I woke up all sweaty from the dream. The heat was off ( we’re saving electricity ) and the air was icy. I closed the ventilator, but changed my mind and opened it again. The air gets really nasty when two people sleep in the same room.
I washed — still half zombified — and made some green tea, which mom had bought. I’d been skeptic to the idea of drinking green tea, but must admit it was better than I had thought. Not that it really matters these early mornings, when everything tastes the same.
Eight hours later I’ve finished working and am off to Tom’s place. Fridays usually means party. And so today.
Nova is just next door. They’re having one of their usual techno nights.
Hal immediately founds himself at a table with two girls. I see him step away from the table, taking a picture of them with the camera he’s stolen.
- Excuse me, someone says in French-accent English. Where do you go if you have to pee?
- The toilet.
- But where do I find the toilet.
- Right there, to your left.
- Thanks.
- Sure.
- What a disgusting guy, Tom says.
I shrug my shoulders.
- He needed to pee.
I’m sitting, drinking and watching the guy in the police uniform do his on the dance floor, when she asks me in her strange Swedish.
- Will you dance with me?
I don’t hear a word she’s saying.
- What?
- Will you dance with me?
- Sure.
She never really looks straight at me while dancing. Just looks dreaming to the side. I remember some show about tango, I saw on TV. The dance teacher hosting the show said you never looked at one another in tango, because you where so close that if you’d look at your partner you’d just feel like… He bit in the air like a tiger, proving his point. But I never felt like biting anyone.
- Where you from? I ask, almost certain she’s from Denmark, judging from her accent.
- What?
- Where are you from?
- I’m from Finland, I don’t speak Swedish.
I change to English.
- Thought you where from Denmark.
- What?
- Thought you where from somewhere else.
- I can’t hear.
- Never mind. We’ll speak later.
- What?
I gesticulate and continue dancing.
After two songs she tires of dancing and goes to the table we were sitting at.
- You sit down here.
- Sure, I’ll sit down.
She scans the place, without saying a word. I’m not sure what she’s looking for.
- So where in Finland are you from?
After misunderstanding the answer several times I just nod.
- I’m here with a girl friend. I’m not from Sweden. I don’t know where she is.
- I don’t hear what you’re saying. Let’s go speak outside.
- No, I’m waiting for her here.
- Ok.
- I’m waiting, she says again, but this time in Swedish.
- In Finland they don’t have any immigrants of what so ever, Marc says later when we’re sitting on the couch in front of the entrance.
- No? Not like here then.
- No, they hardly accept any immigrants. Most Finns are racists.
Marc’s from Finland himself. We’re sitting in one of those antique looking couches, which you just sink into. You don’t really sit in it, it’s more like quasi-lying.
- Really?
- Well, the one’s living in Finland.
- If they don’t have any immigrants, what do they have to be racists about? I can understand Sweden, with all its immigrants. There people have someone to blame.
- It’s still a very young country. They’ve only been independent for 80 years.
- So they’re racists against Swedes as well?
- No, just dark skinned people.
He stands up and stretches.
- I’m gonna dance.
Nova at Kungsgatan used to be called @bstr@ct once upon a time.