The Half Brother: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

interesting characters and razor-sharp composition. An Aristotelian build-up to orgasm. Porn for a modern audience. For women as well as for men and all the rest of us. It’s Nora meets Deep Throat. It’s timeless.”
    It was the Englishman who got up first. The Danes followed. They shook hands with Peder. Business cards were exchanged. “We’ll keep in touch,” Peder said. “Barnum can get through a first draft in a couple of months.” “Remind him it’s Ibsen,” Torben said. “Not pay-TV!” Peder gave a shout of laughter. “No worries! I’ve got Barnum under control.”
    The big boys left. We remained sitting. Peder was taciturn. Peder is the only person I describe in such a way. When Peder elected to be silent, he truly became taciturn. Now he was taciturn as never before. I’ve learned to live with it. If there’s anything in this world I’m able to do, it’s to be in the company of taciturn people. All you have to do is to shut up yourself and see who says something first. Peder lost. “Well, that went splendidly,” he said and looked at me. “You arrived three hours late, and when you finally did arrive you were quite unapologetic, still drunk as a lord and empty-handed. Unbelievable. Cheers, Barnum.” We drank for a bit and then it was my turn to say something. “Do you think Meryl Streep’ll play the duck?” I asked. Peder looked away. “You’re right on the edge, Barnum. Good God. Aristotelian pom!” “What do you mean by on the edge?” “You know exactly what I mean.” “No, I don’t, as a matter of fact.” Peder turned around sharply to face me. “I’ve seen this before, Barnum. I’ve seen you fall. And I won’t bother to go looking for you any more.” I got up. Suddenly I was scared. It was that image from the elevator that returned, a whole hive of faces that stung me, one after another. “Damn it, Peder. I hate the way they talk. Rain Man meets Autumn Sonata. All that shit they come out with. I just loathe it.” “Yes, yes. I hate it every bit as much as you do. But do you see me putting on airs and graces? That’s the way they talk. They all talk like that. The Graduate meets Home Alone and Waterfront meets Pretty Woman. One day we’ll talk like that too.” Peder put down his schnapps, rested his head in his hands and became taciturn once again. “I met Lauren Bacall,” I told him. Slowly Peder looked up. “What are you talking about?” I sat down again. I had to be seated to tell him this. “I saw Lauren Bacall,” I repeated. “I almost touched her.” Peder moved his chair closer, the edge of a smile just visible. “Our Lauren Bacall?” “Peder, now. Is there any other Lauren Bacall than ours?” “Of course not. Forgive me. I’m not quite myself.” At that moment I saw three moneybags leaving the place. I took Peder’s hand; it was warm and trembling. “What did she look like?” he breathed. I took my time. “Like a sphinx,” I replied. “Like a blue sphinx that has torn loose from a floodlit plinth.” “Good, Barnum.” “It was raining and she didn’t get wet, Peder.” “I can see it all before me, Barnum.” I think that for a moment Peder too was transported into dreams. His face became quite childlike, and I could clearly see the goose pimples from the collar of his shirt to his ears, as though they had frozen there that night in row 14 of Rosenborg Cinema, when together we put our arms around Vivian as Lauren Bacall said with those husky, inflaming words, Nothing you can’t fix.
    Then it was as if he awoke and had suddenly aged. A great furrow I’d never noticed before slanted down from his left eye, in the midst of lines that had long been there, and that furrow created an imbalance in his face that threatened to make his head topple right over. Peder and I were beginning to resemble one another. “Vivian called, by the way,” he said. “I think she’s worried about Thomas.” “Vivian has always been worried.” Peder shook