White Room Virgin (Room #1)

7 - Jonah

7

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Jonah

One week later, Martin’s words still haunted me.

Why is he even interested in furnishing my room? A bed and a lamp were all I needed. There wasn’t much else back home on the farm. In fact, on the day I moved in, I was surprised at how much stuff there was in Martin’s room. An overflowing bookshelf, a table with a computer, posters of Ella Fitzgerald, John Coltrane, and Louis Armstrong hanging on the walls. At first, I didn’t even know who they were, and now that I did, I still didn’t see the point in hanging them on the wall.

It was Sunday again. I had just come out of the kitchen with a glass of water when I noticed the door to Lucien’s room was open. That was unusual since he normally always made sure it was closed. A slender beam of light pierced the darkness of the hallway.

Ever since the argument with Martin, I kept wondering what Lucien’s room looked like. Although the open door wasn’t an explicit invitation, I couldn’t resist giving it a push.

Initially, I didn’t know where to direct my gaze. I was literally flooded with impressions, yet I walked into the room as if drawn by a magnet. The walls were covered with black and white photographs and concert posters.

A shelf loaded with books, records, and CDs was at the foot of the bed. Lucien stood by the desk, its surface obscured beneath a heap of painting supplies. He stuffed a stack of papers into a bag and tossed in two cans of beer. I was amazed at how neatly the bed was made, despite the books piled up on the small table next to it, almost causing the lamp to fall over. Above the bed, a few photos were pinned to the wall, while clothes spilled out from the chest of drawers behind Lucien.

He slipped into his woolen coat and wrapped a scarf around his neck.

Did he not notice me?

“Where are you going?” I asked.

He didn’t seem surprised that I was suddenly standing there. “Come with me and you’ll see.”

His grin somehow worried me. “But … it’s Sunday.”

“So what? Who told you not to? Your mommy?”

I lowered my head, embarrassed. So that was the punishment for my curiosity.

“Hey, that was a joke!” He chuckled and slung the bag over his shoulder. “Don’t take everything so seriously.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, judging by the expression on your face, you must have been on the phone with your parents.”

He was right. My mother had reassured me, seemingly for the hundredth time, that I didn’t have to prove anything to her and could return home at any time, while my father believed in doing things properly if you were going to do them at all. “Make me proud!” had been his parting words to me ever since I started university.

“I don’t know. It’s already half past nine.” He didn’t need to know that my muscles had been twitching since the phone call, and I was seriously contemplating going for a run.

“That doesn’t stop you from running around the city like a maniac,” Lucien remarked casually, tucking a pack of cigarettes into his coat pocket.

Can he read my mind? That’s almost unsettling.

His expression changed abruptly. His amusement gave way to an expectant look. “Come on, come with me! Screw the fact that it’s Sunday—it’ll be cool.”

I glanced over my shoulder into the hallway, seeking assistance. Martin wasn’t there and apart from the lame excuse that I had a lecture the next morning, I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I also felt a tingling sensation in my fingers. Here was an opportunity to experience something new. Something that would allow me to rebel against the strict basic values and rules of my parents.

“Go grab your jacket,” Lucien ordered with enthusiasm, nudging me out of the room ahead of him. “I’m ready to go.”

***

It had just stopped raining when we stepped out onto the street. Many leaves were on the ground and a cool wind was blowing through the trees.

All right, I definitely needed to work on my assertiveness and strength of character. Maybe my common sense too.

Lucien dragged me to the same bar where we’d last been with Martin and ordered beers for both of us. He wasn’t very talkative, and it seemed like he might already regret bringing me along. Lost in thought, he soon ordered a second beer. I kept checking the clock above the entrance. An hour had already passed, and I pondered how to bid farewell politely when he unexpectedly asked, “Why did you come into my room?”

I looked at him in surprise. My God, I didn’t know myself. Although … actually I did. But he didn’t need to know that. I put the glass to my mouth, hid behind it, and shook my head.

“It would do you good to find something you like,” he said, ignoring my silence, and took a sip.

“ Something? ” I repeated, putting the glass down more forcefully than I had intended. “There are things I do like!”

“Oh yeah, let me guess: the Bible?”

“Uh, yes!” I responded. That goes without saying. “And running.”

“Then hang it on the wall and Martin will shut up,” he said dryly.

His words irritated me, and although I didn’t know exactly why, I found them offensive. And yet I froze, not knowing how to react. As I finished my beer and prepared to leave without comment, he ordered me a second one in all seriousness.

“You like beer, don’t you?” A mischievous smile appeared on his face.

I sat down again and didn’t understand anything. Not him. And me even less.

“You can admit that you like beer,” he said, nudging the glass toward me. “No need to feel ashamed about it.”

He’s up to something.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked suspiciously.

“I want you to learn to have fun for once.” He looked at me so seriously that I felt I had missed something.

Perhaps I had missed the joke, and he was about to reveal that he was teasing me. But instead, he patted me on the shoulder. “Just have a bit of fun,” he said gently. “You won’t lose anything.”

An hour later, we were sitting at the bar laughing and I told him how Martin and I used to hunt mice and set them free during Sunday Mass at church. I got more and more into it and told more stories from my childhood, and when I wanted to ask Lucien about his, the bartender threw us out. “We’re closing up, boys. Come back tomorrow. Thanks.”

“Feeling good?” Lucien asked as we stood on the sidewalk.

“Great!” I was a little tipsy. “Why?”

“Come on.”

By now it had also become quiet as we walked down Langstrasse, and once we reached the river, the city seemed deserted.

“Aren’t we going home?” I asked, following him.

“Yes, we are. We’re just taking a little detour.”

Beneath the bridge where I frequently jogged, he eventually halted and glanced around cautiously.

“We’re not doing anything illegal, are we?”

“Hmm …”

What does that mean?

Lucien unzipped his bag, retrieved a stack of sheets and a roll of sticky tape, and started papering the wall under the bridge.

“1 welcome

5 perfect

13 confused

18 adult

23 outcast

completely degenerated”

“You wrote those?” I exclaimed in surprise.

“Don’t say that so loudly!” he hissed. “Only a few people know about it, and I want to keep it that way. Do you understand?”

“They’re great. People read them. How did you come up with the idea of doing something like this?” I asked with interest, taking a sheet of paper.

“Oh … it’s just art,” he replied modestly and stuck the last sheet on the wall. He then cracked open a can of beer and surveyed his work with satisfaction. “But maybe it will make people think.”

“Without a doubt. I’m convinced of that.”

Lucien regarded me with an inscrutable expression, his demeanor suddenly uncertain. His jaw tensed as though he contemplated saying something, but he chose to remain silent and headed home. I followed him in silence, a sudden sense of displacement washing over me once more.

“Why do you believe in God?” Lucien queried, halting midway through our stroll.

“Everyone believes in God,” I replied and turned to him. “Or at least in … some kind of God.”

Lucien furrowed his brows and regarded me as though my words were utter nonsense. “You’re cute,” he said and kept walking.

“Don’t you believe in God?” I asked in surprise and followed him.

“No.” The answer came quickly, and before he continued, he lit a cigarette. “Why should I?”

I was so horrified that I simply didn’t have the words. When our eyes met, he rolled his eyes. “And now you look as if you pity me.” He appeared so sad as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“My offer still stands. You can accompany us to church any time.”

Lucien forced himself to smile and took a big drag from his cigarette. He exhaled the smoke loudly. His eyes jumped nervously from one point to the next. In an instant, vulnerability vanished, replaced by a coldness that enveloped him like armor. A profoundly dark gleam shimmered in his eyes. “You know, Jonah, your ignorance is enviable,” he said in an arrogant tone and took a sip from the can.

The sudden shift in mood caught me off guard, but I sensed that he had merely donned a mask—a shield to ward off something.

“Why are you judging me?” I asked calmly.

“You shouldn’t put everyone in the same box. So leave me alone.” As if he wanted to flee from me, he left me standing there and walked faster.

I watched him walk away, completely baffled. “But … I’m not doing that.”

What just happened?

Before I could catch up with him and confront him, he entered the courtyard of our house.