Aidt Naja Marie - Rock, paper, scissors

The emotions unleashed... are painfully universal. Yet you know exactly where in the universe you are. This is the hallmark of great short stories, from Chekhovs portraits of discontented Russians to Joyces struggling Dubliners.

Radhika Jones, Time

Without question one of the bestand possibly the beststory collection(s) of the year, Aidts [Baboon] appears for the first time in English after winning a major Nordic prize. Prepare to brave the darkness.

Jonathon Sturgeon, Flavorwire

Undoubtedly one of the most intelligent writers of the contemporary literary world, Aidt is also clearly one of the most compassionateand therefore one of the most importantvoices in fiction. How she bears the weight of such empathic descriptions of her characters, who we feel for as though we had stumbled directly into their lives, is a credit to her brilliant insight into the human condition.

Jordan Anderson, Music & Literature

This collection is for those who delight in the eccentric and the atmospheric; Aidt inspires readers to read between the lines.

Publishers Weekly

A major literary event.

Los Angeles Review of Books

Unusual, laconic language and... extraordinary plots.... You are faced with a universe that unmistakably is that of Naja Marie Aidt.

World Literature Today

ALSO BY NAJA MARIE AIDT

Baboon

Copyright Naja Marie Aidt & Gyldendal, Copenhagen, 2012.

Published by agreement with Gyldendal Group Agency.

Translation copyright K. E. Semmel, 2015

Originally in Denmark as Sten saks papir

First edition, 2015

All rights reserved

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data: Available.

ISBN-13: 978-1-940953-17-5

Literary quotes within the novel are sourced from:

Epigraph: The Tenth Elegy by Rainer Maria Rilke, trans. by Stephen Mitchell. / Blade Runner (Film), screenplay by Hampton Fancher and David Webb Peoples. / The Collected Poems of Frank OHara, edited by Donald Allen. California UP, 1995. Poem used: Jane Awake. / The Essential Haiku Versions of Basho, Buson, and Issa, edited and with verse translation by Robert Hass. Ecco Press, 1994. / Ode to Celery from Landesprache (1960) by Hans Magnus Enzensberger, trans. K. E. Semmel. / I laugh as if my pots were clean from My Life by Lyn Hejinian. Green Integer, 2002. / All Souls and Death Fugue from Poems of Paul Celan, trans. by Michael Hamburger, Persea Books, 1988. / Ninth Elegy by Rainer Maria Rilke, trans. Stephen Mitchell. / We Two, How Long We were Foold from Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman. Norton Critical Edition, 1973.

This project is supported in part by a grant from the Danish Arts Foundation.

This project is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.

Design by N. J. Furl

Open Letter is the University of Rochesters nonprofit, literary translation press: Lattimore Hall 411, Box 270082, Rochester, NY 14627

www.openletterbooks.org

And we, who have always thought of happiness rising, would feel the emotion that overwhelms us whenever a happy thing falls.

Rainer Maria Rilke, The Tenth Elegy (trans. by Stephen Mitchell)

Contents

A man cuts across the street in the city center. Its drizzling. The traffic is earsplitting and intense, from shouting to dogs barking, from roadwork to the wailing of ambulances and the cooing of doves, from children screaming in their strollers to the metro rumbling beneath the streets, from hyperactive teenagers to the muttering homeless, from buses to street hawkers. Thomas crosses the street, a thin leather portfolio tucked under one arm, an umbrella under the other, and on his heels a plump, blonde woman hustles to match his pace. When shes almost at his side she clutches his jacket, her cotton coat flapping behind her like a tail or a kite, and glances about wildly. A car races toward them at high speed. She gasps and lunges ahead, and at last theyre safe on the sidewalk, and Jenny lets go of Thomas. She says, Cant you use the crosswalk like a normal person? You almost got me killed. Her eyes are wide and bright.

Have you been crying?

I wasnt crying.

It looked like you were crying back there.

Maybe I was crying on the inside. I was dying of hunger. She raises her chin defiantly and begins to walk. Thomas follows. They head down a side street, away from the noise, a long, narrow street, poorly lit. Its 6:30 P.M. and darkness expands around them. The air is cool. A raindrop pelts Thomass cheek, and before long theyre seated opposite one other at a table in a small restaurant. Thomass eyes roam across the objects between them: a green ceramic bowl filled with olive oil, a breadbasket, salt and pepper shakers, a carafe of water, and two mismatched glasses. Jennys chubby white hand fidgets with a napkin. Then she leans back and looks at him. What did you think about the lawyer? Should we hire him?

Do we have a choice?

I guess not. Why were you so late?

I dont know. Maybe I was hesitant.

Hesitant? Why hesitant?

He smiles at her and lights a cigarette. Does it even matter now?

Do you have to smoke?

Yes.

Are you even allowed to smoke here?

Yes. What are you going to eat? You want a glass of wine?

I want a Bloody Mary. And pasta with pancetta. And a salad. Remember the olives we had the last time we were here? You think we can get them again?

The waiter, a stooped older man with wavy black hair, takes their orders and disappears into the kitchen. When the door swings open, Thomas sees two young men, one hunched over some steaming pots, the other grappling with a frying pan. In the warmth of the kitchen, their faces gleam with sweat. But its cool in the high-ceilinged room theyre in. Thomas shivers. A middle-aged woman behind the bar polishes drinking glasses. The restaurant isnt even half full. Remember when Dad brought us here the night of the accident, after youd been to the emergency room? We sat over there. Jenny points at a table next to the window. I think it mustve been this same waiter, back when he was young. You were pale as a sheet. How old were we?