The MisFit: The Early Years Read online

  His silence emboldened me. He’d always given in to her, the bitch. Took her side against me. Capitulated to her every whim.

  And where had it gotten him?

  She publicly humiliated him . . . slutting around with a lesser man. Shutting him out of her life after the death of Alexei. Demanding he remove me and Dimitri from her home because of our offensive natures.

  What kind of mother abandons her surviving child?

  “I think we should scare her before we kill her,” Dimitri said as we walked home from school in late March.

  “How?” I turned my collar up against the wind.

  “Does the ambassador stay with her every night?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “We could check tonight . . .”

  So we did. Sneaking out of the house after Emma went to bed offered no problems.

  Except watching for police. The cops were always on the lookout for kids being on the streets at late hours.

  Both Dimitri and I looked less and less like young kids. Emma’s cooking—totally lacking imagination—relied heavily on butter and cream. Both he and I gained weight and inches in height. The hours we spent trudging through the city after school built muscles and gave us a wind-blown ruddiness that made us appear older—teenagers at least.

  Worries about over-zealous cops diminished the first night we caught the bus to our old house. We arrived at ten past eleven. No sign of Herr Karppinen’s Grosser. No lights inside. No barking dogs or other disturbances to the quiet neighborhood. We slipped into the back garden, closing the gate behind us.

  The wind had died down, but the temperature had also dropped. The thirty-minute walk from the train station felt like a trek across Siberia. We decided on the train versus the bus because we thought there was less likelihood the train conductor would remember us.

  My parents’ bedroom was located at the rear of the old house and overlooked a frozen garden. French windows faced an inactive fountain and several denuded trees. Dimitri and I had brought pockets filled with fine gravel from the current house. We pelted the French windows at intermittent intervals.

  Eight minutes after our arrival, a light went on in the bedroom. We shrank behind the trees. Five minutes passed. My feet went as dead as the tree limbs. Dimitri blew on his gloved hands.

  The lights finally went out.

  We resumed strafing the windows.

  The lights came on.

  Dimitri yowled like a cat.

  The lights went out.

  I broke off a frozen tree limb and dragged it across the windows. Dimitri shelled more pebbles at the glass panes.

  This time, after turning on more lights, my mother came to the window and pushed back the drapes. Backlit by the lamps, she viewed the vast openness of the black garden. Her glorious blonde hair glowed in the soft light. She turned her head from side to side, and her hair swung out behind her like ropes of silvered gold.

  Dimitri and I barely breathed.

  She let the curtains drop. A few seconds later, the lights in her bedroom went off again.

  Freezing, risking a sudden appearance of the neighborhood cop, Dimitri and I stayed there for another half an hour. On our way out of the garden, we tossed the last of our rocks at the windows. I dragged the limb across our footprints on our way to the gate.

  We ran as if chased by a policeman back to the train station and boarded the last train, out of breath. We showed great self-discipline by sitting in our seats without congratulating each other. As we walked home, we relived our triumph, laughing, deciding a twenty-four-hour moratorium made sense before repeating our performance. We tiptoed into the current house, crept past Emma’s room, and fell in our separate beds.

  I dreamed of my mother’s terror.

  Chapter 36

  Finding Adventure

  Dimitri and I continued to play the good boys in Emma’s presence. On our own, we arrived at school as late as possible and left as soon as classes ended. We explored Copenhagen like tourists and kicked an old beggar who approached us in Tivoli Gardens. A passing woman witnessed the scene and screamed, Police. Police.

  Naturally, we ran from the park and hopped the first bus. It was crowded with older students and elderly people with bulging food bags. No one paid us any attention, but we got off after three stops in the Latin Quarter. So did most of the students since the university was within walking distance.

  “Are you lost?” a young man loaded with books asked.

  “No, we’re seeing the sights,” we replied in our best English.

  “Ah.” He nodded and shifted his books. “I didn’t think you were Danes.”

  Our heads were covered, but of course our dark eyes had given us away since, except for Jews, few Middle Easterners or Russians populated Denmark.

  “Our father is waiting for us at Tivoli Gardens,” I said. “He attended the university and thought we might like to visit.”

  “Okay, if you want, I can take you to the main campus. But I warn you, it’s not very exciting.”

  “Thank you.” Dimitri looked at me. “I think we’ll go find our father.”

  We waited until the student trudged onward, then caught another bus to downtown. Dimitri and I agreed we could not risk drawing attention to ourselves. We doubted the bum in Tivoli could identify us, but we had plans for the night that didn’t include speaking with the police.

  Chapter 37

  A Gift for a Queen

  “Let’s find another bum to kick,” Dimitri whispered in Russian on our ride from the Latin Quarter.

  “Too boring.”

  He shrugged. “I liked it. I heard a bone crack.”

  “We need to do something different. Something daring.”

  “Aren’t we going to your mother’s tonight?”

  “Not for six hours.”

  “Do you have an idea?”

  I nodded, the idea growing on me, giving me a sense that beating up the snobbish girl, frightening my mother, kicking the old man in the park—nothing we’d done so far matched giving Alexei that shove.

  “Let’s find a gift for my mother.”

  “What kind of gift?”

  “The kind she won’t forget.”

  The pet shop I decided on bordered Kongens Enghave, one of the poorest districts in the city. The area had a reputation for rough gangs of workers laid off from the Ford plant and other industries over the past few years. The neighborhood was perfect for what I wanted, but well-dressed kids like me and Dimitri would be easy prey. Dimitri agreed.

  So we hung out behind the pet shop until closing time. The owner, a hump-backed crone, took forever closing the shop. My excitement grew. Next to me, I could smell Dimitri’s sweaty tension. A light went on in the back of the shop, and we moved into the alley. As the old woman came out the door, Dimitri struck her on the head with his book bag.

  She crashed to the ground. Her keys flew across the dirty snow. I pocketed them. The two of us pulled her back into the shop and shut the door.

  “Damn!” I checked each aquarium on either side of the white mice. “No rats.”

  “Too bad we can’t go with a nice poisonous snake.” Dimitri stood in front of a glass display case where several glossy snakes slithered over each other.

  Pasted to the padlocked door, a large white sign with red letters read: WARNING. Only attendant can handle these highly poisonous reptiles.

  I chuckled and scooped two mice into a box. “You are an evil little boy, Dimitri.”

  “We’d better leave. The old woman’s coming ’round.”

  “Right behind you.”

  As we closed the door, the old woman remained face down, moaning. Would she come to and call the police? My skin prickled. What would happen if the police showed up before we made our getaway? Or if we waited until they showed up and ran away?

  “Let’s go, Michael!”

  Reluctantly, I jogged down the alley.

  Chapter 38

  Never Judge a Package by Its Shiny Wrapping<
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  At Magasin du Nord, Copenhagen’s oldest department store, we found gift wrap, tape, ribbon, and scissors—all of which I picked up and paid for wearing my gloves. The sales clerk volunteered I had good taste, and Dimitri moved to another register to laugh.

  We hurried outside after my transaction, taking turns carrying the boxed mice.

  He said, “I think we should kill the mice before you wrap the box.”

  “I want them alive.”

  “I can take their tails and smash their heads on the ground.”

  “I like imagining her opening the box. Two live mice jump out. Maybe in her face. Down the front of her robe. She screams. They run off and hide in her living room.”

  “Yeah.” He laughed. “Yeah. I like that picture.”

  Wrapping the mice in a coffee shop posed too big a risk so we sat on a park bench and listened to the creatures scurry inside the box.

  “They make a lot of noise,” Dimitri said.

  His statement of the obvious struck a nerve. I snapped, “So what would you suggest—besides killing them?”

  “Make a nest. Not out of paper. It rustles.”

  “Out of what, then? Thin air?”

  “I could go back into Magasin and buy—”

  “No time. Stay here. I have an idea.” I always had the ideas.

  I took the scissors, went into the men’s toilet, and dropped my trousers. In less than five minutes, I had snipped away the front of my underwear—the perfect nest for my furry friends. Too bad the fabric was clean instead of smeared with my excrement.

  Dimitri acknowledged my brilliance with a clap on the back. I cut and taped the glittery paper around the box. Finished, we dumped our leftover materials and caught the first bus within walking distance of the old house.

  We could have found a delivery service, but I was worried the clerk would remember me and Dimitri. Besides, I wanted the fun of standing nearby when my mother opened her gift.

  It was snowing as we got off the bus. Gusting winds slapped us in the face, but we trudged onward. The Grosser sat in front of the house, and the simmering rage inside me reached boiling.

  God, if only the box contained one of those snakes instead of harmless rodents.

  The walk to the front door had been recently cleaned of snow. No worries about leaving footprints. While I approached the doorbell, Dimitri scruffed the snow around the bushes where we’d hide after my delivery. I rang the bell, then leaped off the front step and scooted under a bush.

  Nora opened the door, looked around for a caller, picked up the package beautifully wrapped in shining silver paper, and returned inside.

  “One thousand one, one thousand two,” Dimitri and I whispered, taking turns. “One thousand three, one thousand four. One thous—”

  Our counting was cut off by my mother’s enamel-shattering scream.

  Chapter 39

  Faces of Innocence

  The knock on the door came during dessert.

  Emma frowned, but rose from the table. Dimitri and I continued eating. We had practiced faking innocent faces on the bus home from my mother’s, then with Emma. She accepted our apologies for being late and accepted the small box of chocolates I’d bought at the last minute at our neighborhood patisserie.

  The voices at the front door rose and faded. Dimitri and I ate more of our baked apples with cream. Emma had served them with small homemade butter cookies. Our long afternoon—without tea—had whetted our appetites. I theorized that mental activity required more energy than physical action. Kicking the bum and hitting the pet-shop crone happened, I thought in retrospect, almost involuntarily.

  Emma appeared in the dining room doorway. “Michael, Dimitri, this is Officer Marten. He insists on asking you a few questions.”

  Dimitri and I rose from our chairs and laid our napkins next to our unfinished apples.

  “Sir?” I said, keeping my eyelids lowered.

  “Sir?” Dimitri repeated, making eye contact per our agreement.

  “Can you lads tell me where you were an hour ago?” asked Officer Marten.

  “We stopped at Lille Chocolaterie,” I said. “We wanted to thank Emma for the wonderful meals she’s prepared for us lately.”

  Officer Marten pulled out a pad and scribbled something on it with a silver pen I thought was expensive for a policeman.

  “Where were you before that?”

  “You mean after school?” Dimitri asked.

  “Yes. You leave school around three, right? You didn’t get home till after six.”

  “Yes, we stopped—” I shrugged. “We went to Frederiksberg Runddel to go skating.”

  “Frederiksberg Runddel? That’s quite a distance from here. Did you rent skates?”

  “Nossir,” I said with a hint of disappointment. “There were too many people. The bus ride’s long, but we don’t mind. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

  “How long did you hang out there?”

  “I’m not sure.” I looked at Dimitri.

  He said, “I don’t know. For a while. We went for hot chocolate, but it’s hard to get a table when you’re young.”

  “They came home starved,” Emma volunteered.

  “I imagine.” Officer Marten dashed off another line in his open book. “Your mother—Mrs. Romanov—had quite a scare tonight.”

  “Really?” Dimitri asked.

  I opened my eyes wide. “What happened?”

  “She thinks you boys were behind the scare.” Officer Marten arched his eyebrows.

  Did he think the gesture would bring me and Dimitri to our knees? I avoided even a glance at my friend.

  Emma opened her mouth. Was she going to defend us? I was pretty sure she didn’t understand the living arrangements between my parents. For all she knew, my father still loved my mother. What she knew for sure? My father paid her salary. Emma pressed her lips together.

  When the silence stretched out too long, Office Marten flipped his book shut and returned it to his front pocket.

  “Your mother had a nasty trick played on her.” He trained his gaze on mine, then dropped his eyes. “Boys will be boys, but I certainly hope Mrs. Romanov is mistaken about—about this. So you know. We’ll have a patrolman checking her house for the next few nights.”

  Chapter 40

  The Way to a Good Woman’s Heart

  Whatever Emma’s thoughts about Officer Marten’s visit, she kept them to herself. She did, however, serve me and Dimitri an extra apple before she hustled us off to study.

  As soon as she finished in the kitchen and went to her room, Dimitri tapped on my wall. Ohhhh, Officer Marten is scary.

  Ohhhh. I suppose we should stay home tonight—because of the patrolman.

  Ohhhh. I suppose your mother will sleep like a baby.

  If I have anything to say, she’ll never wake up again.

  I’m sure Herr Karppinen has no fear of white mice.

  We could always send him a snake . . .

  On that note, we said good-night. I wanted to stay awake and think about a possible plan to ensure “The Carp” paid for making my mother a whore, but I fell asleep without hearing the rat-a-tat-tat of Emma’s shower.

  Emma greeted us at breakfast with huge bowls of oatmeal blended with chopped apricots, almonds, and a river of thick cream. Havarti and Danish ham on buttered rye completed our meal—absolutely Epicurean from a cook without talent.

  As we ate, she said, “Tak for the chocolates. I enjoyed them last night with my television show.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said.

  “Did you like the ones with or without nuts?” Dimitri asked.

  The bizarre conversation continued throughout the meal.

  Dark chocolate versus milk chocolate.

  Fruit or no fruit.

  Plain versus liquor infused.

  The tête-à-tête became so animated that I worried Emma would kiss me and Dimitri good-bye.

  “Come home early tonight.” She waved at us from the front step. “I am mak
ing something special.”

  “What the hell?” Dimitri whooped as soon as we were out of earshot. “What was in that candy?”

  “I think she feels sorry for us. We might as well be orphans. If she reads the social columns, she knows my mother goes everywhere now with Karpinen.”

  “C’mon. She’d feel—what?—compassion for us because your mother goes out with The Carp?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “Really?” He boarded the bus in front of me, chose a seat, and waited for me to take the window seat. “I’ve never met a woman with a heart.”

  “I didn’t say I trusted her.” I checked over my shoulder at the woman behind us and switched to Russian. “I meant to say we can use Emma. She is now our slave.”

  Chapter 41

  A Lesson Learned

  I spent more and more of every class thinking about revenge. A new math and biology tutor never materialized. Did my indisposed mother even read Herr Petersen’s note?

  Shortly before lunch the morning after our mouse escapade, Fru Jensen called me out of the geography group. We sat at the back of the room near the seedlings we cultivated through the winter months for planting in the spring. Her dirt-colored suit matched her drab hair, pulled into a horse patty falling over her high forehead. She had marinated in enough orange blossom cologne to gag me. Still, I sat next to her, hands in my lap, the model student.

  She began without any warning. “I notice you’ve been distracted for a while now, Michael. Since your brother’s death.”

  “I miss him.” I dropped my gaze to my hands and swallowed the tickle in my throat.

  “I’m sure you do. I remember him well. He was a wonderful student. Got along well with everyone. He had many, many friends.”

  “I wish I were more like him.” The lie grated my throat like Velcro.

  “How do you think you could be more like him?” Her voice carried the fake gentleness adults use with children, dogs, and the mentally retarded. My IQ easily surpassed hers by a hundred plus points.