Yok (18 page)

Of course.

I run over and put more stew on the plates, I fill their water glasses and I know that never again will I hear about the tryouts or what happened to my brothers in the TV studio. This chapter of our lives is now history, and it will be mentioned here in the house on Carrer de Carrera as seldom as we mention our parents.

My brothers make it an early evening; they go to bed after sitting a couple of hours in front of the TV watching cricket, I don't know who's playing, the game has never interested me, there are too many rules and the rules are too complicated and it seems like the Yok Giants always lose, which makes my brothers irritable and for that reason it's best for me to stay in the kitchen until they go upstairs. This is the condition for my life, and perhaps I'm going to think about it as before and after
New Mornings
, perhaps I'm going to think about it as before and after my week in the cellar, or else I'm not going to think about it at all.

S
arah Mammoth has something on her mind. We've exchanged our usual greetings, I bought a couple packs of cigarettes for my brothers and got a small cappuccino from Sarah, but she continues looking at me in a peculiar way, and the only conclusion I can draw is that she wants to say something but isn't sure if she should. She is in her usual place in front of the shiny, steaming coffee machine behind her large chocolate counter, and I've already put a hand on the door handle to go out. I have no curiosity left in my body, curiosity was something I got rid of long ago, as it only leads to melancholy, so I don't ask Sarah if she has something on her mind.

“Yes?

“Shut the door? Yes?

“Who was asking?”

Sarah doesn't know, but she seems embarrassed by the question because she doesn't think it has anything to do with it, what happened is sensationally strange regardless of who called; that she picks up the receiver in the tobacco shop and a voice is heard that she has never heard before, asking about a lizard . . .

“No, it sounds strange.

“No, I have no idea.

“Yes, I'm sure you were right to do that.”

It feels unusual and not really good that Sarah Mammoth asks me what I think, I mean, I'm Erik Gecko, I'm only a customer who buys cigarettes in the tobacco shop, what can I say about whether she should say one thing or another to strangers who call and ask about lizards? But Sarah lights her pipe and continues staring at me while she produces large puffs of smoke, she is staring in a way that makes it quite clear that I should say something, that I should confirm or deny something, and I swear, even if it sounds silly, that only then do I understand that the lizard Sarah thinks the party who called is asking about is . . . me.

“Someone called and was looking for me?

“No, it's absolutely not . . .

“No, I have absolutely nothing to . . .

“Yes, you can do that. If they call again.”

For I have nothing to hide, I think it's important that Sarah understands that, because the opposite would suggest that I've been fooling her all these years, that I've been carrying on some kind of double life, but I haven't. Sarah is my only confidante in this city and she must know that I am nothing other than who I've made myself out to be, and as far as I'm concerned she can talk about me to anyone at all, for the simple reason that no one is going to call and ask about me . . .

“Yes, really,” I repeat with emphasis, so that she understands, and she nods and produces even larger puffs of smoke and we stand a moment quietly and look at each other to confirm that we've both understood, and then I leave the cramped, aromatic tobacco shop for the day.

D
ay out and day in and I'm trying to be good and do good and not let the self-loathing take over, I am working my way up from the bottom every morning and distract myself by doing things, finding chores that help me avoid thinking that I'm alive, because I know that what shapes us stuffed animals is a single mistake for a few inattentive seconds, and then we're forced to carry it with us for the rest of our lives. In my case I'm standing in the hall, I'm six years old, Mom has burnt up, someone knocks on the door and I open it, on the stairs outside is a police officer, I know I should be afraid of police officers and make myself scarce, but I don't know any more than that because I'm a silly little idiot, six years old, and when the police officer asks me if Dad was home yesterday evening I answer that no, he wasn't home, whereupon the police officer shoves me aside and enters the house, and after him come a couple more police officers, and they run up to the top floor and pull Dad out of bed and drag him down the stairs, and when he catches sight of me he screams that a squealer is the most worthless of all stuffed animals. The police carry Dad through the hall and Dad screams that a squealer is a failure of Magnus, a squealer isn't worth anything other than scorn and contempt, he will never be loved by anyone, and a squealer, that's what I am, and Dad is screaming all this while the police drag him out of the house and he never comes back and I don't know where he's gone but I know what I am, afterward I know exactly what I am: I am the low-water mark of creation, I'm a lizard who lets his mom die and who squeals on his dad, I'm not worth anything, I am nobody.

I
t's a Saturday in the middle of the day, my brothers are awake and I can hear them upstairs awhile, but they haven't come down to breakfast yet, even though everything's ready and set out. As usual I'm trying to keep the porridge hot by stirring it just enough (you shouldn't stir too much because then it gets too runny, and Rasmus loathes that), while it's the opposite with the eggs, neither of my brothers likes eggs that are warm, so I've set them to cool in a saucepan of cold water—which makes them easier to peel besides—and I'm waiting to squeeze the juice until I hear footsteps on the stairs, otherwise the pulp sinks to the bottom, and nobody likes that.

When the doorbell rings I assume it's some annoying cubs from the neighborhood, no one would dare disturb us for real, and it can't be acquaintances because my brothers have no friends—at least no friends I've heard about or met—so I ignore the doorbell and continue stirring the porridge and when it rings again I decide to give the rascals a lesson. I go quickly into the living room, open the window, and lean out. From there you can see the stairs up to the front door, and my idea is to really scare them by shouting that Leopold and Rasmus know who they are. But when I open the window and lean out, I see a well-dressed female with her back to me, she has high-heeled shoes and a long coat that is narrowly cut, and I am so surprised that I forget what I was doing, while the female has heard the window being opened and turns around.

Perhaps it's due to the fact that I'm already surprised that it takes a few seconds before I realize who is standing outside the door on Carrer de Carrera, but I get a kind of blackout, something goes off in my head and my mind goes blank, and when Sparrow Dahl from the TV building (the one I met on the bench, who made sure I got to do my test) rings the doorbell a third time I hear one of the brothers open the bedroom door upstairs with a bang and shriek at me that I should chase them away, because he also thinks it's some cubs.

I can't move, it's incredibly unpleasant, I'm actually trying to do something: close the window, go out in the hall, open the door and ask her to go away. I'm trying to think how I should express myself, both to her and to my brothers, but all these thoughts lead nowhere, I remain paralyzed until I hear Leopold roar for the second time from upstairs, and then finally I run out into the hall and open the door.

Sparrow Dahl smiles when she catches sight of me. She nods and asks if she may come in just as Leopold screams from upstairs and asks who wants a punch in the mouth, he still thinks it's the neighborhood rascals we're dealing with, and I don't know what I should say. I take a step to one side so that the sparrow can come in, at the same time I hear Leopold on his way down the stairs, and I follow her into the living room.

“What the hell is going on?” Leopold shouts. He's out in the hall and comes crashing into the living room, where he catches sight of the sparrow, who is already standing over by the TV, and she turns around, smiles at him the same way she did to me, and he stops short, remains standing with his jeans unbuttoned and his upper body bare, he just got up.

I've advanced, I think, and at the same moment I realize that this is the thought that has blocked all the other thoughts the last few minutes, that I've advanced, I did the program-host tryout and they thought I was so good that I advanced, I'm one of the chosen candidates who is going to compete on
New Mornings
.

Sparrow Dahl smiles and talks quietly, but she sounds very definite, and because I turn away, I'm looking down at the floor, she directs herself to my big brother, who hums and nods and interjects brief questions, and what she says is exactly this: that I've advanced in the program-host tryouts to
New Mornings
after my successful audition, and Leopold reacts at last and says the hell I am. There must be some mistake. He turns to me, his eyes are black as coal, and he asks the question directly to me . . .

“No, of course not!

“I have no idea.”

Sparrow Dahl protests, and now she also asks me the question, but I insist . . .

“I've never done any tryout.

“Maybe you're confusing me with someone else?”

The sparrow stops short when I deny having done the tryout, and the thought that TV has confused me and Leopold makes my big brother just as outraged as hopeful, it might be that way, he thinks. But the sparrow explains that it's not that way at all, she knows that both Leopold and Rasmus were at the tryouts, that unfortunately neither of them has advanced, but on the other hand I, Erik Gecko, have . . .

“No.

“No, I promise, Leopold, I never did any test, I've never been there except with you and Rasmus. You're wrong, Sparrow, I don't know why you're coming here and accusing me of things I haven't done, I don't know why.”

Leopold nods gloomily, lowers his voice and talks seriously with the sparrow, explains how it actually is: that his blockheaded little brother Erik Gecko is so damn stupid he can barely sit up, you only have to look at me now and see how my upper body sways back and forth like a damn reed in the wind, and to think that he could sit up straight in front of a camera and be someone you should trust, that's so damn stupid it's not even worth mentioning, or what, and even if my stupid little brother might have done something good for the first time in his life, then he would still not want to be part of that shitty program, that everyone here in this house hates like the plague . . .

“But it wasn't me, Leopold, it wasn't me. You have to believe me.

“It wasn't me.

“There are hundreds of lizards around here it might have been.

“Because it wasn't me.

“You're wrong, Sparrow, you'll have to look somewhere else.”

I finally dare to look up and meet the sparrow's gaze, and we stand staring at each other for a moment—the longest I've ever experienced—and Leopold studies me carefully, in detail, but I don't reveal anything and the sparrow suddenly decides and quite unexpectedly for both my big brother and me she says well then, she must have been wrong, and then she leaves us in the living room, and we hear the door shut.

“I promise, Leopold, I promise.

“I don't know why she was here.”

Leopold, Leopold, my beautiful spotted big brother, is at a loss, but decides—this, too, is surprising—that he should trust me, and he says he's hungry and asks why the hell it smells so bad from the kitchen, and I realize that the porridge has burned.

 

Epilogue

F
or years my girlfriends have been nagging me to move on. That's easy to say, but to move on there has to be a reason. You have to want to go from something to something else. I have no such desire. In contrast to many of my girlfriends I don't identify with work that way. I realize they draw that conclusion because I live alone and devote most of my waking hours to my job, but it's a matter of duty and desire. I'm still developing as a stuffed animal, even if the job no longer offers the same challenge.

I was part of the project group that came up with the program concept for the channel management, I worked as a news editor on the team that made the pilot episodes and over the years I've had most positions, the last four seasons as executive producer of
New Mornings
. It has been an amazing journey. After a few tough years at the start, our program has become an institution, something as improbable as a sure success. Besides, a lot of good TV animals started their careers on the program, Kara Marmoset and Garcia the Swan, just to name a few.

The work is currently characterized for the most part by professional routine. If you work with TV there's always an uncertainty factor of course, ordinary stuffed animals are, after all, the starting point for
New Mornings
, but after all these years we've learned to handle most things.

Sometimes, at a dinner with close girlfriends and a few glasses of red wine, I've complained about this. That the excitement is gone, repetition has taken over and the challenges are few. I realize that such comments may cause some to think I ought to move on. Find some other job in the TV building, because I absolutely believe I can get one. Yet I have no desire. And it's the moment when Erik Gecko sat down in front of the TV camera that makes me stay put at
New Mornings
. It's the surprise and the magic in such moments. Then all the routine is blown away. Then it's worth all the boring administration and predictability.

I don't know what it was that made me realize his potential when I sat down beside him on the bench in front of what we in the TV building call the “Garden of Eden.” Intuition, I assume, developed after many years in this profession. I immediately felt that he was special, that there was something extraordinary in his charisma, in his gaze, and I knew the cameras would see it the same way I did, and communicate that via the TV screens to homes in Mollisan Town.