Benny drew a deep breath, then sat lost in thought. Gasping and panting, totally exhausted. His fattyflesh was the same color as a Västerbottencheese. Peppered with the kind of acne that never matures. He looked like a lesser Bert Karlsson. His hair was white and thin and tassled. He had a nice paunch. His mommy sewed all his clothes. Grandpa whipped out a joint and lit it stylishly and recklessly.
— You must have diabetes, the way you’re going on.
— Or pepsilepsi, I threw out.
— Shut your mouth, mite, if you ever want to become a man. But Benny … if I may ask … what’s weighing on your heart? … what’s got your dander up?
— That’s easy! foreigners! they’re taking over! multiplying! being left in peace!
— You ever seen a live nigger?
— No, but they’re out there! I know it! I wasn’t born yesterday!
— Ah, you poor little punk, Grandpa playcoddled him, I sense you’re not being honest with old Grandpa … there’s something else going on … tell me what it is! Is it really so bad, my boy?
— I don’t know … I think it’s just the world … and everything in it … I mean, what will become of us … how will it be after that.;. there aren’t too many stories about that … I swear, if you didn’t have to grinandbearit, you’d always be cryingyoureyesout … I don’t know up from down … and I’m too afraid of heights to hang myself …
— Benny, my friend and lover … Yon know I respect you for your galliant fight on behalf of the pinkrace, but lately you’re just too much to take … So I’m going to loan you a couple of books, and then I don’t ever want to see you again …
— What do you mean?
— Offing yourself is the only way to come out on top … look at it as a necessary step in the evolutionary process … depopulationing … natures progress … Now this book, he said, fingering a worn text with bite marks on the spine, was written by Saddam Hussein’s Uncle Kairallah … it’s called Three Things God Never Should’ve Created: Persians, Jews, and Houseflies … The other, he said and held up a gleaming hospitalwhite book, explains how to commit suicide deftly and expertly … it was written by two Frogs, Gyjo and Le Boniek, I think they were called …
Benny humbly thanked Grandpa for the books, but begged him for his help.
— I’m so damned close to the edge … I can’t do it anymore … help me, Grandpa …
— Sorry, I’ve already got plans … we’re having company … Hilding Skivling has some things for me … you know how I getwhen I’ve got the chance to cum in an unkissed mouth! … And tomorrow Schönhuber and Le Pen are stopping by for coffee and cookies …
Benny shoved off after a few more buts and ifs, his face hanging like a hound’s. Then me and Grandpa went on a walk down to the river and then over the flatstones.
— My old Grandpa wasn’t much for talking, said Grandpa. But he wrote up a storm! … On deadleaves, fishscales, the loamy sand down by the troutstream … Yes, us Grandpas are handy with words, it comes from our homeland … But I want to hear them taken by the wind … scattered by echoes!!! eeechooo … eechooo …chooo …
The word rolled around, suffered, died, and vanished.
— True knowledge is powerlessness, mite … hotair is your legacy … First you play tricks with words, then it’s words playing tricks on you … Words are like barnodors, once they’ve taken root, they’re there forever … Then they make the rules, they drive you out of your mind …
He laid both hands on my shoulder.
— Promise me one thing, mite … Read as little as possible …
— I promise you, Grandpa!
— This is probably how my brain looks, Grandpa said, picking up a handful of lichens.
— Dry and airy … Das Gehirn ist ein Irrweg … Once thoughts and images are in your skull, it’s impossible to protect yourself against feelings … Feelings are like scarletfever and measles and mumps … a child can survive them, but once you’re a man, it’s your life on the line … I think I had feelings once, mite, even if
I can’t remember what it was like … They vanished, fell out like babyteeth, because when you grow up you need something else to bite with … When you’re grown, when you’re a Grandpa, for example, feelings just make you want to die … you want to laugh, puke, and hug someone, but there’s no doing any of that … It’s like being eaten up from the inside … a sorrow not even death can remove … and you know deep down you can’t tolerate it! nowaynohow! Then you’ll prefer living life freestyle!! You get along somehow! thoughtless! emotionless! careless!
We went home arm in arm, and I stifled my every passing fancy so zealously I got a stitch in my side. Two weeks later we learned that Benny had gone straight home and shot himself with an old Mauser. Instead of getting down to business, though, the bullet had just played ringaroundtherosy in his head, and now Benny was completely paralyzed. He still had his sharp wits, he just couldn’t talk.
— Pity, he was a honey of a man, Grandpa said and sent a “Get Well” card showing a coalblack nigger fucking a lilywhite virgins tender asshole. She looked like she was enjoying it.
__________
Bert Karlsson — Swedish entrepreneur, politician, and founder of the reality TV show Fame Factory
Kooperation — Swedish cooperative union and wholesale society
The Melody Festival — annual Swedish music competition
XXIII
The Marleners slithered in. Hilding is nice and warm, he tastes like maranathasmegma. His son, Royal, though, is a little too good. He’ll do whatever you want if the price is right.
— Damn, you got all scrawny! Grandpa complained, putting his claws in front of his smokedried face.
— Take it for what it’s worth, but you turn me on, Hilding wheezed and frenchkissed my Grandpa. Then he gave him a smoke.
— Your tobacco is blasphemously good, darling, Grandpa twittered, taking a drag and moaning like a dollarstorewhore.
— You’ve got a nice head of hair, boy, Royal joked. But that’s one fat dick — what’s wrong, you got cancer?
— I think you’re starting to go soft, mousling! You want me to tame you?! Hilding shouted and hoolahooped with his lovehandles.
— Uh, thanks, I think, I babbled.
— You smoke like a girl, Royal bawled and fondled my crotch. Then he stuck a wad of burning Greve Hamilton between his fuckready lips.
Grandpa stared me down, eyes gone wild, what was going to happen next?
— You’re not scared of me, are you?
— What’s that you’ve got, Grandpa? I stammered.
— A guanobat to plug the ass of a nosybrat! Grandpa howled and forced me to asssmoke a cigar. Then he shoved it up wrong-ways, so the room smelled like burntintestine.
— That’ll teach you to get cute, you little nervousnelly.
— Damn, what I wouldn’t give for a fuckhungry toddler about now, Hilding chuckled. My old man, you know, seduced Abd Ur Rama when he was still a giggly young cockteaser and you know as well as I do that he was the devil himself. He was devilishly fond of ramming nails through our balls. < >f course, there wasn’t any point in crying to mommy or hanging on her apron strings. When that happened, the old man would just make a pitchhat from squirrelcunts and wrap it around the pissmakers of us whoresons. When he ripped it off, we’d be smooth as babes between the legs. But it made men of us.