Justine Read Online Free Page A

him to take it. Did you see?”
    She bends aside so I can see the baby’s face.
    â€œIt’s funny,” she says. “It really does seem to help a bit.”
    Now it’s choking him. She pulls on the pacifier to persuade him to take it again, but he refuses. So she steps over the mattress, takes a seat at the table, and starts liberating her breasts.
    â€œThere’s been a lot of turnover out here lately,” she says.
    The boy’s big irises scream: Help. With a hand she supports his head and forces it onto her breast. He has no choice but to accept the nipple that’s swollen and pearled white. The boy coughs and milk streams out.
    â€œBut you’re next to Trine Markhøj. You know Trine pretty well, right?”
    Burp. Ane holds the baby out from her, milk splatters the floor.
    â€œTake him,” she says.
    She tucks her breasts back into place. The boy’s a disaster, a baby elephant that’s shat itself.
    â€œIt wasn’t your fault,” I say.
    He goes back in the carriage and Ane starts rocking.
    â€œYou have to do it with some force. That makes him fall asleep faster,” she says.
    Back and forth, back and forth, she doesn’t take up much space without the kid. Her gaze makes a final sweep and lands on me.
    â€œI should go.”
    Good.

W hen did the whole thing with Ane and Torben start? Let’s see, it was probably back during the Berlin trip with Ole Willum, a teacher at the academy of arts. We were staying in the academy’s apartment on the attic floor of a large estate out by the Spree. The gable fronting the water had two large glass doors, but the balcony itself was missing, all that remained of it were the iron fittings to which it was once attached.
    Torben leaned carefully out and groaned. He was afraid of heights, he said, and didn’t want to get too close to the windows. When it came time to choose where we’d sleep, he chose one of the other rooms.
    Ole Willum had a show at a small gallery in the city and we were supposed to head out there after unpacking. Torben, a couple of other guys, and Rose, she was always hanging out with the boys, turned up quite a bit later than the rest of us. They were already in high spirits, and were carrying two bags of Weißbier bottles. Ane and I each grabbed a beer and went outside. With a loud laugh, Rose swung her bottle so that it splashed Ane.
    â€œOh, sorry, little Ane,” she said, giggling again and shoving Torben who shoved her back.
    Inside the gallery the rest of the students were walking around and experiencing the installation. Willum had created three universes that he’d taken from Björk songs, a red space, a blue one, and a white, each equipped with diverse effects, furniture, and some curtains.
    Ane gave Rose a dirty look.
    â€œSo, aren’t you going in to see the exhibit?” she asked.
    Rose didn’t hear her, but kept fooling around with Torben and the others.
    Willum said our task during the trip was to create a book. The actual content could be whatever we wanted, but the point was to translate an art project onto the books’ pages, just like he’d translated Björk’s “All Is Full of Love” to the show’s white space and her “Come to Me” to the red.
    That evening Willum invited two of his friends, an artist couple, to the apartment. The woman, her name was Leise, had done several art books. She showed us her latest, a print series that more or less gave the identical impression of being somewhat dark, somewhat moist, somewhat hairy, somewhat bulbous. The book was entitled     Durch . Leise explained that the impressions had been taken the moment a baby emerged from its mother’s womb. She’d attended twenty-five births, and the instant the baby bubbled forth from between its laboring mother’s legs, Leise had pressed the paper to its bloody cranium.
    Torben, who was well plied with Weißbier