wards, and even California's gas chamber at San Quentin
Prison. The afternoon sun that finally broke out of the
clouds cast a yellowish glow across the room. Jannik broke
the heavy silence. "Do you like music, Helle?" he asked.
"Yes I do. What kind do you think I should listen
to?"
"What kind do you like?" Jannik responded.
"Pick what you think I would like to hear."
Jannik delivered his answer in two seconds. He
spoke as he dropped his head backwards onto the top
edge of the couch. "You like same as me. You like my
favorite music, Helle."
Thinking that he was suggesting her tastes ran
like those of a typical adolescent boy, she shook her head
no and laughed. "I don't think so, Jan. I don't listen to that
stuff at all."
"Huh. I would have thought that you liked opera,"
Jannik said, continuing to bounce the back of his head
against the soft fabric. "Opera is my most favorite thing to
come into my ears. Well, that and the voices of my family."
Helle swiftly looked up from her note pad, never
trying to conceal her shock. She lived for opera, and was a
season ticket holder in three different Danish towns, and
one in Germany.
"How did you know I love opera?" Helle began.
"Nobody here knows, and I don't have any opera stickers
on my car."
"You're smart," Jannik reasoned.
"So..."
"Only smart people like opera. I'm smart. So when
you asked me what kind of music I thought you would
like, I picked opera."
"That's very kind of you to say," Helle smiled.
"It's only the truth." Jannik slumped lower on the
sofa. "No big mystery."
Helle scooted her chair to face perpendicular to the
sofa. Jannik's leg was restless, thumping to an internal
rhythm. "How about you get a little more comfortable and
lie back on the sofa," Helle offered.
"My shoes are on and they shouldn't be on here,"
he countered.
"We'll solve that," she said, dropping a folded
throw blanket on the spot where she estimated his feet
would land. "There!"
Jannik took advantage and plopped on the cushion.
"It's like in the movies. We didn't do this before. We sat
across from the desk."
"When you came to the clinic with your brother?"
she asked.
"Yeps yep!" Jannik said. "We had to sit in front of
the desk."
"Well here you don't," Helle chuckled. "They ever
give you an I.Q. test?" she continued. "I don't see anything
here about it."
"At the school they did." Jannik answered.
"Do you remember the number?"
"One-seventy I think; something like that, anyway."
"Oh, I don't think it's the right number. I'll put in a
request and find out."
"No, that's the number. They told me I can skip to
gymnasium or college if I want. But I didn't want that,"
Jannik explained.
"May I ask why?"
"Because I want to go to school with all of my
friends."
They had talked for about half an hour on
numerous, mundane subjects. Then Helle switched gears.
"How does listening to opera make you feel?"
"Like I can be and do anything," Jannik replied.
"And why is that?"
"Because if somebody can use their voice, in
another language that I don't understand, and make me
feel things I never felt before, then I know anything is
possible," Jannik explained.
"So what do you want to be?"
"The best Jannik Hansen there is. I want to not say
things that make my sister angry, or make Johnnie sad."
"I see. And why have you said things that have
hurt others; things that hurt the people you love most, and
who clearly love you?" Helle asked.
Jannik thought hard and offered the best answer
that he could. "I don't know why. That's why I'm here."
"You're an overachiever. Do you know what that
is?" Helle asked him.
"Yeah. It means I like to do so many things and
there's not enough hours in the day," he said.
"Close. It means that you always try the very best
with all of the many things that you do."
"Is that bad? To try my best?"
"No! Of course not. But let me ask you something.
When you try your best, and everybody thinks it's
amazing, are you sometimes very, very disappointed?"
Jannik lowered his head and then made a thumbs up with
his right hand. "That's an overachiever. That's someone
different than someone who just tries their best, right?"
Jannik nodded his head.
They talked for an hour about a number of subjects.
To Jannik it all appeared random. Helle would ask him
about school, then she'd talk about his home life. She
wondered about nightmares, dreams, fear, and what he
thought his place in the world is. He was open and honest
with his feelings, but felt that he had already considered
the different reasons for why things are, so at least at this
first session, he thought no progress had been made.
Then she said they'd close the session with some
word association. Fun, Jannik thought. I'll amaze her with
my knowledge of vocabulary!
"Okay, Jannik. I'll say a word; you say what you
think with another word, okay? And remember: Words,
not sentences," Helle informed him. "Here we go!"
Peace... Joy
Fear... Lonely
Lie... Sleep
Garden... Mama
Discipline... Yell
Religion... Dumb
Blood... Red
Family... Love
Boat... Ferry
Sleep... No!
King... Jack
Sex... Fucking
Football... Boring
Suicide... Pokey
Sander... Love
Ingrid... Sweet
Johnnie... Hero
Weak... Me
Strength... Mama
Injustice... Russia
Anger... Hate
Death... Dark
Admire... Brothers
Coward... Russia
War... Russia
"And last, Jannik: Wisdom..." Pop. Uh, my dad.
"Great! You did very well. Just a couple of
questions, what is pokey?" Helle wondered.
"He's my brother, Sander. It's what we call him,"
Jannik replied.
"Oh, I get it. It's his nickname."
"Yes."
"Do you have a nickname?" she asked.
"I have three that I know about; maybe people call
me things behind my back that I don't know."
"What are the three, and who named them for
you?"
"My family calls me cowboy. My grandpa started it
and everybody in my family calls me this. Johnnie named
me Cracker Jack because I always ask if he will bring them
to me from the store, and Pokey calls me Spiderman
because I drive him up the walls."
"Then shouldn't he be named Spiderman, since he's
the one who climbs the walls?" Helle commented.
"Maybe, but I was the only one
who wore the
Spiderman pajamas, so maybe that's why."
"How long have you been masturbating?"
"Whoa! That's changing the subject very fast!"
Jannik laughed.
"Does that question make you a little bit
uncomfortable?" Helle asked.
"No. Uh... Shall I answer?"
"Sure."
"Since I am ten years."
"And now you're eleven?"
"Twelve. Soon to be thirteen. And yes, I am an
expert! I'm an overachieving masturbator!" he chuckled.
Helle did her best not to join in the laughter.
"Do you ejaculate yet?"
"Oh, yes. for almost a year."
"How do you feel about that?" Helle asked. "Are
you embarrassed or regretful at all when you ejaculate?"
"No. I'm just taking my friend down there on a test
drive for someday when I am Casanova!"
"You know who Casanova is?" Helle smiled.
"Of course! I love opera, remember?"
"Ah! Yes, of course! So what kind of thoughts or
fantasies do you have when you masturbate?"
"Well, aren't they supposed to be private?" Jannik
asked.
"Absolutely! You only discuss what you wish to
discuss. That's the rule here, okay?" Jannik nodded. It was
really the only question he had balked at.
"Well, maybe we save that one if that's okay,"
Jannik said. "Can you tell me about all of the words
that you asked me? Did I pass the test?"
"I can't today because I have to go over them, but I
promise that we will."
"I'm just kind of interested is all. It's Freudian,
right? The test?" Jannik asked her.
"Yes, how did you know that?" Helle asked. Jannik
replied by smiling and tapping his temple. "You are a
smart one, I'll give you that," she smiled.
They spoke a
little more, changing gears from session talk, to general
chit chat. A nice way to bring the visit to a close.
"I've really enjoyed getting to know you, Jannik,"
Helle told him. "What did you think?"
"You're very nice," he replied. "I hope what you
discover can help me. Because I'm tired of how things are
right now, you know?" She smiled and nodded her head.
"Well, that's it for us for today; do you think you could ask
your brother to come in for a few minutes?" Helle asked.
Jannik hopped up from the sofa and scurried to the
door. He turned and gave Helle a smile before
disappearing down the hall and into the waiting room. In
moments, Sander knocked on her door frame.
"You wish to see me?" Sander asked.
"I do! Can we have a little talk about Jannik?"
"Yes, of course. May I bring Johnnie?"
"Best we keep it family only," she said. Sander
agreed and went to fetch me. We entered her office and sat
on the sofa together.
"So Johnnie, Helle says family only in here, so I had
to come get you. Helle, you've met Johnnie earlier," Sander
plainly said.
"Yes, of course." She didn't push it any further. I
was included in all of it from this point forward, which
really saved time because Sander just would have told me
every detail anyway.
"I don't have to tell you that Jannik is a very
unusual boy," Helle began. We nodded. "I don't know that
I've ever met anyone like him."
"That's a good thing, yes?" Sander asked.
"In his case it is. He's off-the-charts-smart, and his
challenge is that he's a logical thinker. And when
something as illogical as what happened to him in Russia
becomes a reality, he has no way to process the emotions
that surround all of it."
I asked her if she could give us a specific example,
and she referred to the word association test she'd just
administered.
"There were some key moments that gave me
exact clarity as to what he's feeling," Helle said. "Some
things of note were how he responded to words about the
family," she continued. "That young man absolutely
idolizes the both of you, and I'm not prepared to offer an
opinion on whether it's just a healthy respect, or something
that we need to watch."
"What did he say?" Sander asked.
Turning to her notes, she found and read the
results.
"When I said 'wisdom' he responded with 'dad'; I
said 'garden' and he said 'mama'; 'Ingrid' was 'sweet'; and
when I said 'Johnnie' the answer was 'hero'. Then I said
'Sander' and he said, 'Love'..."
"He loves me, I know. And that can't be bad,"
Sander said.
"Oh, of course not. That love is what's ultimately
going to get him through all of this. But I did give him the
word 'suicide' and he said 'Pokey'."
"Oh. Huh." Sander felt a stab when she told him
that.
"What it means in this case is that he refuses to
equate your attempt with you specifically. So he used a
substitute word that still allowed him to remain within the
realm of truth—that kid is not a liar, this I promise you—
yet avoid connecting you directly to the incident. I think
we start there," Helle concluded.
asked Helle.
"As usual," she replied. "What I would ask is that
you watch him closely, and be aware of anything that's not
right."
"Such as?"
"This is where you have the advantage of knowing
him so well. You'll know. You saw some things and now
we're here. Watch for similar, and if you ever feel the need,
I'm writing my mobile phone number here on the back of
my card. I don't care if it's night, day, or weekend. If you
need anything, pick up the phone," Helle said.
"We really thank you. You don't know how much,"
Sander said. We all shook hands and collected Jannik at
the waiting room aquarium.
"Look! These two angelfish are married," Jannik
said. "Just like you and Johnnie will be someday."
"I bet you've named all the fish and are trying to
figure out a way to take their fish house home with you!"
Sander teased.
"Nopes! If I wanted one, you'd get me my own," he
said. "This I know." And we were in the elevator and soon
headed for the carpark. "Just like I know that we're having
pizzas for dinner tonight," Jannik casually mentioned.
Chapter 17
orben spent the afternoon playing with the cats,
using a lamp cord to entice them into a warrior
T state. They each tried to best the other as they
competed for the new human's attention and approval.
There could only be one winner!
He noticed an antique photograph on the fireplace
hearth that depicted a Danish count and his small hunting
party. He wondered what the significance of the picture
was to Sander and Johnnie, then he saw that they were
standing by the front door of the very house that he was
sitting in.
The count was in his late seventies, the hunters—
likely his sons or sons-in-law—stood erect and solemn.
There were two boys—he guessed they were the dog
handlers—who were not much older than Sander's
brother, and there were the dogs.
They were real people once. They lived and played
and loved and fought by the fireplace that now held this
monochromatic blink in time. And they were all gone.
Every last one of them.
He imagined that the two boys were inseparable,
and that they loved those dogs as much as the house's
current family revered the cats that he now played with.
He also thought that, like him, they must have
imagined that death was only an abstract finality best dealt
with on another day. On the day of the photograph there
was hunting to be done. Recreation that would become
their supper. And now they were gone. Their time expired.
And surely by now they had been dead for at least twice
the time that they were alive. And the dogs? Well, at best
they would have died no more than five years after the
photo was snapped. So what was it all for?
And now Torben was staring at his own mortality
square in the face. How pathetic, he thought, that he had
lost so much self respect—not to mention the respect of his
own family—that he would look up his old friend and lay
his considerable baggage upon his doorstep.
He had expected—actually had hoped in a way—
that Sander would slam the door on his face and threaten
to call the cops if he didn't leave. That would have made it
easier to execute his original plan, which was to just
extinguish himself. He would have done it in a way that
wouldn't involve loss of blood because he didn't want to
put any Good Samaritans or emergency responders at risk.
He even planned to pin a big sign to his shirt warning that
he had AIDS. Sander and his boyfriend changed that plan.
So here he was, playing with cats and asking
himself how he'd let all of this happen to him. He felt
solely and completely responsible for everything that had
happened in his life, beginning with the day he chose to
betray the best friend he had ever known. He did it to
appear popular.
He did it to demonstrate his machismo; no one
would ever call him a fag. And if he could make the first
strike, and set Sander up before he knew Torben's plan,
there's no way anybody would believe the truth. And just
what was the truth?
The truth was this: Torben Petersen was completely
and totally in love with Sander Lars Hansen. He wanted to