sharp focus only to succumb once more to the blur. This is
repeated until the energy expended requires a return to grazing
which is apparently unacceptable because suddenly the
reindeer-shaped mosquito-cloud ejects a real-life reindeer into one
fresh, clean, breezy moment of freedom and the Fiord
below.
YORTA
“ I love the
reindeer story I can definitely identify.”
In all of Deadkween’s very
black and very white profile pictures she appeared luminously
beautiful in sultry poses wearing an assortment of black leather
and lingerie. In one particularly successful picture she paid
homage to Charlotte Rampling’s famous pose from Night Porter
complete with long sleeved evening-gloves and Nazi hat. She was
lost-looking in a soon-to-be dead-sort-of-way. As if her last
earthy exhalation would be in orgasm. She owned a small gallery in
Berlin called Poisoned Resevoir and visited Amsterdam regularly
“for inspiration” She wrote poems and attached them to her
hand-made dead-baby-dolls. I was allowed to know this much over the
phone but she waited until we met to tell me she was an Albino who
dyed her hair black and wore contact lenses. I never met an actual
albino before. She certainly was extremely pale but no more than
I’d seen on a Dublin bus. It immediately explained why all her
pictures were black and white and why she looked so good in them.
We were on her black leather couch at this point in her
black-walled apartment overlooking the Vondelpark and though it was
still early it was almost totally dark in there. And the veils
draped over the lights and blinds didn’t help. She could only be
exposed to daylight for a limited length of time each ay. All signs
indicated that I was about to fuck my first Vampire until I
declined a beer in favor of a water.
“ You’re not
in AA are you?”
“ Well,
actually yes. I am”
I left a gap for the
inevitable gush of admiration.
“ I. Fucking.
Hate. AA”
While her
alcoholic-heroin-addict-ex-husband had been in AA his sponsor had
insisted that she attend meetings too and while she sat in Alanon
meetings her husband sold the furniture. When she confronted him
about it he threw her down the same stairs we’d just ascended. She
pointed almost proudly to the areas of her face where she’d had
surgery. The rhinoplasty had cost extra. If she
ever tracked him down she would round up some of the boys and have
the word Rapist tattooed on his forehead. It was at this
point that she mentioned that her best friend was
President of Hell’s Angels in Amsterdam. I could have used that
water now but I was too afraid to speak. Still recovering from the
shock of uncovering an AA member in her own home, she now sought
reassurance.
“ But
you do have the
job?” I nodded carefully. “And the apartment?”
The Job? The Apartment?
Like two out of three wasn’t bad. Like I had lied about everything
else.She continued as if none of what she had just said could
possibly have any effect on what she was about to say. What she
wanted, she said, was to settle down and have a child. She was
ready. Was I ready?
Somewhat calmed now that she was talking about her
future she sank back into the couch revealing a tattooed white star
only barely visible against the white skin of her midriff. It was a
Pentagram. Of course it was. She would obviously be demonic
in bed but a good fuck was a small reward for what she really
wanted. Luminous babies and eternal darkness.
Suddenly
my natural paranoia, which until then had been gathering facts in a
half-awake, half-interested manner awoke with a jolt. She was
obviously pregnant and the plan was to first fuck me and then dupe
me into bringing up the her pasty progeny as my own. What was
happening here? Was it the suicidal reindeer? I looked down at my
feet to find that I was descending the stairs with only slightly
more dignity than she had when she’d been thrown down
them.
*****
“ I never got
to thank you for all the work. It’s going well
Learning to Kill: Stories