Leena Krohn: The Collected Fiction by Leena Krohn

Author:Leena Krohn [Krohn, Leena]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: novella, Collection, Short Stories, short story, novel
ISBN: 9780986317729
Amazon: 0986317721
Publisher: Cheeky Frawg Books
Published: 2015-11-16T23:00:00+00:00

End-of-the-world Party

Lisa was fitting a gas mask to her face.

Fakelove had spent Friday at the Neuro exhibition, where new therapeutic methods, psychotropic medicines and herbal preparations were on show. On his return from the exhibition, Fakelove found his daughter in front of the large trymeau mirror in the hall. Lisa had come to see her father for the first time in many weeks. Her long, fair ponytail glowed gold in the light of the candle lamp-bulbs. In the mirror, Fakelove could see a grotesque frog face. The gas mask was a model from the time of the Second World War.

‘Hi! Long time no see!’ Fakelove said, trying to hug his daughter. The gas mask made it a little difficult.

‘Where’s that from?’ Fakelove asked.

‘From a joke shop,’ Lisa said hollowly through her snout.

‘Did you buy it? Why on earth?’ Fakelove asked.

‘I suppose you mean what with. I did have my own money,’ the girl said.

‘How much did it cost?’

‘I’m not saying. A bit of a lot.’

‘I can’t say it suits you,’ Fakelove said.

‘That’s not the intention,’ Lisa said.

‘I really hope you won’t have to use it.’

‘I’m sure I will,’ Lisa said. ‘I wouldn’t have bought it otherwise. I’m going to a party tonight.’

‘What kind of party?’

‘An end-of-the-world party,’ Lisa said. ‘Don’t you know about them? I thought you were coming too.’

‘Me? How should I know about your parties?’

‘I only thought,’ Lisa said, indefinitely.

‘Mercy me,’ Fakelove said. ‘An end-of-the-world party! The newest of the new. O tempora, o mores.’

To himself he thought: Dear God, can’t the end of the world leave you in peace, even at home?

‘What?’

‘It was Latin,’ Fakelove said.

‘Everyone there will have one of these.’

‘Well well,’ Fakelove said, with a snort. ‘Really cool.’

‘That’s right.’ Lisa pressed her grotesque snout almost up to the mirror and fluffed up her fringe so that it fell over the shallow forehead of the gas mask.

‘Actually, you look awful. Like a frog.’

‘I like frogs,’ Lisa said.

‘They have their own parties,’ her father said. ‘How do you think you can eat snacks and drink cider and snog wearing one of those?’

‘Snog! Who would snog there? And I expect there’ll be more than cider there,’ Lisa said.

‘I’m sure. But you certainly won’t be taking anything else.’

‘Of course not, don’t be an idiot. And by the way, no one says “cool” any more.’

‘I do. Where’s the party, by the way?’

‘At the old slaughterhouse.’

‘Really, sounds nice,’ Fakelove said. ‘Whose idea is it?’

‘What?’

‘The end-of-the-world party.’

‘What do you mean whose idea, haven’t they always been held.’

‘Is that what you think? That there have been end-of-the-world parties throughout the ages? I haven’t happened to hear of them,’ Fakelove said. ‘Or go to them. You’d think there’d be better reasons to organise parties.’

‘And worse,’ Lisa said.

Meeting up with his daughter did not really fulfil Fakelove’s expectations. Once the door had shut, Fakelove sat down, a little depressed, at his machine. Ella was not at home, and that, too, made him feel oddly uncomfortable. Whenever Ella was away, Fakelove thought that perhaps she would not come back again.

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