Short(?) Story: The Swan

“Please Sir, smoking is not allowed in our pub. “ What the hell, can an old man not enjoy his cigar in peace in Ireland? Only out of exhaustion I give in, it was a tough journey from my sheep farm in New Zealand to this shabby pub in Dublin. “Well, I’ll have another Famous Grouse then.” Very well, Sir, said the waiter in his annoying overfriendliness. What am I doing here anyway? After Gertrude’s death even the whisky seems to taste like motor oil. Where did those awful Irish people learn to make whisky? I should have stayed home; I’m going to miss this week’s sermon. “Waiter, I’ll have another one.” What if an animal attacks the sheep at night and I’m not there to shoot that bastard. I hate this town with all its pubs and shops and people buzzing in and out as if there is no tomorrow. My pals from the communist party would throw me out if they knew where I am at the moment. What the devil does this waiter take so long? CHRASH “Oh damn! Hey young girl, you will have to pay me for that whisky.” To my surprise this extremely clumsy example of the female species smiled at me and seats her rudely at my table without asking permission, bumping her big glass of a brownish liquid on the surface. “Why don’t you try one of these, grandpa?” I would have never allowed anyone, especially not a woman, to talk to me in that way but the numbing feeling of the whisky, I didn’t even like, makes me mumble “Whatever you like” to my own surprise. Louder than I wanted I hear myself shout bring me one of that and don’t spill it, you idiot. The girl opposite me sways heavily while sucking at her straw in an obscene manner. I’m Lila, she purrs under her breath. I can smell the alcohol on her breath. She had been drinking more than that glass, I am sure of that. As that prick of a waiter finally brings my order, I am half quenched with thirst from the stifling air inside so I gulp down half of it at once. The girl starts moving nearer to me placing her hand inappropriately on my leg, but I can’t get my tongue to utter a single word. My head feels all dizzy and the floor sways violently whenever I release my grip from the edges of the table. “Drink up old man, I take care of you”, she says forcing the half empty glass in my hand. I can’t collect any strength to stop her, my mind seems to be out of order and my body takes orders from anyone but me. She grabs my hand leading me out of the door. The cold and fresh air outside gives me the rest. This staircase is not ascendable. She puts her hands on my back and pushes me upwards. While the world around me spins like a merry-go-round on a playground. Absolutely out of breath, I collapse on the bed. Blank.

I woke up with a thud. Eggbert had run into my bedpost again. Since I had ceased to get really bad headaches after heavy drinking, he had come to visit instead – obviously a welcome change. Also, when I don't wake up alone, such as today, nobody ever takes notice of him, which is convenient as well. This morning my new special friend from last night was still sleeping. God, he had told me so much at that bar: that we was from New Zealand, his name was Shaun, he was a farmer, he loved his sheep, his wife had kicked the bucket recently and blah blah... I don't even want to know why I always get attracted to men like him, you know, twice my age, fat and with bushy beards. As a girl I always fantasized about being raped by Santa Clause on Christmas Eve and that he would kidnap me with his sleigh. Not such a bad thought still. Anyway, I smiled at Eggbert and greeted him good morning, but for some reason he didn't smile back at me.

It’s not easy being an egg. Imagine all you have to protect your fluid inside was a fragile shell when you actually have the eyesight of a mole. Plus, I don’t have ears, so I really should be getting contacts but I’m afraid no optician would ever take in an egg. Unfair, right? My name is Eggbert and I am an egg on a mission. Like the swan egg I am, I’m naturally set out to become a beautiful, white swan one day, like my brothers and sisters. Damn you, witch, for cursing me! Now I have to find two people I can reunite so the curse will be broken. Not that easy when you’re an egg with bad eyesight. Sometimes I think I’ll never make it. I will never be able to spread my wings and fly like the other swans. Depressing, right? But whatever, I’m doing my best and that has to be rewarded, right? I have this friend called Lila whom I meet every now and then. Actually, I meet her quite often. She is tied to the bottle, that gal. Whenever she’s in really bad shape after her last binge, we meet up and have a little chat. You see, Lila is really special to me and, since only she can see me, I suppose that I am rather special to her, too. Oh right, I totally forgot: Only Lila can see me because I am a hallucination. Wicked, right? So we are kind of close, the two of us. I even told her about the curse and she knows that I have a plan for her. Lila is going to be reunited with her long-absent father. And the happy counselor is going to be yours truly: Eggbert the egg hallucination. That’s me, reuniting families and bringing happiness to my friends. I pop up in Lila’s bedroom and instantly bump into the bedpost. Frickin’ eyes! My eyesight might be bad, but I can clearly see the shocking scene right before my eyes. Just when I want to tell her that finally her daddy is in town (don’t ask me how I know, I am a hallucination, remember?), I find her wasted out of her mind, butt naked in bed with a fat old man with a bushy white beard.

“You fool”, he said. “Do you not know what you have done?” Apparently I did not. He on the hand started to fuss and swear, which was rather unusual for dear old Eggbert. “Now I shall never become a swan”, he lamented.  Ah, this again. Well, I suppose I should tell you that Eggbert in fact was an egg. Well, not an egg like you would eat for breakfast of course. He was a swan egg to be precise and he was like a meter or so tall and had holes in his shell for his eyes and his mouth (now and then he even smoked, but he said it was a bad habit and that he would have to quit). Also he wore a straw head, striped pants and yellow shoes, but that is not the point. Anyway, he had been talking quite a while now about how he had come to realize, that his goal in life was to reunite me with my father. ‘Cause that was what it would take him to become a swan. He was a swan egg, you see. A witch had cursed him and he had to do a good deed in order to reverse the spell. Sounds a bit weird, doesn't it? Maybe I shouldn't have told him about my father and that I never knew him after all. But well, he had become a good friend over time and I had come to look past that. You know, just like you look past the nostalgic ramblings of you beloved grandmother or the unhealthy eating habits of your best friend.  “Ah, come on”, I said. “It'll be alright, you are not jealous, are you?” Of course I knew he wasn't jealous. Eggbert never was jealous. I just wanted to tease him a bit. “Argh, you don't understand, you stupid bitch”, he cried and stamped his little feet. “That walrus you fucked last night was your father – YOUR FATHER!!! Now I'll never become a swan...” At first I simply continued to smile at him, dazed and confused. But the smile faded as soon as the truth of Eggbert's words dawned on me. Eggbert was usually right in matters such as these. Hell, he was always right.

It's not just any man, this guy who looks like Santa Clause is her dearly-missed daddy. I start yelling at her, just to let off some steam. “You fool, what have you done?” This mindless, idiotic… “You slut you dumb bitch! You ruined my chances to ever become a swan. Do you want me to stay in this egg form forever? Why for God’s sake do you have to fuck your own fucking father?” She starts to say something about me being jealous. Is that bitch delusional? She is still sleepy but by now my words start to register with her. Lila seems to slowly get a grasp of what is going on. First, she is really furious with her old man and she yells at him like a mad woman. Then she realizes just what she has done. “He’s my father? Eeww, now that is just gross. Wait… Daddy?” She starts shaking his shoulder to wake him up. When this doesn’t create any responses, she takes her leftover drink from the nightstand and spills it into his face. “Daddy, it’s me! Wake up, it’s me, Lila! I’m your daughter; I’m your little girl!”

I turned around hastily. “How could he not have told me? That pervert. This is disgusting. Maybe he didn't know? But, he must know. He's my daddy”. When a rough shake wouldn't wake him (it seldom works with drunk, old men, trust me), I simply poured what was left of last night's drink on his face, all the while screaming “Daddy, Daddy”. All of a sudden I was overwhelmed by the deep-seated need to be loved by this man, to be loved by a father. My god, I thought I had been past that for years now, but no. With all the love I could give him as a daughter I hugged and kissed him. I told him everything, how much I had missed him over the years, how I had longed for him and how we were going to be a family now. If we could get mum off the valium that is, but together even that seemed possible.

Suddenly I feel a bit of hope returning to me. Maybe I can still unite them after all. Nobody said that you can’t have a great father-daughter relationship just because you accidently had sex once. I could still succeed. I could still become a swan. A glorious, beautiful, white swan. I would spread my mighty wings and rise to the sky in the sunlight. Everything would be alright, I would no longer be blind and clumsy but graceful and… A sudden noise brings me back into the scene.

Holy crap, what is this annoying feeling as if my brain bumps into the inside of my skull. What the hell, someone had just splashed something in my face; my head is aching like mad. It feels as if my tongue has been swapped for a dead animal. A shabby looking girl smelling like alcohol, what is she talking about? My mind is not capable of handling the sound she utters. Daddy? Daughter? Girl get a grip on yourself, I don’t know you. She is all freaked out. “Shut up you stupid bitch. I don’t have a daughter; you’re just the stupid cow that got my drunk last night. Get off of me, you filthy girl. What did you do to me anyway? If I had a daughter, she surely wouldn’t be such a slut like you.” She is completely mad. She won’t calm down. I have to leave, if only my head would stop to spin. “Wait, what are you doing, you dumb cow?” She jumps onto me hitting my head with a telephone. “Ahhrrrg!” the pain is blinding. My eyes start to water and my head feels like it is cracked open.  She won’t let go off me. “No, don’t do that.” I can’t see what is going on. Where is that freak? “No, take it off.” She wraps something around my neck.  As she pulls tighter, my field of vision starts to get smaller. I can’t shake her off. Blood thumping in my ears. Air supply is choked off. Dizzy feeling. Almost fainting. Oxygen. A cloud rolled over everything. Blackness.

His reaction, though, was like a smack in the face. That smelly old bastard chose to believe otherwise. He simply refused to recognize me. He denied me. My own father. Can you believe it? After all those years. It was simply too much. From behind my bed I seized the receiver from my old, black phone that I keep beside my bed and, you know, slammed it down on his head with full force. Again, again and again. Hello, anybody there? Please hold the line, you will be connected soon. Your call is important to us. But shortly I should realize that the receiver was no match for that thick skull of his. So I planted the telephone cord around his throat and pulled it tight. It didn't take long to choke the air out of his lungs. It was all over before it really began. Very fast. Anger does that to you. When all colour had left his face and his eyes grew dull, I finally felt at ease. I had never felt so, so alive before, actually, up until this very moment. Unfortunately this state was meant to last for very long, but for one glorious moment I felt as one.

Apparently I have missed some crucial event, because Lila is suddenly pulling on some thick black phone cord that is wrapped around her father’s throat. Shaun is slowly turning blue and the noise I heard is the constant gargling from his twitching mouth. As he tries to push away Lila, his movements become weaker until he stops stirring altogether. This rattles me from my stupor. I can’t believe this. “What have you done, Lila?! You killed him! He’s dead! Gone! I’ll never become a swan, you stupid bitch!” My rage seems to propel me towards her and I smack her in the face with the momentum of my entire body. I don’t even think about my fragile shell. Anger does that to you.

Then it hit me. Like a ton of bricks. Under furious cursing, Eggbert sprang at me and crashed right into my face. I can't really remember, I have to say, but I believe I heard a muffled crack, like an old tree being pulled down. Who would have guessed that an egg would be so fast and so fierce? Well, and so heavy. As I fell, I felt like I was buried under tons and tons of steel. At the same time I hit no solid ground. I just fell and fell and kept on falling. And what shall I tell you, I still do today.

“Crack” is all I hear. I must have smashed Lila’s skull, because there is blood. Blood everywhere, on the wallpaper, on the sheets, the headboard. Her brain seems to be forcing its way out of her left eye socket. Lily is just laying there, a puppet with cut strings. My Shell! Suddenly I realize that my own shell is cracked. Naturally! I’m an egg. I’m fragile. This is going to be my end. There was no reunion, just blood and violence and total chaos. I carefully pat my shell to check for my insides leaking out. But there is not a squirt, no leak. Strange, right? I’m not dying? Another loud crack shakes me violently. There are feathers poking out of my belly. FEATHERS! Soft, white, beautiful feathers. Eggs don’t have feathers. Swans have feathers. How is that even possible? Then it strikes me like lightning. They are united, after all. Obviously, they are no longer alive, but having died together, they are united in death. A mad giggle escapes my ragged shell.  With a creaking sound the top of it begins to crumble. My new head slides out of its white cage. A long, elegant neck stretches underneath it. With a piercing cry I rise and gracefully try to spread my newly acquired wings. They don’t move. I cannot raise my wings, they seem to be glued to my torso. I start to panic and fidget around to free myself. All of a sudden, a calm voice calls me: “Deary me, Mr. Swanson, why are we so agitated today? Don’t worry, the doctor will be ready for your treatment in no time.” White, everything is pearly white and so bright, that I have to close my eyes at first. Whiteness all around me, the walls, the ceiling, the uniform of the nurse and her brilliantly ivory teeth as she smiles at me soothingly and pushes the white wheelchair towards a white door at the end of the bright corridor. She pats my shoulder and as I follow the movement with my eyes I see myself, beautifully clad in a spotlessly white straitjacket. “It’s all going to be perfectly fine, Mr. Swanson, no need to be alarmed. I think you will feel much better after today’s therapy.”

Dani
Johannes
Jule