Free Born Weird by Andrew Kaufman Page A

scalloped potatoes. Angie didn’t have any coffee, of course, but no one who did asked for a second cup. The plainness of the meal was more than dwarfed by Angie’s joy at being in a country where they didn’t refuse to fill a pregnant woman’s wineglass. She let it be refilled three times. This was a fraction of what her siblings drank.
    “Velll?” Abba asked. It was long after the plates had been cleared.
    “Is that an accent or are you shlurring?”
    “What is
shlurring
?”
    “What’s the story? What’s brought you here?”
    “Let me this time!” Lucy shouted.
    “Angie went to see the Shark!” Richard shouted, louder.
    “Good God why?”
    “That’s exactly what I said!”
    “The Shark claims,” Lucy said, “that at the moment of our births she blessed each of us with a supernatural power that has since cursed us and ruined our lives. I call them blursings.”
    “Blessing plus curse equals blursing?”
    “Yes.”
    “Very nice.”
    “Thank you. The Shark also claims that she will die on her birthday and that all five of us must be in her hospital room so she can lift the blursings at the moment she expires.”
    “Well done,” Richard said. He raised his glass. “That was much more succinct than Angie’s version.”
    “How very
Sharky
,” Abba said.
    “Don’t you wanna know the powers?” Angie asked.
    “Can I guess?”
    “Please.”
    “Lucy. Well it’s obviously the directions thing. Angie, also easy, you forgive everyone.”
    “Two for two.”
    “Richard … you can predict the future? Sense impending doom?”
    “Self-preservation.”
    “That’s it.”
    “It’s a sword, double-edged.”
    “Don’t you wanna know what she gave to you?”
    “Oh, I already know.”
    “Do you?”
    Abba’s glass was half empty. She drank what remained. She stood up. “It’s hope,” she said. “I never seem able to give up hope.” She threw her glass into the fireplace. It shattered. She fell back into her chair. Her shoulders slumped and she stared at the middle of the table, seeming to forget that any of them were there.

S HORTLY AFTER MIDNIGHT A NGIE , Richard and Lucy were each assigned a member of the Royal Guard, who escorted them to their rooms. The guard who went with Lucy was by far the best looking. On the fifth floor he opened the door to her room. Lucy leaned forwards. She looked inside. There was a large four-poster bed, opulent purple drapes and a crystal chandelier. Extending her right foot Lucy tapped her toe on the marble floor inside her room. Then she took two steps closer to the guard.
    “Know any good bars?” Lucy asked.
    “Yes,” the guard said. His English had no trace of an accent. “I know several.”
    Forty-three minutes later Lucy realized that she knew neither the name of the bar—the washroom of which she was in—nor the name of the man underneath her. She ran her fingers through the golden tassels attached to his shoulders.
    “Fifteen,” he said. “Fourteen.”
    “What’s it like …” Lucy asked. She bit his ear with tender and then considerable force.
    “Twelve … eleven.”
    “… to
fuck
the queen’s sister?”
    “Sure. Yes. Okay.”
    “You don’t believe me?”
    “Nine. I do. Of course. It’s just that … eight.”
    “What?”
    “Nothing. Seven.”
    “What?” Lucy repeated. She stopped. The stiffness in her limbs indicated that she wouldn’t continue until he did.
    “Well. Yes. Husband was a very rich … yes … a very rich man.”
    “Yes … and?”
    “Very powerful.”
    “Keep counting.”
    “Six. Five. Owned everything. Four. The country. Rich enough to be king. Three. But. No king.”
    “What about the castle? The guards? The uniforms?”
    “Two. Upliffta has no king.”
    “It’s all pretend?”
    “Yes!” the man screamed, although Lucy did not know if this was in response to her question or her body.
    Richard lay in bed on top of the covers. He turned on the television. He surfed through the channels.