30 December 2018

30 December 2018; Scandinavian Noir




Jörn goes for a run every morning when it is still dark out —I don’t understand why he would go out in the dark, but he says it is the best time to go—because the streets are quiet....which I do understand as I like going on trail hikes for the same reason. Still a wet and dark chilly run in the morning.... bears some insight into this musician’s extreme measures of discipline


“I have to ask you about something....” he says last night to me.... after

(....he seems insatiable, and when I tell him that but he claims it’s my fault) 

“you write about knowing me before....”

I feel my face burn but look at Jörn,
“yes, it must seem strange to you that I should write about this—is that what you think?” I look up at him but it is hard to see his features in the dark

I watch and see how he is lost in thought a moment and .... how he is self distracted ....in his thoughts. I need to see his face then— because we are in the dark so I sit up and move into his lap —I look at his face 

and he studies me now,
“I got the strangest feeling the first time I saw you—I thought maybe I had seen you in a magazine or— I don’t exactly know what I’m trying to say but.... it is such a strange feeling that you remind me of someone.... that I can’t remember or almost—but it was even before that. When I saw you in passing that made me wonder about who you were....”

to say that he trespasses when he looks into my eyes.... more than anyone ever has .... well

So I think about what Gerald said to me on the phone as Jörn suddenly now asks me about the staff, seemingly to change the subject

“Oh, they want to be more functional—actually they came up with an interesting idea,” I start to say now as I look at him

I forget what I’m about to say. Instead I just look at him.

“What?” he asks and his eyes meet me

I am still at a loss.... the strange light from outside the windows that play on his face, I get distracted looking at him, you see.... the strange plains of his face that are so ....distinctive that I feel something trigger inside— again I think about what Gerald said about ‘unfinished business’

I say,
“Ohhhh, the staff— they are part of the stipulation of inheriting the property. They were worried I was going to fire them but I can’t really, my lawyers explained it to me....”

I realize my words come out vague

“....so....?” he waits for me to continue and seems curious

“They want to open it to the public and also have a Christmas party.... so we have chosen New Years..... I think I told you?”

He smiles down at me and stares into me
“.... you might have....not about opening it to the public I don’t think....”

“Ohhh—well, you know, he was famous.... they think people would like to see some old photographs and some famous documents that once changed history,” I shrug as I say this and look towards the window and the night’s skyline

“The way it was explained to me by my inheritance lawyers Johnny and his wife Joanie— the penthouse is treated like an estate. Some peculiar New York law that most people would never have heard of but it dates back to the turn of the last century as the penthouse is part of a greater property that has remained in the family since that time.”

So as I pause in thought now, I think about how below that window I look at, there is the city’s ever-present, segmented snake of cars 

that... as night descends the eyes of the serpent awaken

“The father you did not know,” he states this thoughtfully

“Not per se.... but his presence loomed heavy in the background all my life—I imagine much like your own father.”

“My father?” he smiles and looks at me oddly as if trying to imagine something. 

“Well, you mentioned that it was expected you would go into the family profession so— I thought your father must have had a very strong looming presence for you growing up....”

He does not answer that. He just stares at me silently a moment. After awhile he says instead,
“does it bother you when I speak of my son and my....daughter?”

“No, why should it?”

“I just thought it might seem in bad taste to you,” he shrugs

“Bad taste? Because you’re married still? But so am I.”

“No, it’s not that I mean because I know how you feel about.... your own daughter....”

“Oh....” So, I freeze

“When you write it helps you .... it is like a kind of hypnosis that you may not realize— unravels your subconscious....but I have begun to notice that it is not just a drama you are writing about your life — it’s a mystery. You don’t realize this, perhaps? I have started to realize you are trying to unlock a hidden crime that maybe you yourself are not even aware of but I have begun to piece together the clues....”


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