keep it?

Of course, it’s mine after all, or my mother’s I mean.

You have completely lost your chador.

What do you mean, I say but Jameelah starts trying to rip it off my finger.

Leave it alone, I say, I want to keep it.

Bullshit, give it to me.

It won’t come off anyway, it’s too tight. You can only get it off with soap and water.

Jameelah raises her eyebrows and looks at me for a while then she grabs my wrist faster than a crocodile and shoves my finger in her mouth.

I scream.

Jameelah starts sucking like mad on my finger.

Let go, I say but Jameelah just keeps sucking.

I feel her tongue swirling around my finger and her sucking and sucking and then I feel the ring working its way off my finger. Like a piece of bone she’s just choked on she spits the ring onto the street.

You can’t do that, I shout.

Yes I can, you saw for yourself, she says picking up the ring and tossing it into the bin.

I stare at her stunned.

That’s my mother’s ring!

No it isn’t and even if it is, says Jameelah, it was on Jasna’s finger and if somebody sees you with it you’ll either be dead or under arrest for murder. I’m protecting you, try looking at it that way.

I lean over the bin and stick my arm in as deep as I can just as Nico comes speeding up on his BMX bike.

Why aren’t you answering your phone, he says screeching to a halt, I tried calling you a thousand times. What are you doing anyway? Have you joined the ranks of the deposit bottle collectors?

Haha, I say straightening myself, what’s up?

What’s up? Jasna is dead.

We know, says Jameelah.

Nico stares at us, first at Jameelah and then at me. He looks really angry and Nico hardly ever gets angry.

Aha, he says, and did you know that the cops have arrested Amir?

What?

Nico looks at me chidingly.

Are you drunk, he asks me but Jameelah grabs him by the arm and shakes him.

Tell us everything, start from the beginning!

Like I said I tried to call you and then I went over to your place and rang the bell but nobody answered, says Nico. So then I went to Amir’s and there were cops and television crews everywhere and the old lady on the ground floor told me everything, that Jasna was dead and that they took Amir in.

Frau Stanitzek is always running her mouth, says Jameelah.

No, says Nico, everyone said the same thing, and also that Amir had confessed.