1/2986 by Annelie Wendeberg Page B

and snowy countryside with only his back facing me and neither of us speaking more than necessary.
    Presently, I’m sitting on a pillow in Kaissa’s yurt. She insists on cutting my hair; she thinks orange is pretty.  
    Kaissa wants to be nice. But why, I don’t know.
    ‘Ready?’ she asks, and I nod.
    She brushes my hair, then takes strand by strand as if the scrubby stuff needs testing before it can come off. I avoid her gaze in the mirror while goosebumps rake over my skin. Gentle touch makes me weepy. I grit my teeth and clench my butt cheeks.
    ‘How do you want it?’ Kaissa asks.
    I shrug.  
    ‘Let’s see what I can come up with.’ The scissors go snip snip snip, but each time only a tiny bit of hair falls to the floor, on my shoulders, or on my nose until I blow them off. At this rate, it will take ages.
    ‘Are you a real Gypsy?’ I ask. I heard about them a few years ago and it sounded like something out of a fairy tale.
    ‘No, I’m not. I doubt there are any Gypsies left. A lot of people blamed them for the Great Pandemic. They were dirty, they said. Decorating a stake with a Gypsy’s head was considered heroic then. My grandparents and my parents were among those who believed all Gypsies must die.’
    ‘How come you look like one?’
    Her green eyes twinkle and she tugs a strand of silver-streaked hair behind her ear. ‘When I came of age, I expressed my disgust with my family by dressing up as a Gypsy and leaving for good. What began as a childish rebellion and a love for colourful clothes and wild adventures turned into a passion. I saw a whole culture disappearing forever, so I learned as much as I could about the Romani. Which isn’t much, sadly…’ She trails off and gets back to cutting my hair.  
    ‘Are both your daughters from Runner?’
    She laughs. ‘No. The oldest, Katharina, is from my husband.’
    I begin to wonder which of the two men might be her husband when she says, ‘He left many years ago. The loneliness was unbearable. One day, I met Runner and his mentor. They were guests in my yurt for a few days. It was easy to seduce such a young man.’ She gives me a sharp gaze through the mirror. ‘He was on probation then. Your age.’
    ‘That is fucked up.’
    ‘Why? Because I’m twenty years older?’ She bends closer. The corners of her mouth are twitching. ‘Or because his daughter has three fathers?’
    Both men are her new husbands? Back at home, some men had two wives, but never the other way around. Men are too territorial to share a woman. But the two guys looked happy enough last time I saw them. They even helped each other braid their beards like they were best friends. But still…  
    ‘Don’t they freak out when you have sex with Runner?’
    She laughs again, a deep and throaty sound. ‘No. They are a couple. I love them, they love my daughters, we never fight over silly relationship things, and I can invite whomever I want into my bed.’
    Men can be a couple? I’m stunned. My weird brain tries to fit two pricks together and fails. Then I think of the Old Geezer and shudder. But then…these two seemed happy, and were perfectly capable of sitting down without flinching. What are they doing? Hugging and kissing? Does no one ever force them into the survival-of-the-species business? But maybe they’re already done producing offspring.
    Behind me, Kaissa chuckles, and I’m torn from my virtual anatomical studies.
    ‘You’ve never seen a gay couple,’ she states.
    I burst out laughing. What a weird choice of words! ‘Of course I’ve seen happy couples before. Are you done with the haircut?’
    ‘Just the front left,’ she says, grins, and moves around.  
    I can see part of the tattoo on her chest. A dragon and a snake, silver and red and yellow, like flame and moonshine twirling through her cleavage. If Runner was fifteen then and has a thirteen-year-old daughter, he must be twenty-eight or twenty-nine now. I could be his daughter. Did he offer me a