The Dinosaur Feather by S. J. Gazan Page B

Jeanette just tells me to shut up, it’s the fashion, she says, what’s that all about? And Jeanette had started going to yoga all the time and he wasn’t getting any, what the hell was that all about, no, he missed the good old days, when he was single, blah-blah-blah. His bark was infinitely worse than his bite. Søren knew perfectly well that Henrik loved his wife and daughters and would do anything for them.
    Søren hadn’t mentioned to Henrik that he and Vibe were going through a rough patch and whenever Henrik tried to pry with his
what’s up, you getting any these days?
he deflected him. His private life was nobody’s business. Nor had he told Henrik he was home alone, but when they were cooling off in the locker room after their squash game, Søren blurted out that Vibe had gone to Barcelona. He could have kicked himself. Henrik lit up like a Christmas tree; the two of them were going to hit the town. He called Jeanette from the locker room, and Søren could hear an argument erupt—something to do with their younger daughter—and quietly hoped this would lead to their night out being canceled. But Henrik stood his ground. Bitch, he said, as he hung up, she can go to her power yoga some other fucking time. Time for them to have some beers.
    “I don’t know,” Søren said, pulling his sweater over his head. “I was just going to get a pizza and watch a DVD at home. I’m bushed.”
    “You’re a boring old fart, that’s what you are,” Henrik scoffed.
    Søren said nothing.
    They found a small bar in Vesterbro and got drunk. Henrik grew increasingly raucous, and Søren was desperate to leave when Henrik struck up a conversation with two women at the table next to them. One was called Katrine, she was from Århus, but had lived in Copenhagen for a few years while she was training to be a teacher; her course would finish just after Christmas. She was very dark, like a gypsy, even though she spoke with a strong Jutland accent. What did Søren do for a living? They got talking and, at Henrik’s suggestion, they pushed their tables together. Later they went on to a club that Søren had never been to before. He felt strangely animated, oblivious. It was wonderful. His old life seemed so far away.
    At two o’clock in the morning he decided to call it a night and went to find a cab. Katrine wanted to share it. She lived on H. C. Ørstedsvej and could be dropped off on the way. Afterward, Søren could barely remember how they had started kissing. It was so random. When the cab stopped outside Katrine’s block, she invited him in. He nodded and paid the cab fare.
    Katrine lived in a two-bedroom attic apartment with coconut mats, plants, and lots of books. She went to brush her teeth and he could have left then, but he stayed, flipping through a book with photographs of churches. She even unloaded her washing machine and hung her clothes out to dry on a rack in the living room, as though she was deliberately giving him a chance to reconsider. He told her about Vibe. His girlfriend, who was in Barcelona on business. Katrine just smiled and said Barcelona was great. He stayed. They made love, and it was wonderful. Different, because she wasn’t Vibe. Søren had been unfaithful to Vibe a couple of times at the beginning of their relationship, but that was years ago. Katrine felt and tasted different.
    He stayed the night. The next morning Katrine got up and made toast and coffee for them. It was nice. They didn’t exchange telephone numbers, and Søren went home.
    Later that afternoon Søren was racked with remorse, the strength of which he hadn’t believed possible. He took a shower, but it was no good. Henrik telephoned and behaved intolerably. She was hot, wasn’t she, eh? Had he done something about it? Of course he hadn’t. Søren pretended to be offended and ended the conversation. Vibe would be back in three days, and during those three days Søren forced himself to think about having children. His guilt