over the violent experience. He made it sound like there had been streams of blood everywhere, but Verner had just collapsed, with little foam at the mouth, and a few jerks before I finally got rid of him. Inside I was amused, but assured him that I had friends to support me so he called for a taxi to drive me home. I had the feeling that Peter Hansen wanted to believe that I probably had a hand in the dear Verner’s death, but there was not much he could do about it.
Some days later, I was told that Verner had died of natural causes; there was no reason to do an autopsy. It was really a shame because I would have enjoyed seeing his body cut up, and the top of his skull sawed off so they could take his spiteful and vindictive brains out. I did feel a little relief, however, when cardiac arrest was accepted as the cause of death, so that should not be made an autopsy. It was a bit like an exam where you actually know that you have done well, but delude yourself into thinking that you are in doubt, until you get the confirmation. But I would, of course, not have chosen the method of Verner’s last goodbye if I was not convinced it was safe. I am always very careful when I dance with a monster who is about to be dispatched.
The funeral was a travesty; the small octagonal church was too nice for Verner. It lay behind a low hill, with a well-tended cemetery, adorned with specially selected gravestones; a place to honor the dead and to care for the living. The cone-shaped roof went up to a small bell tower and ended where a tiny weathervane stretched up against the cold blue sky. The nearby park echoed with the mournful one-tone toll from the lone but loud bell, as if anyone could make this a wonderful day when we did again commit an idiot in the grave. I stood there in tears, a little cautious and uneasy, and said my last goodbye to Verner. For some reason, Peter Hansen was there and I sensed that he was watching me, but now it seemed as if my drama had finally done enough to deserve an Oscar.
Like the scenes at his death, I had practiced this part of the drama by watching movies, but my acting talent was honed to perfection as I also used to glide effortlessly through much in my life, and especially through Verner’s final months, by making him think that I cared. He shared his miserable life story with me, and told me how terrible he felt. No one really understood him and he was very sorry for himself, always so misunderstood. He was especially furious with all those in the media who, he decided, didn’t value his great talent.
“They’re just jealous”, he whimpered like a little kid who cannot get the same toy as his best playmate has.
“They hate that I can do something they cannot, I really have talent, as opposed to them. My talent is a gift, while theirs is just a scam. Oh, those pathetic little people, they would be better off being librarians.”
And so, as he kept himself indefinitely in pathetic self-satisfaction, I turned off the sound button and pretended I was listening. As a programmed robot, I nodded patiently and appeared appreciative, with a serious, worried look as I thought about what color shoes I would buy that matched my new clothes. I looked at him with a compassionate gaze with my head slightly tilted, as if I was really there for him. At times, his megalomania was so miserable and I so full of contempt that I could hardly wait to kill him. But I told myself not to rush things.
A few second-rate journalists and small-celebrities appeared in the church, and I completed the final scenes in my own production in a complete Jackie Kennedy style, including hat and large sunglasses. A little nervous I agreed to speak “for just a moment” with the journalists who wanted to talk with Verner’s last girlfriend. I told them that he had been unhappy and felt misunderstood. His career was otherwise going well after his breakthrough in one of the first reality shows. I said we had split up because we
Some days later, I was told that Verner had died of natural causes; there was no reason to do an autopsy. It was really a shame because I would have enjoyed seeing his body cut up, and the top of his skull sawed off so they could take his spiteful and vindictive brains out. I did feel a little relief, however, when cardiac arrest was accepted as the cause of death, so that should not be made an autopsy. It was a bit like an exam where you actually know that you have done well, but delude yourself into thinking that you are in doubt, until you get the confirmation. But I would, of course, not have chosen the method of Verner’s last goodbye if I was not convinced it was safe. I am always very careful when I dance with a monster who is about to be dispatched.
The funeral was a travesty; the small octagonal church was too nice for Verner. It lay behind a low hill, with a well-tended cemetery, adorned with specially selected gravestones; a place to honor the dead and to care for the living. The cone-shaped roof went up to a small bell tower and ended where a tiny weathervane stretched up against the cold blue sky. The nearby park echoed with the mournful one-tone toll from the lone but loud bell, as if anyone could make this a wonderful day when we did again commit an idiot in the grave. I stood there in tears, a little cautious and uneasy, and said my last goodbye to Verner. For some reason, Peter Hansen was there and I sensed that he was watching me, but now it seemed as if my drama had finally done enough to deserve an Oscar.
Like the scenes at his death, I had practiced this part of the drama by watching movies, but my acting talent was honed to perfection as I also used to glide effortlessly through much in my life, and especially through Verner’s final months, by making him think that I cared. He shared his miserable life story with me, and told me how terrible he felt. No one really understood him and he was very sorry for himself, always so misunderstood. He was especially furious with all those in the media who, he decided, didn’t value his great talent.
“They’re just jealous”, he whimpered like a little kid who cannot get the same toy as his best playmate has.
“They hate that I can do something they cannot, I really have talent, as opposed to them. My talent is a gift, while theirs is just a scam. Oh, those pathetic little people, they would be better off being librarians.”
And so, as he kept himself indefinitely in pathetic self-satisfaction, I turned off the sound button and pretended I was listening. As a programmed robot, I nodded patiently and appeared appreciative, with a serious, worried look as I thought about what color shoes I would buy that matched my new clothes. I looked at him with a compassionate gaze with my head slightly tilted, as if I was really there for him. At times, his megalomania was so miserable and I so full of contempt that I could hardly wait to kill him. But I told myself not to rush things.
A few second-rate journalists and small-celebrities appeared in the church, and I completed the final scenes in my own production in a complete Jackie Kennedy style, including hat and large sunglasses. A little nervous I agreed to speak “for just a moment” with the journalists who wanted to talk with Verner’s last girlfriend. I told them that he had been unhappy and felt misunderstood. His career was otherwise going well after his breakthrough in one of the first reality shows. I said we had split up because we
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