A Father's Affair Read Online Free

breeze. Our last vacation together.)
    ‘So what do
you
know, Ellen? What do you know that I don’t? What did Monika tell you? She must have told you
something
? Girl-talk, don’t kid me, I know you
talked about those things. Women do that. Who was it, Ellen, come on: who, who, who?’
    But Ellen insists that she knows nothing.
    ‘I was in Ecuador then, remember?’
    ‘Yeah, but later, after you got back. She must have said something. Sort of skirted around it, maybe. A little hint, something you didn’t pick up on at the time. Jesus, Ellen, the
two of you were
intimate
back then. The two of you shared fucking
everything.
And now you’re trying to tell me she never said a word about that? Don’t lie to me,
Ellen. I can’t stand any more lies! Oh, Jesus Christ, Ellen, don’t start crying. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that,
but shit, Ellen, what am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to do with this?’
    Later that evening: ‘Will you marry me?’
    ‘Yes.’

6
    I told Bo that I couldn’t have any more children. That my sperm was no good any more.
    ‘Been too long since I used it for what it’s meant for.’
    That made him laugh. He doesn’t mind not having a new little brother or sister. He only thinks it’s too bad for Ellen. That’s what he said: ‘What a drag for
Ellen.’
    ‘Yeah,’ I said.
    And that was that.
    When Bo was a baby, I could spend hours looking at him. How he rubbed the sleep from his eyes with fists that weren’t fists yet. How he took in the world, without
understanding, with those big, hungry eyes. How he burped. How he slobbered. How he discovered the miracle of his own body (those pink things there, right in front of my face, those things belong
to me, that’s me!).
    The day that Bo rolled over all by himself, from his stomach to his back, I bought a bottle of champagne, and that evening Monika and I drank it all. When the bottle was empty, we made love on
the floor, against the bathroom door, and finally in bed, doggy style, while Bo lay below Monika, crooning and snatching at her breasts.
    ‘Love, Bo,’ I said, when Monika was asleep, ‘love, that’s what it’s all about. The rest is just crap.’
    ‘God is love, Bo,’ I said, ‘and love is God. There are a lot of misunderstandings about that. Because the first part, a lot of people say that, but the second one, not too many
people believe that.’
    As long as I kept my eyes open I felt pleasantly drunk, but as soon as I closed them I saw red and yellow spots spinning around like crazy. I burped. Bo laughed. Monika sighed in her sleep. A
shadow passed over Bo’s face. That brought tears to my eyes.
    ‘Listen carefully, Bo,’ I said, ‘because this is about the “purification of an 86-kDa nuclear DNA-associated protein complex”. And, as you know,
you can never start too early on your hard sciences.’
    Bo bit his teething ring and looked at me with big eyes.
    ‘“Hela cells,”’ I read out loud, ‘“were cultured in Dulbecco’s modified Eagle’s medium containing 10 per cent fetal bovine serum.” And what
do you think happened then? “Gels were stained with a 0.3 per cent Coomassie brilliant blue.” It’s pure witchcraft, Bo! Modern-day alchemy!’
    Just after Bo was born I found work as proof-reader with a scientific publishing house, a job I’ve held ever since. Every two weeks I picked up a pile of proofs for a professional journal
for biochemists, with a worldwide circulation of less than a thousand. At first I struggled with the scientific jargon, but soon I was able to read the articles as easily as recipes in a cookbook,
even though the meaning of the recipes remained entirely obscure.
    ‘Who is this mysterious Dr Dulbecco?’ I asked Bo. ‘And how did that fetal bovine serum end up in this Eagle’s medium? What paint shop would you have to go to for
Coomassie’s brilliant blue? And what do you get when it’s diluted to 0.3 per