touched the coat.
“She’s a window dresser,” I said, sitting down beside her at the edge of the table.
“All the men are staring at her but she doesn’t even notice. I think she’s very pretty, don’t you?”
I nodded and felt the heat rise in my face.
“She’s beautiful,” she continued, “but unhappy.”
I looked at Kiyomi. Who was this girl? What else had she noticed?
“Here,” she said, and reached into the pocket of her grey smocked dress and handed me a peppermint.
We carried on talking, with Kiyomi stating opinions and me agreeing with them, taken aback by her confidence.
“Natsumi will be on next. She’s my mum.”
Just then, a woman walked out into the centre of the room. She stripped down until she was wearing a paper frock, then stood motionless. I thought she might be the most exhausted-looking woman I had ever seen, but then she spotted Kiyomi and her expression lifted. The chatter around us died down and I noticed the sound of paper being crumpled and torn coming from a set of speakers. I glanced around and tried to figure out what was going on. It was amazing how everyone just watched and listened, agreeing to go wherever the performance took them—no matter what it said or didn’t say.
I looked at Kiyomi. Her eyes peeked out from underneath long bangs and she seemed far-away. Even when her mother ripped open the side of her paper dress, revealing her naked backside, her expression stayed neutral. I had the sense that Kiyomi was waiting for the performance to be over. The second it ended, she turned to me, and sighed.
I didn’t know what to say about her mother’s performance so I said, “I’ve never met my father.”
“Well,” she said, “I guess we have that in common.”
She nudged me with her elbow and said, “Hey, don’t look so serious.” Then she slung her arm around my shoulder. “Don’t worry. I like you, Marcel. Even when you’re serious.”
After she sauntered off to find her mother, I was still charged by her presence. It was as though the mere act of sitting with her had tuned my senses. Someone went to open a window,and the wind blew a spray of rainwater into the room. Beads of water sparkled in the light.
At some point I grew drowsy and drifted off to a corner to sleep. I don’t know how long I dozed, but when I finally awoke—jarred by a chair toppling over under the weight of too many coats—I looked down at my legs and saw that someone had placed a wool cape over me as a makeshift blanket.
A few minutes later I found Pippa standing by the entrance, talking to a very tall man with thick grey hair. He was taller than the door frame. His trousers hung on legs as long as stilts. He wore a badge that said
President of Maldeb.
I noticed a stick protruding from his right fist and asked him what he was holding in his hand. He unfurled it. A blank flag. He looked pleased and presidential.
“It’s very beautiful,” Pippa said. “He’s the President of Maldeb. That’s
Bedlam
spelled backwards.” She shared this information quietly, as if it were a delicate secret.
When I finally sank into bed that night, I was unable to sleep. I stared at my clock and wondered what Oliver was doing. I looked out the window at the sky and pictured Oliver looking at the same sky. I didn’t like the idea that Oliver was happier wherever he was, but I didn’t want him to be miserable either.
Pippa saw the light under my door and came in and lay down beside me.
“Can’t sleep?”
“No.”
“Are you thinking about Oliver?”
I nodded.
“I thought so. I miss him too.”
“We haven’t heard from him in almost a week.”
“True, but you shouldn’t worry.”
“No.”
“Sometimes he travels to places where he can’t call.”
“I know.”
The next morning, I awoke shivery and the flat was full of cold drafts. I heard Stasha gently scolding Pippa in the other room.
“You left the front door wide open when you came in last night. What were you
“She’s a window dresser,” I said, sitting down beside her at the edge of the table.
“All the men are staring at her but she doesn’t even notice. I think she’s very pretty, don’t you?”
I nodded and felt the heat rise in my face.
“She’s beautiful,” she continued, “but unhappy.”
I looked at Kiyomi. Who was this girl? What else had she noticed?
“Here,” she said, and reached into the pocket of her grey smocked dress and handed me a peppermint.
We carried on talking, with Kiyomi stating opinions and me agreeing with them, taken aback by her confidence.
“Natsumi will be on next. She’s my mum.”
Just then, a woman walked out into the centre of the room. She stripped down until she was wearing a paper frock, then stood motionless. I thought she might be the most exhausted-looking woman I had ever seen, but then she spotted Kiyomi and her expression lifted. The chatter around us died down and I noticed the sound of paper being crumpled and torn coming from a set of speakers. I glanced around and tried to figure out what was going on. It was amazing how everyone just watched and listened, agreeing to go wherever the performance took them—no matter what it said or didn’t say.
I looked at Kiyomi. Her eyes peeked out from underneath long bangs and she seemed far-away. Even when her mother ripped open the side of her paper dress, revealing her naked backside, her expression stayed neutral. I had the sense that Kiyomi was waiting for the performance to be over. The second it ended, she turned to me, and sighed.
I didn’t know what to say about her mother’s performance so I said, “I’ve never met my father.”
“Well,” she said, “I guess we have that in common.”
She nudged me with her elbow and said, “Hey, don’t look so serious.” Then she slung her arm around my shoulder. “Don’t worry. I like you, Marcel. Even when you’re serious.”
After she sauntered off to find her mother, I was still charged by her presence. It was as though the mere act of sitting with her had tuned my senses. Someone went to open a window,and the wind blew a spray of rainwater into the room. Beads of water sparkled in the light.
At some point I grew drowsy and drifted off to a corner to sleep. I don’t know how long I dozed, but when I finally awoke—jarred by a chair toppling over under the weight of too many coats—I looked down at my legs and saw that someone had placed a wool cape over me as a makeshift blanket.
A few minutes later I found Pippa standing by the entrance, talking to a very tall man with thick grey hair. He was taller than the door frame. His trousers hung on legs as long as stilts. He wore a badge that said
President of Maldeb.
I noticed a stick protruding from his right fist and asked him what he was holding in his hand. He unfurled it. A blank flag. He looked pleased and presidential.
“It’s very beautiful,” Pippa said. “He’s the President of Maldeb. That’s
Bedlam
spelled backwards.” She shared this information quietly, as if it were a delicate secret.
When I finally sank into bed that night, I was unable to sleep. I stared at my clock and wondered what Oliver was doing. I looked out the window at the sky and pictured Oliver looking at the same sky. I didn’t like the idea that Oliver was happier wherever he was, but I didn’t want him to be miserable either.
Pippa saw the light under my door and came in and lay down beside me.
“Can’t sleep?”
“No.”
“Are you thinking about Oliver?”
I nodded.
“I thought so. I miss him too.”
“We haven’t heard from him in almost a week.”
“True, but you shouldn’t worry.”
“No.”
“Sometimes he travels to places where he can’t call.”
“I know.”
The next morning, I awoke shivery and the flat was full of cold drafts. I heard Stasha gently scolding Pippa in the other room.
“You left the front door wide open when you came in last night. What were you
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