The door to his room opened.

"Oskar?"

"Mmm."

"Is that you talking?"

"No."

His mom stayed in the doorway, listening. Eli lay completely still behind his back, pushing her forehead in between his shoulder blades. Her breath ran warmly down the small of his back.

His mom shook her head.

"It must be those neighbors." She listened for another moment, then said, "Good night, sweetheart," and closed the door. Oskar was alone with Eli. He heard a whisper behind his back.

"Those neighbors?"

"Shhhh."

There was a creaking sound as his mom got back into the sofa bed. He looked up at the window. It was closed.

A cold hand crept over his stomach and found its way to his chest, over his heart. He put both his hands over it, warming her hand. Eli's other hand worked its way under his armpit then up over his chest and in between his hands. Eli turned her head and laid her cheek between his shoulder blades.

A new smell had entered the room. The faint smell of his dad's moped when it was fully tanked. Gasoline. Oskar bent his head down and smelled her hands. Yes, the smell was coming from her hands.

They lay like that for a long time. When Oskar could tell from his mom's breathing that she had fallen asleep again, when the lump of their hands was warmed through and starting to get sweaty, he whispered: "Where have you been?"

"Getting some food."

Her lips tickled his shoulder. She loosened her hands from his, rolled over on her back. Oskar stayed in the same position for a moment and looked into Gene Simmons' eyes. Then he turned onto his stomach. Behind her head he imagined the tiny figures in the wallpaper eyeing her with curiosity. Her eyes were wide open, blue-black in the moonlight. Oskar got goosepimples on his arms.

"What about your dad?"

"Gone."

"Gone?" Oskar couldn't help raising his voice.

"Shhh. It doesn't matter."

"But. . . what... is he-?"

"It. Doesn't. Matter."

Oskar nodded, signaling that he wasn't going to ask her any more questions, and Eli put both her hands under her head, staring up at the ceiling.

"I was feeling lonely. So I came here. Was that OK?"

"Yes. But... you don't have any clothes on."

"I'm sorry. Is that disgusting?"

"No. But aren't you freezing?"

"No, no."

The white strands in her hair were gone. Yes, she looked altogether healthier than when they met yesterday. Her cheeks were rounder, the dimples more p.r.o.nounced, when Oskar joked and asked: "You didn't happen to walk past the Lover's kiosk or anything?" Eli laughed, then made her voice very serious and said with a ghostly voice: "Yes, I did and you know what? He poked his head out and said: 'Coooome ... coooom ... I have candy and ... banaaaanas.

Oskar buried his face in the pillow. Eli turned her head toward his and whispered in his ear: "Cooome . . . jelly beans .. ." Oskar shouted: "No, no!" into the pillow. They kept doing this for a while. Then Eli looked at the books in his bookcase and Oskar gave a synopsis of his favorite: The Fog The Fog by James Herbert. Eli's back glowed white like a sheet of paper in the dark as she lay there on her stomach in bed and studied the bookcase. by James Herbert. Eli's back glowed white like a sheet of paper in the dark as she lay there on her stomach in bed and studied the bookcase.

He held his hand so close to her skin that he could feel the warmth from it. Then he contracted his fingers and walked them down her back whispering, "Bulleribulleri bock. How many horns are sticking . . . up?"

"Mmm. Eight?"

"Eight you say and eight there are, bulleribulleribock." Then Eli did the same to him but he was not at all as good at telling how many fingers there were as she was. On the other hand, he was much better at rock, paper, scissors. Seven to three. Then they played again. He won nine to one. Eli started to get a little irritated.

"Do you know know what I am going to pick?" Yes. what I am going to pick?" Yes.

"How?"

"I just know, that's all. It happens all the time. I get a picture in my head."

"One more time. I won't think this time, just choose."

"You can try."

They played again. Oskar won easily with eight-two. Eli pretended to be enraged, turned to the wall.

"I'm not playing with you. You cheat."

Oskar looked at her white back. Did he dare? Yes, now that she wasn't looking at her he could do it.

"Eli. Will you go out with me?"

She turned around, pulled the covers up to her chin.

"What does that mean?"

Oskar stared at the spines of the books in front of him, shrugged.

"That. . . you would want to be together with me."

"What do you mean 'together'?"

Her voice sounded suspicious, hard. Oskar hurriedly said: "Maybe you already have a guy at your school."

"No, I don't... but Oskar, I can't. I'm not a girl." Oskar snorted. "What do you mean? You're a guy?" guy?"

"No, no."

"Then what are you?"

"Nothing."

"What do you mean, 'nothing'?"

"I'm nothing. Not a child. Not old. Not a boy. Not a girl. Nothing." Oskar pulled his finger down the spine of The Rats, The Rats, pinched his lips together and shook his head. pinched his lips together and shook his head. "Will "Will you go out with me or not?" you go out with me or not?"

"Oskar I'd really like to but... can't we just be together like we already are?" ... yes.

"Are you sad? We can kiss, if you like."

"No!"

"You don't want to?"

"No, I don't!"

Eli frowned.

"Do you do anything in particular with someone you're going out with?"

"No."

"It's just like normal?"

"Yes."

Eli looked suddenly happy, folded her arms over her stomach, and gazed at Oskar.

"Then we can go out. We can be together."

"We can?"

"Yes."

"Good."

With a quiet happiness in his belly, Oskar kept studying the t.i.tles of the books. Eli lay still, waiting. After a while she said: "Is there anything else?"

"No."

"Can't we lie down together again like we did before?" Oskar rolled around so his back was against her. She put her arms around him and he took her hands. They lay like that until Oskar started to get sleepy. His eyes felt sandy; it was hard to keep them open. Before he slid off into sleep he said: "Eli?"

"Mmm?"

"I'm glad you came over."

"Yes."

"Why... do you smell like gasoline?"

Eli's hands gripped more tightly around his hands, against his heart. Hugged. The room grew larger all around Oskar, the walls and ceiling softened, the floor fell away, and when he felt the whole bed floating in the air he knew he was asleep.

SAt.u.r.dAY.

31 OCTOBER.

Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. I must be gone and live, or stay and die. mountain tops. I must be gone and live, or stay and die.

William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, Romeo and Juliet, III:5- III:5- Gray. Everything was gray. His eyes wouldn't focus; it was like lying inside a rain cloud. Lying? Yes, he was lying down. There was pressure against his back, b.u.t.tocks, heels. A hissing sound on his left side. The gas. The gas was on. No. It was turned off. Turned on. Something happened to his chest in time to the hissing sound. It filled and emptied in time to that sound.

Was he still at the pool? Was he he hooked up to the gas? How could he, in that case, be awake? Was he even awake? hooked up to the gas? How could he, in that case, be awake? Was he even awake?

Hakan tried to blink. Nothing happened, almost nothing. Something jerked in front of his one eye, murkying his sight further. His other eye wasn't there. He tried to open his mouth. His mouth wasn't there. He conjured up an image of his mouth, as he had seen it in mirrors, tried .. . but it wasn't there. Nothing responded to his commands. Like trying to inject consciousness into a rock in order to get it to move. No contact. A sensation of strong heat over his whole face. A dart of fear shooting into his stomach. His face was plastered with something warm, stiffening. Paraffin wax. A machine was doing his breathing because his whole face was covered in wax.

His thoughts stretched out toward his right hand. Yes. There it was. He opened it, made a fist, felt the tops of his fingers against his palm. Touch. He sighed with relief, imagined a sigh of relief, since his chest didn't move according to his wishes.

He lifted his hand, slowly. A tightening sensation over his chest and shoulder. The hand entered his field of vision, a fuzzy lump. He moved it toward his face, stopped. There was a low beeping by his side. He carefully turned his head in its direction, felt something hard sc.r.a.p against his chin. He moved his hand toward it.

A metal socket was implanted in his throat. A plastic tube fed into the metal socket. He followed the plastic tubing as far as he could, as far as a grooved metallic piece where the tube ended. He understood. This was what he should pull out when he wanted to die. They had set it up like this for him. He rested his fingers against the end of the tube. Eli. The pool. The boy. Acid. Eli. The pool. The boy. Acid.

His memory stopped at the part where he unscrewed the lid. He must have poured it over himself, all according to the plan. The only miscalculation was that he was still alive. He had seen pictures. Women who had gotten acid thrown into their faces by jealous boyfriends. He didn't want to feel his face, even less see it.

His hold on the tube tightened. It didn't give way. Screwed in. He tried to turn the metal end and, as he had suspected, it turned. He kept uns.c.r.e.w.i.n.g it. He searched for his left hand, but only sensed a p.r.i.c.kling ball of pain where that hand should have been. With the tops of the fingers on his living hand he now felt a light, fluttering pressure. Air was starting to escape from around the seal. The hissing sound had changed slightly, become thinner.

The gray light around him was infiltrated by something blinking red. He tried to close his one eye. Thought about Socrates and the jar of poison. Because he had seduced the youth of Athens. Don't forget to offer a rooster to ... what was he called? Archimandros? No ...

A sucking sound as a door was pushed open and a white figure moved toward him. He felt fingers prying open his fingers, prying them from the metal end. A woman's voice.

"What are you doing?"

Asclepius. Offer a c.o.c.k to Asclepius.

"Let go!"

A c.o.c.k. To Asclepius. The G.o.d of healing.

A hissing sound when his fingers gave way and the tube was screwed back in place.

"We'll have to guard you from now on." Offer it to him, do not forget. Offer it to him, do not forget.

Eli was gone when Oskar woke up. He lay with his face toward the wall. His back got cold. He drew himself up on one elbow and looked around the room. The window was open a crack. She must have let herself out that way.

Naked.