Jörn’s side

 

“Duva—don’t say that,” he says now to me as he stands up slowly as if with the weight of the world on his shoulders

“What?” I ask

“I have not lied to you,” he says somberly 

I consider his ….demeanor 

and for a moment I am rather taken aback by something I had not seen before,

“Jörn —to omit a truth ….or a white lie ….but I won’t play judge—but, you see…. I am only —reacting from what has happened and —what maybe is truth?—ok, I know that I don’t know everything ….the whys and the wherefore’s …..but—I think you know what I mean. Don’t pretend.”

He sighs heavily,

“can I ask you then to—wait before you draw all your conclusions ….what ever you might call what you call lies —were never placed in efforts to particularly deceive you; that was not ever the objective.”

musings/(jmmusechronCont)&e.d

 

I turn to look at him from the window with my arms folded,

“I think it is that I embody your emotion. You put me in a box with your emotions. You step away. You then pretend not to feel or care and you behave as badly as you please. 

the worst thing anyone can do though, I am afraid to say, but it is to make me believe I am taken for granted because there I cannot exist nor breathe so, I am resilient; and have self-respect and therefore I am quite tough….” on the outside to protect what nobody has come near and that is why there is the boomerang effect with the barbed wire and chains….because they believed they got so close to finding that very thing  …. which ….I’ve never ever given away to anyone 

in this lifetime

“but, if you cannot be truthful to me, the last thing in my life that I’d need is a liar and I can see right through you. How could you do that to me—I’m ….disappointed—I guess I ….must revise….”

 

I think I shall have to grow bored of you so that I don’t have to ….feel this kind of pain with you ….I don’t think you value my sincerity and ….” I push him with a jab so he falls onto the bed and I walk to the window to look out before I say, 

“and— I think for me, ethically, that has to be a problem, because you have decided to only see me as one of many other ‘things’ and —by doing that —tarnished my ….”

but I stop because I run myself into split and splinters of which side to see it from

“because if I am bored, then I won’t care—like you don’t.”

 

“No wait— “ I say, stopping Elsa and Josef and even Andreas as I ask them to let me speak to Jörn alone 

….because it has all suddenly caught up with me and ….

I even pull Jörn back to his bedroom to speak my mind 

e.d.noir/jmmuse; voyage pilgrimage; Voyeur

And as I stand there in Jörn’s kitchen watching him do the carafe …. but I am somewhere else 

I think about —and turn to look out the window of his kitchen ….and….I just noticed this …. At this angle from his kitchen window ….and how the sun is in the morning coming from the north almost like the dream memory and get a chill; but no….

you can see directly into the penthouse bedroom ….

my bedroom 

I swiftly turn to look at him now

“So, you need to marry an American?” I say this but all the while I am calculating new information ….I keep a poker face as good as anyone…. why should I let on information —does he? 

“Well….” awkward now with the plunger —no, he is pretending; what.a.faker. “that’s Mama—“ he shrugs with a half searching glance at me but covered up with a laugh. Forced.

I get up real close to him. 

I put my hand on the plunger 

as I lean up against his hip and look up into his eyes ….veiled kryptonite as deadly as a barbarian but I say,

“it is that, isn’t it? A war crime….” I have my hand over his but I move it. I lightly use my fingertips to run up his arm but stop when I get to his hip level and grab another plunger 

“Who did you fuck with this?” I ask him 

He takes my hand,

“it was a case,” he says this steadily 

“That you fucked up,” I say ….because my mind rewinds to the time frame of these events. His odd behavior toward me. I look up at him, “fucking liar!”

“Duva, it has nothing to do with us—“

Shit. 

Again. 

Like a tick. 

I do it again without realizing. 

Slap.across his face.

“How did your mother put it? ‘Sleeping under a metal curtain,’ that was brilliant, because now I get it!”

“It was sheer ignorance because she never gets the phrases right.”

“It was brilliant.” I say this as I think but I say, “so what happened? Was your cover to fuck her? Did you enjoy it? Was it drudgery work, oh, poor you? Were you getting out secrets tying her up—or him?—was it a him or a her?—or a them or—whatever….I really don’t care except for the fact that you acted so innocent to me and ….no, it’s not that it’s ….I think you got scared. The loss of control. And this job; this case—you lost your head, and I’ve always thought you had anger issues ….did they push you and you went too far—“

“Ahem!”

I jump

There is Elsa by the kitchen entree-way 

“How is that coffee coming along?” she asks as she glances at first me and then Jörn ….and I swear, I don’t think she misses anything 

She walks right over to us

By now my hand has safely landed on the kitchen counter. But she looks right at it. And then at me . And then she pats it,

“good girl!” she says with a sly smile and looks up at Jörn 

She mumbles something to him in Swedish that I cannot even try to make out the sounds but what ever she says makes her giggle as she walks away 

Film Noir Smörgåsmassa

but you know, I find his wording so odd— ‘I may be guilty of….’

But then ….I think about Josef; why is he asking me about my divorce when—?

A tap on the open door causes us to look to see that Josef is actually standing there now 

“I hate to interrupt but….” Josef puts a tone of emphasis on each word 

Slowly it all begins to come together in my mind and first I look back at Jörn and then at Josef 

“Wait a minute ….the Swedish opera house…. “ I look straight at Josef now, “does the apple not fall far from the tree?”

“Vad?” Josef cocks a frosty, bushy brow at me and pierces me with the ferocity of his Nordic stare and….

what was that before about the Folkmoot? And the image of the dream comes to me with Raoul stood before the big Viking lord/king…. what a strange and cryptically odd thought ….that has popped into my mind at random it seems, 

but often thoughts as such prove to develop a picture in the dark room of reflection 

such as now, I say aloud looking at Josef 

“you’re the director!” 

At first he plays it off with a laugh,

“directing these characters is always a challenge and then of course we have Elsa and when she hits the right note, she breaks glasses!”

“No—you are the Swedish director ….you work for Interpol, I can’t believe I just figured this out!”

“Jörn, did you say you were going to make coffee?”Josef suddenly asks before, directing a cryptic glance at me now says, “I’m so glad Duvan has offered to help you with that. Don’t make your mother and I wait,” the last part he directs at Jörn, “her blood pressure….”

“Since when is coffee the cure for that?” Jörn snaps but repents, “we’ll start the coffee,” and without any warning, takes hold of my wrist as though to do what I did to him before

But Elsa appears and smacks his hand,

“where did you learn this savagery to women? Something you picked up here or sleeping under a metal curtain? You better make that coffee extra black!”

Electra’s dictionary & film noir(jmmusechron); a stampede of elephants in the room

And so to find myself back in Jörn’s Manhattan bedroom again ….and 

for a moment it seems I swing as a saloon door that is snapped to extreme 

and actually fall against the inside of the door frame as I look again upon it. As. It looks exactly the same. Like no time has passed at all in here

Almost like a vacuum

But no. It is ….I find a comfort. 

That he is ….still who I believe him to be ….because I don’t want him to be …. I can’t even think the thought…. I don’t want him to be anyone but who I know him to be; the spy who carries a cello to the philharmonic and is writing an opera …. about me …. ? ….I walk willing myself not to feel anything. But I go anyway to ….his side of the bed that he sleeps on and touch familiar things he always has there; a random pile of change; passport, random ticket stubs, there’s one for the philharmonic I see…. and touch it…. 

“What is going on Jörn?” I look up at him standing there. As if frozen

but he looks blank

so blank 

“It is like you have disappeared,” I look up at him as he looks at me

“It is something to do with ….a case,” he says

But he stands there so oddly by the door as he stares at me. He stares at me. In that way. Again. What does that mean? He looks so strange 

“So—what is it? Are you in trouble?” I ask him

He turns away. He is clearly tense. Then clears his throat. It seems he is about to say something. But nothing comes out. He walks hesitantly and as if interrupting himself, he stops at the chest of draws that line the wall beside the bed and there he stops to lean against. He folds his arms and presses his thumb to his lower lip staring at a spot on the floor

I feel my mouth go dry. I do not know why, but I feel his chill, feel his ….mood; it sweeps the air like a cold, humid fog and chokes 

“Tell me,” I say but it hardly leaves my throat 

Finally he looks at me, and then with that empty stare shakes his head,

“I ….uh…. I am not at liberty to say the details but, I —may be guilty of a very serious ….thing.”

“‘Thing’…. ” I repeat and wait. 

But he says nothing. 

“You mean—like a war crime?” I ask and ….inwardly flinch as I can hear the note of hysterical rising in my own tone as I ask as I stare at him. But I seem to know; intuition; I  already know. I feel my head become strange and my face seem to go cold