Iceland review - 2019, Side 119

117
Iceland Review
light illuminates his breath. His speach bubble
reads: Smoking on school property is prohibited.
*
The mother and son are sleeping. There’s a cry
from the ground floor. The sound feels off-key in
the tranquil neighbourhood. The screams become
barks until the tone changes and the sounds become
human once more. The mother comes into her son’s
bedroom.
– Wake up.
– I am awake.
– Is that laughter?
– I’m not sure.
The mother and son listen for more sounds, but
don’t hear anything until sleepless fruit flies begin
fluttering at their ears. The mother claps her ears.
– This is driving me crazy.
A lamp snaps on and the mother and son make
coffee.
*
Not far from where the mother and son live, there’s
a timber frame house. There are old curtains in the
window. There are ornaments in the window, facing
outwards, which seems to indicate that they’ve been
put up for passing pedestrians, not the residents of
the house. White porcelain kittens with green eyes.
A pitcher shaped like a parrot. A naked woman in
the surf. Tendrils of smoke snake through an open
window, first grey but quickly turning coal-black. In
no time at all, the house will be engulfed in flames.
The parrot pitcher bursts, but the porcelain cats
don’t. The heat melts their plastic green eyes. The
woman in the surf turns a sooty black.
*
The teenager is in a furrier, trying on gloves. He
enjoys sliding his hands into fur-lined leather gloves.
The shop assistant doesn’t enjoy having him in
the shop. The teenager clenches his fingers and
hears the leather creak. The shop assistant has had
enough and approaches the teenager.
– Can I help you?
– ...
The teenager slowly takes the gloves off, finds a
fur cap and puts it on and tries on another pair of
gloves.
– Can I help you with something?
The shop assistant wrings his hands.
– Can I help you!
The teenager gazes into the shop assistant’s
eyes, looking at him inquiringly.
– Are you going to buy something?
– ...
The teenager moves slowly. The shop assistant
isn’t sure if he’s being taunted and considers calling
the police. He’s not sure what crime he would report
and wonders if it’s a crime to be a disconcerting
teenager who tries on expensive gloves and fur
hats without buying anything. He decides to just
do it, walks to the front counter to find the phone,
but hears the little bells clacking on the glass door
behind him. The teenager’s gone. He’s left behind
an odor that the shop assistant will smell for the rest
of the day. He doesn’t know if he should call about
the smell. About an hour before closing, the shop is
busy. An older man buys a mink cape for his lover. A
young man buys a fur collar for his wife because he
feels guilty about his lover. A newly married couple
tries on matching jackets. A group of middle-age
women on a city break take turns putting fur hats on
one another and laugh. A teenage girl tries on a fur
coat she can’t afford.
*
The mother is sleeping. The son is walking down the
hallway to the bathroom. He’s singing a made-up
song with made-up lyrics. They’re about him and
his mother and sometimes about flies. He got his
pyjamas when his grandfather died. They’re from
the last century, older than he is, and the material
is becoming transparent from use. The knot in the
pant string was tied by the previous owner and every
time the pants go through the wash, the knot gets
tighter.
The bathroom floor is cold and sitting on the
toilet, the son pulls dirty laundry over to him with
his toes and tries to warm his feet with a stained
sweater. He can hear a cat hissing outside the
window, and not long after, the yowling begins. The
son hurries to wipe and flush; he turns on the tap in
a rush and whistles loudly, as though he’s trying to
drive away the unpleasant atmosphere.
– You know how much I hate that, dear. Quit it
already with the whistling, would you?
The mother has come into the hallway and the
son quits it already with the whistling. The shape of
her limp breasts are visible through her nightgown;
they undulate with each step the mother takes.
She goes into the kitchen to make coffee but the
onslaught of flies around the trash can has gotten
dense. She knots the yellow bag, promises herself
that she’ll rinse the trash juices out of the can after-
wards, and goes out into the garden.
The ground is still warmish after the fire and the