Crazy (5 page)

“True.” Janosch interrupts him. “Girls are hot. But somehow they’re even more complicated than life is.”

“Aren’t girls what life is?” asks Glob.

“They’re certainly part of it,” says Florian.

“Which part?” asks Glob.

“The part from the neck to the navel,” is Florian’s reply.

“Is life female?” asks Skinny Felix.

Janosch grabs a couple of beer cans out of Troy’s pajama top. He wants to give them to the girls as soon as he comes into the room, to make clear what a hellish job it was to get the beer upstairs. Janosch thinks Malen goes for guys who pull off difficult stunts. She finds it sexy. I can’t be her servant that way. Nor, any longer, can Troy. He puts all the cans down on the parquet floor. It’s dark brown and made up of plate-sized rectangles, and you hear every step. But the tutor lives at the other end of the corridor. It’s Florian’s view that she won’t hear us. Janosch knocks on the door. The knock echoes softly, and the sound almost dies away in the large corridor. The girls’ hall is bigger than Tarts’ Alley. There are sixteen rooms, one right next to the other in a single row. Glob thinks the tutors must have real trouble checking here. Too many rooms. And they’re too big. Cupboards and niches provide excellent hiding spots. Even a thousand of them would have a tough time. Janosch knocks again, louder this time. A hushed voice sounds from inside. Unmistakably Malen. “We’re waiting. Come in!”

Janosch laughs. His eyes glitter as he swallows a slug of beer. Fat Felix gives him a nudge with his shoulder. They exchange glances for a moment. Janosch puts an encouraging arm around him, then he goes into the room. The others shoot in after him. They’re excited. Even Troy doesn’t hesitate to get in there. But I wait in the corridor, shifting slowly from my right foot to my left. I stare at the walls. They’re white. Unbelievably white. Lots of pictures on them, in large square glass frames. They’re photos of the highs and lows of five years of boarding school, at least that’s how I read them. Pictures of good times and bad. Maybe a dozen of them. Malen taking a jump on a snowboard. Her long blond hair flies in the wind. She’s smiling in a forced sort of way. I wonder if she’s really happy, if anyone in boarding school is happy. Janosch says nobody’s happy here. Everyone’s from some rough family situation. Or else they’re stinking rich. And if they are, they’re even unhappier. They all have to be laughing in the school brochure, according to him. That’s how it always is. They have to be laughing, so that more unhappy kids will be there to laugh in future brochures. That’s boarding school. Has been for centuries.

“Doesn’t the new guy want to come in with us?” The voice echoes out of the room into the hall. I get ready to go in. I don’t want them to get mad or whatever. Besides which I don’t want them yelling out into the hall again. If they keep on, there’ll be trouble.

“Of course he does.” That’s Janosch’s voice. “He’s been thinking about it all night. He even wanted to go up the ladder. Didn’t matter what we said.”

I go into the room. It’s about twice the size of mine. Three beds in this one, spread out all over the place. There’s even a small stove. Parquet on the floor, just like in the hall, but a little paler. The same plate-sized rectangles. Three windows. Must be incredibly light during the day. A wooden desk in front of each one. All three the same color as the parquet. Same with the three big cupboards next to the desks. Posters on the walls, too many to count. All of them are either some muscle man licking a babe out of her bra, or they’re Leonardo DiCaprio. I hate Leonardo DiCaprio. Not that he can help it. All women love him. Enough already. You have to be a man to get jealous over stuff like that. It’s obvious.

Chapter 6

The others make themselves comfortable on the floor. The girls have spread out a blue blanket for the occasion. It looks good against the parquet. They’re all sitting on it—both Felixes, Janosch, Troy, and Florian. Malen, Anna, and this Marie girl are beside them. They’ve all had a few already— there are at least three empty wine bottles rolling around on the floor, plus a half bottle of Bacardi O. Now they’ve switched to beer. Malen’s on to her second. Janosch thinks girls in general drink a lot. Supposedly there are regular binges on the girls’ corridor. They like it. I have to admit I don’t drink much at all—I always have the feeling I’ll lose something that maybe I could use. Like my brain. No idea why. But now I’m drinking. Marie invites me to sit down. Next thing there’s a beer in my hand. I look at her. She has a round face. Lethal green eyes. Skin a little tanned. Her long dark brown hair is pinned up. Full lips. She’s painted them blood red in honor of the event. Or perhaps that’s the wine. White teeth, not a single mark on them anywhere. She’s mascaraed her eyelashes. Used eye shadow too. She’s very slim; she almost disappears inside her black nightshirt. Big breasts, as far as I can make out. The nightshirt doesn’t give away much. But I’ll get back to them later.

“D’you like it here?” she asks.

“How did
you
like it on your second day?”

“This
is
my second day,” she says.

I swallow. “And so how d’you like it now?”

“Now,” she says. “The alcohol tastes the same.” She laughs, turning her head away. I see her neck. There’s a big hickey on it. Pretty quick for your second day. I take a slug of beer.

“What’s your name?” she whispers.

“Benjamin.”

“Benjamin, like that politician?”

“Yes, Benjamin like that politician.”

“Nice name,” she says, and swallows some beer. The can’s almost empty. She drinks it down, then squashes the can in one tanned hand. It crackles. I notice her fingernails—they’re painted red.

“I didn’t choose it myself,” I say.

“I know, but almost every name marks the person who has it.” She stands up. “Will nobody pass me another beer?”

She moves slowly toward her desk. A little unsteady on her feet, but she has a nice walk. I think she’s beautiful. She gropes around in a drawer and pulls out some candles. Red, at least a couple of inches long. I look over at Malen, sitting by Janosch. He must be happy. There are two cans of beer lying on the floor. Janosch keeps inching closer to Malen. She’s wearing a white silk top and matching panties. Her beautiful legs slide gently away from him across the floor. Janosch wishes he could touch them. I can’t blame him. Malen is really stunning. She’s powdered her face. Her dark blue eyes blaze out like lasers. You’re immediately trapped. Her fingernails and toenails are painted turquoise and seem to give off a strange light. Like Marie, she’s pinned her hair up. Her neck is bare. You can see her bra through her silk top. Janosch still doesn’t trust himself to touch her legs—his right hand keeps making restless little movements about half an inch above them. He’s obviously nervous. Glob says Janosch is often nervous when it comes to girls, almost paralyzed, to the point where he can only play the gentleman. But he’s not so good at that. He’s just nervous. Not cool like before. And certainly not crazy.

I listen in on their conversation a little. It’s more of a squawking match. They’re both pretty loaded. I wonder how on earth we’ll ever get down the fire escape again. I have another slug of beer. That’s one can gone. It’s good stuff. Spreads out through my brain. I’m not usually a drinker. That’s why I feel it. I start following the conversation again. It’s about great sexual disasters. Straight from the talk shows. Malen’s in the midst of saying, “The guy had a hard-on. Huge, I’m telling you. And after about an hour he still couldn’t get my bra undone. Pathetic, no?”

“Pathetic,” says Janosch. “That kind of thing never happens to me.” He stares at Malen’s tits. She doesn’t notice, thank God. All of a sudden the light goes out. Marie is back. She’s holding the candles to illuminate the room. The flames dance around the wicks. It looks pretty. Makes me think of my mother. She’s always had candles, no matter where we were. Sometimes in the evenings she’d be studying her homeopathic medicine stuff. She’d sit at the dining room table and light a candle. It would be the only light in the house. Not even the television was on, just one candle. And it gave a beautiful light. Has she lit one again tonight? Probably. But then again maybe she didn’t have time. Perhaps they had a fight. I don’t know. I open another can of beer. Hard to believe there are so many. How on earth did Troy lug them all up here? Fat Felix must have helped. You probably can’t see the cans under his potbelly.

Fat Felix is sitting with Anna. They make a great group with Florian and Skinny Felix. Each of them is about to put his arm around Anna. She looks sensational again today. Like Malen she’s wearing panties. Hers are black, and they get stuck between the cheeks of her behind. When she bends over to one side, you can see her great ass. I could die. Hard to believe how quickly you can be swept away. Just have to see an ass. Janosch says that’s youth for you. Girls just flaunt it. That’s it.
Basta.
Sometimes I wonder if things couldn’t have been organized differently. When you’re barely thirteen, girls and asses become a drug. You never shake the habit. Florian and Fat Felix are good examples—they look like they’re devouring Anna. I’m no better. Marie has come to sit next to me again. I can’t stop myself from staring down the front of her top.

I drink some more beer. It makes everything simpler. Then I look over at Anna. She’s wearing a black T-shirt that says LOVE IS A RAZOR in fancy yellow letters. Maybe it’s a real sentence. Then again, maybe it’s just crap.
Love
isn’t a
razor
or anything else either. Love is indefinable. Love is—fucking is what Janosch would say now. But I don’t agree. I think love is more than that. Fucking is fucking. Love is something else. Music maybe. But music is the best. Or at least that’s what Frank Zappa said. I think I must be drunk. How did music get in here? Oh yes, Malen put on a CD. The Rolling Stones, of course.
I can’t get no satisfaction.
Malen comes back over to Janosch in her panties and her long legs. She sits down. I take another pull at the beer. I’m beginning to like the stuff. Makes you feel good; I don’t know why. I immediately drink some more. Marie bends over me. It feels nice. She wants to get some potato chips. Florian thinks chips and alcohol are a deadly combination. They immediately make you throw up, according to him. I still let Marie eat the chips. I picture her bent over the toilet bowl. I have to laugh. Another slug of beer. The can’s empty. Funny, I just opened it. Oh well—as I’ve said before, I’m not used to drinking. Probably why I’m also not used to how quickly the cans get empty. I get a couple more. They’re the last two. I take the second one for later and set it down next to me on the floor. Then I cover it with a Kleenex. I don’t want anyone else drinking my beer; it’s too good for that. Janosch is looking around. He’s certainly had a lot to drink. He wants more. You can tell. There’s a lit cigarette in the corner of his mouth. It’s a large room and the window’s open. Nobody’s going to smell the smoke that fast. I get out my own cigarettes. The pack’s still almost full. Marie wants one too. We both light up on her match, then Marie shakes it and the flame goes out. She puts her arm around me. The speakers are pumping ABBA— “The Winner Takes It All.” Good song. Somehow I find it funny. Yet it’s actually fairly sad—about people breaking up yet again. I feel pursued. I should call home. Just to make sure they’re not beating each other over the head. But not right now. It’s nighttime. And besides, Marie’s so close. She’s almost on top of me. I smell her skin. And a wonderful perfume. Sort of sweet. A little bit like Christmas. Like the Christmas tree or Christmas cookies. Makes me think of last Christmas. They were all there, even my uncle. I love my uncle, but they all spend their time bad-mouthing him. Whenever he’s needed, he’s not there. Well, he was always there for me. Including Christmas. He works for one of those big daily newspapers. The long articles on page 3 are usually by him. Sometimes he takes me along when he goes to the office. I like it. All the people work behind big tables. They have to tell people about the world. I couldn’t do it. I can’t even produce a proper piece of homework for school. Last Christmas we had just decided on boarding school and Castle Neuseelen, which was my bad luck, because I was given all sorts of things that would be good for boarding school and Castle Neuseelen. A poster of the local countryside, stuff for all sorts of occasions, a shaving kit, etc. And labels. So that I could stick them all over everything and write my name on them. Benjamin Lebert. Man, I was scared about coming here. And man, I’m still scared now that I’ve got here. Two days already. Two days and one and a half nights. And now here I am in some girls’ dorm room, and there’s a girl lying on top of me. Maybe it’s progress. She’s tickling my neck. Feels strange. I hardly know her. But nice. Janosch says girls in boarding schools are always really up front, particularly the new girls. If I were just a little different, things would happen. What does Janosch mean by
different
? I’m always the same way. Or am I always different? Why is this girl lying on me? Because she’s drunk? Because I’m drunk? Doesn’t matter. Main thing is she’s lying on me. I have another mouthful of beer. I’m getting myself ready to say something, but Marie gets there first. I forget what it was I wanted.

“They told me you were so unusual.”

“Unusual? Okay. I’m a cripple. That’s pretty unusual.”

I take a drag on my cigarette. So does Marie. Her full lips pucker. Sexy. I take another mouthful of beer. Can’s empty. I open the next one. Marie gets up—she wants more chips. I look at her body in the flickering light of the candles. It’s not long before she lies down with me again. Through her top, I can feel her nipples on my stomach.

“Someone once told me cripples are just people too,” she says.

“Funny how much people seem to tell you. Nobody’s ever told me anything. I have to find it all out for myself. But okay, you’re right, cripples are just people too. Rather odd people.” Now it’s Guns n’ Roses from the speakers, singing “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door.” I’m not in the mood for songs like this, but still, it’s a great song. The old Bob Dylan lyrics haven’t lost anything. There’s a funny feeling inside me. I swallow more beer.

“So how are you a cripple?” Marie wants to know.

“My left side is almost paralyzed.” Marie sighs. “I can hardly move my arm or my leg. They feel numb. I only feel something if someone actually hurts me.” Marie’s face moves till it’s right next to mine. Our lips are almost touching.

“I won’t hurt you,” she whispers. “Never. Nor should anyone, ever. It’s only people who are completely different who can nourish the growth of something new.”

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” she says.

“That sounds awfully mature for sixteen.”

“I know. I’m mature.” She grins.

“And what do you think is going to grow out of me?”

“No idea. You’ll have to see for yourself. If you’re lucky!” And she starts grinning again.

I look over at Troy. He’s sitting at the desk. Lonely, all on his own. He must have drunk quite a bit by now. Which is what he always does, according to Fat Felix. Sometimes five or ten beers in an evening. Janosch thinks his stomach can’t take it, and at some point Troy always throws up. But he doesn’t care. Just starts drinking again. Goes on till morning. Hard as iron. Fat Felix is lying right next to him on the floor. Asleep already, arms and legs sprawled wide, mouth open. He’s snoring a little and drooling on the floor. Skinny Felix thinks he started droning on again about soccer, and Janosch filled him up. Now he’s out for the count, peaceful as a baby.

I stand up. I’ve got to get to the john, and quick. Carefully I ease Marie away from my body. She’s settled herself on my legs meantime. I head for the door. Everything’s spinning a little. Never happened to me before. With an effort I get to the door handle, push it down, leave the room. Nobody notices— they’re all half out of it already. Only Marie looks up for a moment. I go down the girls’ corridor. It seems to stretch away forever; it takes me five minutes to reach the john. I open the door. The washroom is markedly nicer and more modern than the one in Tarts’ Alley. There’s a big anteroom in front of me. Everything white tiled. Maybe six washbasins against the wall. A mirror above each one. I look at myself. My face looks terrible. I go to one of the washbasins and splash some water into my face. It feels good. Refreshing. Suddenly the door opens behind me with a creak. Marie is in the anteroom. Wobbling a little. She stands there looking tired.

“What are you doing?”

“Splashing water on my face.”

“It’s cold?”

“Very.”

“Somehow I think we missed out on something,” she says. Her words are so slurred it’s hard to understand her. She pulls her nightshirt over her head. Now all she’s wearing is her black underwear. It looks wonderful. I see her soft skin. Her navel. Her face. Her breasts. All a little hazily. She wants something from me. I know that. She comes over to me. I’m afraid. She touches my neck. I pull away from her several times. I’m shivering. I’ve never done it with a girl. Girls don’t want me. I’m too different. Besides, I’m drunk. No, Marie’s drunk. She unhooks her bra. I almost faint. She’s standing there in front of me bare to the waist. I see her breasts. They’re well shaped, beautiful. Pink nipples. I think of Janosch, who would certainly be saying don’t shit in your pants. Use your opportunities. And most of all, grab it. Grab everything you can. I know him. And his advice. According to which I should just lay her.
To lay
is Janosch’s best term for
to screw.
Anyone can screw, according to him, but not everyone knows how to lay. That’s an art. I’m supposed to lay Marie. Or screw her. Or whatever. If I’m not so scared I shit myself, that is. I wouldn’t know—I have no experience.

What if I do something wrong?
So what
is what Janosch says. When you’re sixteen, you have to screw. And it’s a scandal that I haven’t yet. When guys are sixteen that’s what they want to do. And when they’re sixteen, girls just want to get laid. So we should screw them, in Janosch’s view. Marie clearly shares that view, as she’s pulling down her panties. I see her pubic hair. It’s black. The whole thing looks like a window—it’s wide, and trimmed all short. I’ve never seen anything like it so up close before: in fact I only know what it looks like from
Playboy.
Why does youth have to be so brutal? Screw here screw there. I’m afraid. Everything’s moving so fast, and I can’t keep up somehow. I sit down on a folding chair by the window. God knows what it’s doing here. Maybe to act as a support in situations like this? I have no idea. I lean back as far as I can go. Marie takes another step toward me. Her large breasts are almost in my face. She bends over me a little, strokes her fingers gently across my hips. As she does so, her upper body moves. Her tits swing. I get a hard-on. That must be how it happens, I think. It’s natural. But I still feel like an idiot. I pull my pajama top down over the pants and hold my hands over it. My forehead’s sweating. It’s still the same old pair of pajamas—
When the going gets
tough, the tough get going.
I find myself thinking about my father. Marie kisses my forehead. I start to shake. Turn away. Shit, I say to myself, so I’ll screw her. Gotta be a man, as Janosch would put it. And a man doesn’t panic at the sight of a pair of tits. A man should grab. Handle them. A man should be cool, per Janosch. Unfortunately he can’t help right now. I’m on my own. Got to do it somehow, or at least try. I pull my pajama pants down a ways. Marie can see my cock. She scrabbles around and pulls a condom out of the stuff lying on the floor. Opens the packet with her teeth. Rolls on the condom. It’s done in a flash. Feels funny. So tight. So rubbery. Like a wet balloon. But stickier. I’m nervous. The condom’s yellow. I wonder how she found it so quickly. Janosch says they all do. They can always hunt up a condom, so that they can fuck right away. Marie sits herself astride me. I think I’m inside her. It doesn’t feel good. Screwing isn’t as great as they all say. I feel all boxed in. My cock hurts. But I’m a man. I grab for her tits. I squeeze them together. Lick her nipples. Her tits are soft. They feel so good lying in my hands. I’m not going to forget this in a hurry. Florian says you never forget your first pair of tits; they’re the best. I guess he’s right. Marie grinds harder with her pelvis. My cock keeps getting bigger. She moans. Sweats a little.
She’s
the one doing all the work. I’m just sitting here. But I’m beginning to like it. I feel good, sort of like I’d drunk twenty Cokes or something. My whole body’s tingling. Most of all my cock. The tingling makes me push up farther. I lean forward, and grab Marie by the hips. Put my arms right around her. Squeeze her ass. We cuddle tight. She moans. I’m breathing harder. Marie rides and rides. We’re almost there. My cock’s being pushed out and in again. The first time’s like this, says Janosch. A quick knock. A quick glance inside. A quick goodbye. Marie keeps riding me. Sweat forms on her skin and I lick it off. Put my head between her tits. She doesn’t say a word. The whole time. Just moans. Suddenly she throws her arms up in the air. I’m going to come. Maybe another five seconds, and I’m there. I ejaculate. Adrenaline shoots through my body. I feel free. I can hear birds. Water running. A whole storm. My body’s shaking. It’s the coolest thing ever. I don’t know why, but it’s crazy. And I want it again soon.