me the way he did. I knew full well that I probably wouldn’t like the answer, but I still needed to hear it.
I was close enough now to smell the beer on his breath, but he seemed no wiser to my being there. I knew what I was going to do now: the only question was how much I was going to regret it. Up ahead was a corner drowning in shadow and solitude. It seemed the perfect place.
Barthel was much drunker than I was, weaving one way then the other. That was why I saw it before he did. It was why I moved quickly, as quickly as I could, throwing myself at him with every effort I could muster.
The sounds and the movement all rolled into one, tumbling over each other in a blur. I was going through the air, lights blinding me from inches away, the violent shriek of a car’s brakes, air choking out of Barthel as I crashed into his midriff, pulling him with me. We crashed onto the ground together, dust coming up and concrete bruising bones. The car was still coming to a raucous halt as we tumbled, two as one, to the safety of the other side of the narrow road.
Barthel was groaning and clearly in shock, but he had landed like a baby, relaxed enough not to suffer any harm. He rolled and sat upright, looking around bewildered.
The car’s driver, a bulky dark-haired man with bushy eyebrows, jumped out, red-faced and panicking. When he saw Barthel sitting unscathed at the side of the road, he breathed a huge sigh of relief, but quickly let loose a furious string of Faroese that didn’t sound remotely complimentary. There was a lot of pointing, mainly at the older man, but also a couple of gesticulations in my direction.
Barthel reacted with upstretched palms and then with his hands clamped firmly over his ears, shutting out the admonition. He was still in denial of the man’s fury when the driver gave up with a final bellow, slamming the car door behind him and driving off with a crunch of gears and complaining tyres.
As the car spun into the distance, Barthel and I were left in the surreal vacuum of a Torshavn night. No daylight, no dark, no sound. We might as well have been sitting by the edge of a road on the moon.
All I could hear was my own breath coming fast and the probably imagined sound of my heart beating faster than necessary. He sat strangely ashen-faced, yet with the ruddy cheeks of a man who’d been drinking all night. Somewhere overhead I heard wings beat and looked up to see the white shadows of a pair of birds slipping across the skyline.
‘Are you okay?’
Barthel looked up, seemingly as surprised by my question as he was at my being there. He focused long enough to ascertain who I was and what I meant and at last gave me a lazy nod of agreement. ‘I am okay. I am. I’m just groovy.’
I pushed myself up and walked over to him, stretching out an arm and offering it as a help to get him back on his feet. He waved it away airily and instead placed his hands on the ground and tried to lever himself up off the road. After a brief effort, he collapsed back onto his haunches and admitted defeat with a deflated flutter of his lips.
When my hand reached out to him a second time, Barthel grasped it and I hauled him upright. ‘Are you okay?’ I asked a second time.
‘Groovy, man. Just groovy.’
‘What did the guy in the car say to you?’
Barthel stared back at me, clearly making an effort at concentration, and I was reminded of the first night I saw him in the Natur and the look he gave me as he left the bar. I got the feeling he was looking at me from behind his eyes, trying to overcome first impressions. Then he answered:
‘I know who you are.’
My heart missed a beat. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized it was anatomically possible. But I felt it then.
I tried for deflection. ‘That’s what the guy told you? That he knew who you were?’
Barthel laughed. It was dry and throaty and came from deep inside him. A laugh borne from cigarettes and booze and having seen it all before.
‘No. He
I was close enough now to smell the beer on his breath, but he seemed no wiser to my being there. I knew what I was going to do now: the only question was how much I was going to regret it. Up ahead was a corner drowning in shadow and solitude. It seemed the perfect place.
Barthel was much drunker than I was, weaving one way then the other. That was why I saw it before he did. It was why I moved quickly, as quickly as I could, throwing myself at him with every effort I could muster.
The sounds and the movement all rolled into one, tumbling over each other in a blur. I was going through the air, lights blinding me from inches away, the violent shriek of a car’s brakes, air choking out of Barthel as I crashed into his midriff, pulling him with me. We crashed onto the ground together, dust coming up and concrete bruising bones. The car was still coming to a raucous halt as we tumbled, two as one, to the safety of the other side of the narrow road.
Barthel was groaning and clearly in shock, but he had landed like a baby, relaxed enough not to suffer any harm. He rolled and sat upright, looking around bewildered.
The car’s driver, a bulky dark-haired man with bushy eyebrows, jumped out, red-faced and panicking. When he saw Barthel sitting unscathed at the side of the road, he breathed a huge sigh of relief, but quickly let loose a furious string of Faroese that didn’t sound remotely complimentary. There was a lot of pointing, mainly at the older man, but also a couple of gesticulations in my direction.
Barthel reacted with upstretched palms and then with his hands clamped firmly over his ears, shutting out the admonition. He was still in denial of the man’s fury when the driver gave up with a final bellow, slamming the car door behind him and driving off with a crunch of gears and complaining tyres.
As the car spun into the distance, Barthel and I were left in the surreal vacuum of a Torshavn night. No daylight, no dark, no sound. We might as well have been sitting by the edge of a road on the moon.
All I could hear was my own breath coming fast and the probably imagined sound of my heart beating faster than necessary. He sat strangely ashen-faced, yet with the ruddy cheeks of a man who’d been drinking all night. Somewhere overhead I heard wings beat and looked up to see the white shadows of a pair of birds slipping across the skyline.
‘Are you okay?’
Barthel looked up, seemingly as surprised by my question as he was at my being there. He focused long enough to ascertain who I was and what I meant and at last gave me a lazy nod of agreement. ‘I am okay. I am. I’m just groovy.’
I pushed myself up and walked over to him, stretching out an arm and offering it as a help to get him back on his feet. He waved it away airily and instead placed his hands on the ground and tried to lever himself up off the road. After a brief effort, he collapsed back onto his haunches and admitted defeat with a deflated flutter of his lips.
When my hand reached out to him a second time, Barthel grasped it and I hauled him upright. ‘Are you okay?’ I asked a second time.
‘Groovy, man. Just groovy.’
‘What did the guy in the car say to you?’
Barthel stared back at me, clearly making an effort at concentration, and I was reminded of the first night I saw him in the Natur and the look he gave me as he left the bar. I got the feeling he was looking at me from behind his eyes, trying to overcome first impressions. Then he answered:
‘I know who you are.’
My heart missed a beat. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized it was anatomically possible. But I felt it then.
I tried for deflection. ‘That’s what the guy told you? That he knew who you were?’
Barthel laughed. It was dry and throaty and came from deep inside him. A laugh borne from cigarettes and booze and having seen it all before.
‘No. He
Similar Books
