Summer holidays, great emptiness, great freedom, boredom, excitement, infatuation, outdoor pool, campground, happiness, misfortune. For "Holiday Flicker" series, writers and writers have remembered most important six weeks of ir youth. Angelika Klüssendorf makes start.
This summer was roaring hot during day and also at night. Not touch of a breeze. There were forest fires and or disasters. My sister had a hernia. Fire jellyfish in sea. Mosquito armies. Fat, nasty spiders. A lot of drunks, especially: my far. He insisted that we drank milk in hotel room in morning. After that we went out until late in evening. My parents worked here as a season waiter, and here was: Baltic Sea.Michelle Klüssendorf to author page
During holiday weeks we were left to ourselves. I tormented my sister because she tormented me. When she howled, bump in her groin sprang out and I had to pull panties down and push dent back. My sister was crying a lot. I was nine, you seven, and I was angry. The boys thought I was a boy who had to take care of his sister. That liked short lear trousers or my baldness; My mor had a bad temper, she shaved my head. Or girls basically didn't play with me. My hair had just grown to three centimeters.
Mischief or boredom? Or what? Since morning we drove around railroad tracks. Heat. fucking fire jellyfish in sea. I had a screw for lizards, but I only got a few dicks to catch. My sister was crying about her scratched legs. The itch like that. pee on it. I did. Then leave me alone.
The heat like a big flicker. My sister was sweating and thirsty. I ate an apple and spat seeds on ir feet. A single cloud hung for hours on horizon. Cabbage Pieridae in parched sand. White midday light. It would never be afternoon. I had not shared apple with my sister, her voice sounded hoarse. I pressed her bump back, took screw-glass and went off without her. I would catch a frog, big as an ox-head; I had read that re were ox-frogs, not here, somewhere in North America. My fingernails were abgekaut, I imagined it would snow. A shed, door loose in fishing, not slightest noise. Hundreds of spiders sat on walls. I opened lid of glass a slit wide and collected it, a dark, creepy swarm.
My sister was expecting me in a tailor's seat, reproachful, howling eyes: That's what I'm going to say. Sneak. I say it. Howl, Howl, Cry. I'll hold you down when your baldness grows.
I did it thoroughly. I threw m all on my sister. I came across it, my anger came over it, with every single spider. It was not only anger, it was hatred, on me, summer and all summers that would still follow, populated with ghosts of my childhood.
1. Angelika Klüssendorf: Ghosts of my KindheitDemnächst appear texts by: Lutz SeilerMarion PoschmannPeter Maria Cecilia BarbettaKathrin SchmidtDate Of Update: 20 July 2018, 12:02