Tiger Milk (26 page)

I feel sick, says Anna-Lena holding her stomach, I need something to drink.

You can drink something when we get there, says Jameelah.

No, a real drink. Something cold and clear, like a shot of vodka. I need to get a miniature bottle of vodka.

No liquid courage, only the real thing, says Jameelah.

She grabs Anna-Lena by the arm and pulls her across the stripes of the cross-walk to the entrance to the clinic. She pushes the bottom bell. The door buzzes open.

Let’s go, says Jameelah pushing Anna-Lena through the door. We go through the entryway and out into the courtyard. I see Noura through a window.

Mama, calls Jameelah running ahead.

Noura looks up and walks toward the door with a look of shock on her face.

Children, she says, what is it, what happened?

Without a second’s pause Jameelah tells her everything. She talks and talks and makes all kinds of gestures with her hands as she does, and Noura nods and pats Anna-Lena’s hair, but she also looks very stern throughout, she looks around at each of us with a serious look on her face and saves the most stern look of all for Anna-Lena of course. The way Noura always does things, all at the same time and always properly, Jameelah must have inherited that from her, I think.

Noura puts her arm around Anna-Lena.

You come with me now, she says, we’re just going to do a normal examination and then after that Dr Mahmoudi will examine you, and you two, says Noura looking at me and Jameelah, you wait here.

The waiting room is empty. Tired, I slump into a chair. Jameelah picks up one of the magazines lying on the table and flips through it, flipping the pages, flipping, flipping, way too fast, you can’t read that fast, you can’t even see the pictures on the pages when you flip through that fast.

Can you please tell me why we’re doing this, I ask at some point.

What?

Why are we helping her? Because of Lukas?

Stop it, says Jameelah, I don’t want to talk about it, I don’t even want to think about him, otherwise I’ll kill myself, seriously.

Not over an idiot like that. You don’t need him.

Need him? What’s that supposed to mean?

Look as of today at the latest he’s an asshole, right?

What do you know, says Jameelah.

I’m just saying.

Just saying my ass, you’re just saying what anyone would say, Jameelah says letting the magazine drop to the floor.

What’s that supposed to mean, I say.

That you have no clue about love, says Jameelah.

And you do, right.

Yeah, because if you really love somebody then you can’t change that no matter how shitty that person acts. And you can’t do anything about the fact that you can’t change it either.

I know, I say, I mean of course you can’t do anything about it but you can’t really love somebody who hurts you so badly. He doesn’t deserve it.

Of course I can, you see, says Jameelah, and anyway what business is it of yours, what business is it of Anna-Lena’s, it’s not even Lukas’s business that I love him, I’m allowed to love whoever I want and he doesn’t have to love me back, but I can be in love with anyone and nobody can stop me.

Of course you’re allowed. I just don’t want anyone to hurt you.

You can’t help it, it happens anyway, she says picking up the magazine, but maybe I can keep her from having his baby.

The door to the waiting room opens and Anna-Lena walks in.

So, asks Jameelah.

Nothing, says Anna-Lena, took my blood pressure and that. I’m about to see the woman, what’s her name again?

Jameelah frowns.

Mahmoudi, Dr Mahmoudi.

Mahmoudi right.

I look at Jameelah.

Yes, Jameelah says, we’re going to wait.

My left leg has been asleep for a while, it seems like forever since Anna-Lena went into surgery. We’ve been through all the magazines. I look up at the ceiling of the waiting room. Noura turned on the lights a little while ago and I stare at the fluorescent bulbs and at the mosquitoes and fruit flies dancing on them. The mosquitoes and flies try to out-buzz the bulbs.

Look, I say pointing up, they just waste their time up there even though they have so much less of it than we do down here.

Yeah, says Jameelah, they’re like real gods.

Gods?

Yeah they aren’t aware of time, they know only light and fruit and blood and at some point they’ll just die without ever feeling the need to think about their life, whether they lived it well or not.

Do you know this one, I say, two fruit flies meet and one says hey do fancy a fuck and the other says no I have my momentary visitor.

I don’t get it.

You know, the fruit fly has its monthly visitor.

I still don’t get it.

Come on, a fruit fly doesn’t have a monthly visitor, it gets its period for a couple of seconds, not a couple of days, get it.

Oh, says Jameelah still looking up at the ceiling and not really listening.

What is it, I say, what are you thinking about?

Can you remember what Jasna shouted when she was standing on the balcony, what she said to her mother before she jumped?

Yeah she said first you drag me into this world and then you leave me all alone.

I think that’s true, says Jameelah.

What?

That we’re dragged into this world. I mean nobody asks you, nobody asks whether you want to or not.

Yeah, I say, that’s true.

Maybe that’s why babies always cry so much, says Jameelah, because nobody asked them whether they wanted to come here and because they’re still so close to whatever it was that came before and they can’t stand to be here on earth.

True, I say, and when mothers calm their babies it’s actually a great big lie because they’re trying to make life more bearable, you know, as in hey it’s not so bad, here look, here’s your rattle.

Exactly, says Jameelah, but the babies know better and they would rather go back where they came from.

Do you mean something like reincarnation?

I’m not sure but anyway you are pretty much brought into this world against your will, says Jameelah.

The door to the waiting room opens and Dr Mahmoudi and Anna-Lena come out.

Well, asks Jameelah.

I have to go home, says Anna-Lena holding up an envelope, I have to speak to my parents.

Are you really pregnant, I ask.

Anna-Lena nods.

What’s in the envelope, I ask.

Paperwork for the abortion.

Termination of pregnancy, says Dr Mahmoudi and puts her arm around Anna-Lena but Anna-Lena shrugs it off.

They’re going to send me away to the nunnery, I know it.

It’s the law, says Dr Mahmoudi, I’m sorry.

Noura comes into the waiting room holding a jacket and her handbag.

It’s late we have to go, she says, you know Amir doesn’t like to be alone.

You want to stay at our place tonight, asks Jameelah looking at me.

Sure, I say.

Where were you, calls Amir when Noura unlocks the apartment door, Frau Struck is seriously pissed off at you guys, she said you guys are going to have to go before the discipline committee and that you’re going to get kicked out of school, that’s what she said.

Where’s our school stuff, asks Jameelah.

I put it in my locker, where were you?

Everything’s fine, says Noura hugging Amir, have you had something to eat?

Amir shakes his head. Noura hangs up her coat and goes into the kitchen.

Where were you, Amir asks again.

It doesn’t matter, says Jameelah.

Yes it does, tell me!

No, says Jameelah.

Did you guys make up, he asks.

Jameelah and I look at each other.

I think so, we say at the same time.

Then it doesn’t matter where you were, says Amir smiling.

He points at the little table where the telephone book is.

A letter came by the way.

A letter?

Yes, he says, from the immigration department.

Mama, Jameelah yells, a letter came from the immigration department!

Noura comes back into the hall.

There, says Amir pointing at the little table. Noura grabs it and goes back into the kitchen and we follow her. When she sits down at the kitchen table to open the envelope I can see that her hand is trembling.

Well, asks Jameelah.

I look at Noura’s shoulders and back which are always straight, even when she’s sitting down. She puts the letter down on the table in front of her, braces her head in her hands, and begins to read. Suddenly her shoulders seem to shrink, smaller and smaller, and her normally straight back starts to droop, bending more and more until at some point it looks like Noura doesn’t have any bones at all anymore, like somebody removed them one after another. She puts her head on the table and collapses into herself like a hot-air balloon that’s spent, a balloon that says I just can’t do it anymore, I don’t want to inflate and rise up in the air anymore, I don’t want to carry you anymore, I don’t want to carry anyone or anything, carry yourself.

What is it, I ask.

Yeah, says Amir, what’s going on?

Jameelah yanks the letter out from under Noura’s head, reads it and then drops it on the floor and runs out to the hall. I hear the door to the apartment slam shut.

Wait, I shout.

I run as fast as I can down the stairs but when I get outside I see Jameelah disappear beyond the far side of the playground. I run across the playground toward the train station. The platform is empty. I gasp for air, for a second I think I’m going to suffocate, that’s how bad my lungs hurt. I definitely need to quit smoking, I think, and then I think what a fucked up thought that is and that I’m far too young to be thinking about shit like that. It’s not the time for me to quit smoking, it’s not the time to quit drinking, it’s not the time to quit doing anything, Jameelah and I just started again now that things are better, now that Amir’s back and Anna-Lena will soon be off to the nunnery.

I take the train to Wilmersdorfer and run over to the planet. The sky has gone dark, the clouds hang grey and heavy almost down to the roofs of the buildings. There’s nobody at the planet except Apollo and Aslagon. They are loading a shopping trolley with all sorts of stuff, old blankets, bottles, plastic bags. On top of it all is a blaring radio. The first raindrops start to hit the street.

Have you guys seen Jameelah, I yell.

Apollo shakes his head.

Haven’t seen her, he says and then he looks up at the sky and pulls his hood down over his face.

Come on, says Aslagon pushing the trolley.

What are you doing, I ask, and where are you going?

It’s going to get cold, says Apollo looking at the sky again, we’re going where it’s warm, where we can put on some fresh clothes and have a roof over our heads. Summer is over.

Aslagon nods.

What about the ship, I say, what about Naglfar and the end of the world?

Apollo looks at me and smiles and then takes off his hat like he’s making a formal greeting.

We’ll see you next year, he says.

Like a caravan in the desert, Apollo, Aslagon and the shopping trolley set slowly in motion. Soon I’m all alone at the planet and I don’t know where I should go, the rain is getting harder and spatters down on me. I’m not sure how long I stand there but I’m soaking wet when someone taps me on the shoulder from behind. It’s Nico.

Are you crazy, he says pulling me into the phone booth, you can’t just stand around in weather like this, he says, do you want to kill yourself?

No, I say, I’m looking for Jameelah.

She was just on Kurfürsten, says Nico.

Kurfürstenstrasse?

Yeah, down where the hookers stand. No idea what she’s doing there but she looked really stressed out. Did something happen?

Did you talk to her, I ask.

No, says Nico, I don’t think she saw me. But even if she did she hasn’t talked to me since all the shit with Amir. She’s obviously angry at me.

Probably.

Probably, says Nico looking at me. You were right by the way about just going to the police. I should have asked you again beforehand. It wasn’t right and I’m really sorry.

We can talk about it another time, I say, how long ago did you see Jameelah?

Not sure exactly but it wasn’t long ago.

Do you have any minutes, I ask.

Nico hands me his phone. I dial Jameelah’s number but nobody picks up.

Shit.

I’m sure it’s nothing, says Nico.

I have to go, I say.

I run to the U-bahn and take it to Kurfürsten. When I get out it’s thundering and there are flashes of lightning. I run half blind along Kurfürsten, the women have gathered under the awnings of the convenience stores to avoid getting wet, but not Jameelah, she’s sitting on our electrical box and letting the rain pour down on her. She’s holding a Müller milk in her hand, raindrops plop into it, thick drops that are dripping off Jameelah’s nose. I climb up next to her. For a while nobody says anything, we just sit there and let life float by, twenty-one minutes past, meaning just thirty-nine minutes of life left, I count slowly backwards from there until I reach zero, until I don’t have a minute left to let float by.

What was in the letter?

For a while Jameelah doesn’t say anything and I wonder to myself whether she’s counting backward from thirty-nine too, because that’s about how long it takes her to put the Müller milk container to her lips and gulp it down in one go.

The letter, says Jameelah, the letter said Ladies and Gentlemen, as you have known for a good long time, god’s earth is rotten and as a result you can no longer remain here in Germany. Please pack up your things and fuck off back to wherever it is you came from. With rotten regards, your rotten world. That’s about what it said.

It can’t be true, I say, how can it be so sudden.

My mother went back once after we moved here, says Jameelah, she just wanted to go to her mother’s funeral but they found out somehow.

So what, I say, who cares about that.

They care, says Jameelah pulling Mariacron, maracuja juice and milk out of her rucksack and mixing another round, you’re not allowed to ever go back once you’re here, otherwise you have to go back permanently.