Читать книгу You - Zoran Drvenkar - Страница 16

Rather a big mouth than no tits, was always your motto, but maybe now’s not the time to announce it. Nessi needs to hear something else. Something like: “Bullshit, you’re not pregnant!”

“Why not?”

“You don’t just get pregnant like that.”

“But—”

“Have you done a test?”

“No.”

“Without a test you’re not pregnant, okay?”

Nessi can’t reply to your logic, so you drag her up Bleibtreustrasse to Kantstrasse and then into the nearest pharmacy to buy her a pregnancy test, as if you were offering her a kebab, except that those tests are really expensive.

“Why are they so expensive?”

The pharmacist shrugs as if she didn’t think that it was expensive. You read the instructions and whisper to Nessi that the pharmacist is one of those people who never get pregnant, that’s why a test like that costs a fortune, and then you turn back to the pharmacist and say with a sugary smile, “Eight euros? Are you sure this really costs eight euros?”

The pharmacist puts the packet through the scanner again.

The price is right.

“We’ve got a double pack,” she says. “It’s 10.95.”

“Well, that’s a bargain, isn’t it?” you say, and look at Nessi. “Do we need two?”

“Two would be good.”

“We’ll take the bargain,” you say to the pharmacist and smile at her as if you’d pulled a brilliant trick on her.

From the pharmacy you go to the nearest café. Before the waiter can move, you tell him you just need to pee. In the bathroom both of you squeeze into one stall. Nessi is pale, it’s all going too quickly for her.

“Come on, girl, take a deep breath.”

Nessi takes a breath.

The sticks are wrapped in foil, you hold them up in front of Nessi.

“Now you pee on it and we’ll know, because as long as you don’t know, you’re not pregnant. It’s like math.”

Nessi looks at you as if you’ve been speaking Vietnamese. It’s a weird moment and you ask yourself for the first time why Nessi’s actually worried. In your eyes she’d be a great mother. You other girls are either too thin or too young or too stupid even to think of being mothers. Nessi seems like someone who’s experienced everything; in your opinion she can master everything if she wants to.

An old soul, you think with envy.

A few days ago your mother took you aside again and told you about the little village she grew up in. You know the stories inside and out and you know there’s no point interrupting her. This time you found out that she can see things that other people can’t. Souls. Your mother is full of surprises. She told you: Some people have young souls and others have old ones, and then there are people without. You asked what “without” means in this context, because your mother can’t feed you any bullshit. Being without a soul is impossible, you know that. That’s like someone coming into the world without a heart. Your mother tapped your forehead with her index finger and you had to promise her that you would never, never get within ten feet of one of those soulless people. You will recognize them anywhere, because they have cold in their eyes, and when they look at you they steal your breath away. Promise me that you won’t let one of those soulless get ten feet near you. Of course you promised, otherwise you’d still be sitting beside her right now. Your mother also told you that your soul is young and inexperienced, and that your life will be a long and joyless journey.

Thanks, Mom.

You would like to know what your mother would say about Nessi, who now stands in front of you, confused and hopefully not pregnant, and asks, “Why is it like math?”

“What?”

“You said it’s like math. Why is it like math?”

“If you think about it for a long time it makes sense,” you tell her, and quickly go on talking: “Don’t think about that right now, just concentrate and pee on this. And don’t hold it the wrong way around. My neighbor held it the wrong way around, but she’s kind of retarded. And don’t pee on your hand, because that’s disgusting. Even though lots of people say urine therapy’s fantastic, I can’t imagine washing my face with my own pee, it would be—”

“Schnappi!”

You raise both hands in apology.

“Okay, I am quiet.”

Nessi tears at the packaging and can’t get it open. You take it from her and peel the test stick out of its foil. You liberate the second stick as well so that it’ll go more quickly. Now you only hope that Nessi can pee, because if she can’t pee …

“It’s working,” you say with all the positivity you have.

Nessi shakes the stick dry and looks at it.

“How long?”

“Two minutes.”

You pass her the second stick.

Afterward you both lean against the wall of the stall, each holding one of the sticks, and wait. Last year you caught your mother in the bathroom. She was sitting on the edge of the tub gnawing at a fingernail. Her skin was almost transparent, like one of those jellyfish you saw when you were at the North Sea coast. Your mother was holding the pregnancy test just as Nessi’s holding it now—vertical and pointing upwards, as if it were important to hold the stick vertical and pointing upwards. You knew your mother didn’t want any more children. She’s in her late thirties, she has her hands full looking after you. You’ve never talked about it, but it’s clear to you that she had an abortion. Since then you’ve been wondering whether it would have been a brother or a sister. You wouldn’t have minded a brother.

“Look,” Nessi says quietly.

You look, then you look at the stick in your hand, then back at Nessi’s.

“I’m not going to cry,” says Nessi, and bursts into tears.