Day 21: At Home On The Streets Of Old Copenhagen
Not many days left! *glp*
Henning first met Kathrin at Culture Box. He did not go clubbing much those days. Strike that. He did not go clubbing at all. There was this girl at work though, Johanne from accounting who had seen him as a charity case for a while. It had seemed easier to accept than to keep declining her invitations. She had been quite tenacious.
They had been about six. Two guys from work, both with girls in tow. Maybe another guy that Johanne knew from somewhere. When they had arrived at the club, Henning felt like all the words he had ever been taught to used in casual conversation had been surgically removed. He had almost bolted when he saw just how crowded the club was. Johanne had taken his hand firmly, and before he knew it he had paid exorbitantly to get in, again to be rid of his coat and finally to acquire some kind of inferior tap lager.
There were people everywhere. So many that there were nowhere to stand where part of your body didn't touch a part of someone else's. There was music. Henning did not recognize it, but liked it and got pleasantly lost in his own thoughts. There was something grand and sweeping about that music, something coldly inhuman and disdainful. Like a bandsaw had decided to tell the world how it felt about humanity.
The music made it impossible to carry a conversation, but that did not seem to stop people. Fascinated he watched how people would put their heads together, then laugh without any sound he could hear. They were gaping fish in an aquarium.
Henning realized that Johanne had been talking to him. He learned over to her.
“I'm sorry?”
“...like it”.
Henning decided that it had to be a question. “I like the music” he said. “I'm just not used to this many people”.
“What?”
“The music's good!” he yelled, feeling his face getting red.
She smiled and nodded. “...dance”.
He realized that she told him that she meant that she wanted to go and dance with one of the other guys, and he did the nodding and smiling thing. When she had left for the dancefloor, he tried moving around a little. That did not work at all. There were too many faces and bodies pushing past him, and and they distracted him from the music. He walked up a short flight of metal stairs. This turned out to lead to a worn lounge area and then to the bathrooms.
Up here there were fewer people, and a fresh gust of wind was blowing from somewhere. It carried with it a whiff of exhaust fumes and cigarette smoke.He walked over to the railing where one could look down on the dancefloor. He tried to locate Johanne down there but couldn't.
“You don't come here often” a voice said.
Henning looked around. To his right stood a woman. Her hair was almost white, and cut short but for the bangs. It reminded Henning of pictures he had seen of British skinhead girls. The lower part of her face was covered by a black veil which was thin in places and torn in others, giving it a spiderweb look and accentuated her perfect lips rather than obscuring them.
“No” he said.
“What's your name?”
“Henning”
She smiled, and the veil seemed to follow her cheeks her lips like a second skin.
“Aren't you a little young for that name?”
“Possibly”. He looked for mockery, but did not find any. “What's yours?”
“Kathrin”.
“Timeless”.
She smiled again. “Why are you here, Henning?”
He thought for a moment. “Friends from work took me. I like the music.” He realized that the music had changed to something irrepressibly bouncy with a bass that seemed entirely out of proportion to the rest of the instruments (jabs of synth-trumpets and a woman singing breathlessly in Spanish). “The music before”.
“I'm here to find someone to give my knowledge to”.
Henning had not been able to think of a reply to that.
“Does that statement intrigue you?”
Henning had admitted that it did. Soon thereafter they had left together. As they walked down Sct. Peter's Street, he had found himself admiring her. She walked like she was about to bring the world to heel and felt absolutely confident in her abilities. Whatever she knew, it showed in her every movement.
They had sex that night in his apartment. Later Henning could not say if it had been good or not. It had been something to do that particular night. The right thing, quite seperate from passion or lust. She had a scar in the shape of a sun on her soft belly. That had been the only time.
When he woke up the next morning there was a note on the stack of books that sometimes served as a bedside table.
“I think you may be the vessel for my knowledge. I may be wrong, but I don't think so. We'll meet again. Kathrin”. This entry was originally posted at http://hafwit.dreamwidth.org/17684.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Click to viewHenning first met Kathrin at Culture Box. He did not go clubbing much those days. Strike that. He did not go clubbing at all. There was this girl at work though, Johanne from accounting who had seen him as a charity case for a while. It had seemed easier to accept than to keep declining her invitations. She had been quite tenacious.
They had been about six. Two guys from work, both with girls in tow. Maybe another guy that Johanne knew from somewhere. When they had arrived at the club, Henning felt like all the words he had ever been taught to used in casual conversation had been surgically removed. He had almost bolted when he saw just how crowded the club was. Johanne had taken his hand firmly, and before he knew it he had paid exorbitantly to get in, again to be rid of his coat and finally to acquire some kind of inferior tap lager.
There were people everywhere. So many that there were nowhere to stand where part of your body didn't touch a part of someone else's. There was music. Henning did not recognize it, but liked it and got pleasantly lost in his own thoughts. There was something grand and sweeping about that music, something coldly inhuman and disdainful. Like a bandsaw had decided to tell the world how it felt about humanity.
The music made it impossible to carry a conversation, but that did not seem to stop people. Fascinated he watched how people would put their heads together, then laugh without any sound he could hear. They were gaping fish in an aquarium.
Henning realized that Johanne had been talking to him. He learned over to her.
“I'm sorry?”
“...like it”.
Henning decided that it had to be a question. “I like the music” he said. “I'm just not used to this many people”.
“What?”
“The music's good!” he yelled, feeling his face getting red.
She smiled and nodded. “...dance”.
He realized that she told him that she meant that she wanted to go and dance with one of the other guys, and he did the nodding and smiling thing. When she had left for the dancefloor, he tried moving around a little. That did not work at all. There were too many faces and bodies pushing past him, and and they distracted him from the music. He walked up a short flight of metal stairs. This turned out to lead to a worn lounge area and then to the bathrooms.
Up here there were fewer people, and a fresh gust of wind was blowing from somewhere. It carried with it a whiff of exhaust fumes and cigarette smoke.He walked over to the railing where one could look down on the dancefloor. He tried to locate Johanne down there but couldn't.
“You don't come here often” a voice said.
Henning looked around. To his right stood a woman. Her hair was almost white, and cut short but for the bangs. It reminded Henning of pictures he had seen of British skinhead girls. The lower part of her face was covered by a black veil which was thin in places and torn in others, giving it a spiderweb look and accentuated her perfect lips rather than obscuring them.
“No” he said.
“What's your name?”
“Henning”
She smiled, and the veil seemed to follow her cheeks her lips like a second skin.
“Aren't you a little young for that name?”
“Possibly”. He looked for mockery, but did not find any. “What's yours?”
“Kathrin”.
“Timeless”.
She smiled again. “Why are you here, Henning?”
He thought for a moment. “Friends from work took me. I like the music.” He realized that the music had changed to something irrepressibly bouncy with a bass that seemed entirely out of proportion to the rest of the instruments (jabs of synth-trumpets and a woman singing breathlessly in Spanish). “The music before”.
“I'm here to find someone to give my knowledge to”.
Henning had not been able to think of a reply to that.
“Does that statement intrigue you?”
Henning had admitted that it did. Soon thereafter they had left together. As they walked down Sct. Peter's Street, he had found himself admiring her. She walked like she was about to bring the world to heel and felt absolutely confident in her abilities. Whatever she knew, it showed in her every movement.
They had sex that night in his apartment. Later Henning could not say if it had been good or not. It had been something to do that particular night. The right thing, quite seperate from passion or lust. She had a scar in the shape of a sun on her soft belly. That had been the only time.
When he woke up the next morning there was a note on the stack of books that sometimes served as a bedside table.
“I think you may be the vessel for my knowledge. I may be wrong, but I don't think so. We'll meet again. Kathrin”. This entry was originally posted at http://hafwit.dreamwidth.org/17684.html. Please comment there using OpenID.