It’s a miracle.
Elisabeth’s visiting Minna’s apartment.
Elisabeth stands in the middle of the living room.
Elisabeth’s in stocking feet.
The face as hard as enamel.
Elisabeth’s rage is family legend.
The examples are legion:
Elisabeth removes bikes in Potato Row.
Nothing may shade the house.
Nothing may destroy the harmony of the façade.
Elisabeth doesn’t move the bikes a couple yards.
Elisabeth walks around to other streets with the bikes.
No one should think they’re safe.
Elisabeth threatens people with lawsuits and psychotic episodes.
Elisabeth drives people to numerologists, and even worse:
Elisabeth once made Mom have a breakdown over a piece of royal porcelain.
Elisabeth’s aligned the stars on her side, and now she stands in the living room:
Dust rises: Didn’t I tell you to call?
Elisabeth continues, Didn’t I tell you to come by?
Minna proffers tea.
Elisabeth sets her purse down on the coffee table.
Elisabeth’s eyes flit from the dirty laundry to Bach.
Elisabeth eyes need to shut for a bit.
Minna edges past her sister.
Minna pours calcified water into two mugs from IKEA.
Minna stuffs in the teabags.
Minna walks back to the living room.
Elisabeth has seated herself.
Minna sets a mug before her.
Elisabeth doesn’t want the tea.
The tea ought to be green, So why didn’t you call?
Minna doesn’t manage to answer.
Elisabeth cranks up the language.
The language lashes Minna.
The language is a castigation.
Minna sips her tea.
Sisters should be therefor each other, Elisabeth says.
Sisters should save each other from the muck.
Minna’s life gleams with muck, Is it that reporter?
Minna says it might be.
Elisabeth sighs.
Elisabeth reaches out for her purse.
Minna knows what’s coming: the prescription.
Elisabeth’s into Ayurvedic medicine.
Ayurvedic medicine stems from India.
Ayurvedic medicine divides people into types.
Elisabeth is fire, Elisabeth says.
Minna’s mud.
No one’s surprised.
Elisabeth’s been to the Bookstore of the Unknown.
Elisabeth’s bought a book about demons.
The demons are Indian.
The book’s dust jacket is black.
Elisabeth says that the book will provide Minna with fire.
Indian demons are good at rage.
Demons transform through destruction.
Minna watches her sister’s face: it actually opens up.
The face is a soup pot of crazy ideas.
The sister feels certain the reporter can be exorcised.
Minna will see, it’ll be a relief.
Minna looks at the book and understands.
Minna is a weak creature.
Elisabeth’s stronger.
Minna thanks her.
Minna’s a pleaser.
Elisabeth’s rage is legend in the family, but
Elisabeth’s doing better now.
Elisabeth gets up and adjusts her clothing.
A vacuum cleaner wouldn’t hurt, Elisabeth says.
Minna nods.
Aarhus is still on the map, Elisabeth says.
Minna nods.
Dad got to be old as the hills.
Minna nods.
Life goes on.
Minna nods.
It’s really late, her sister says.
Minna nods and nods and nods.
Elisabeth’s demons lie on the nightstand.
Minna can’t sleep.
The demons sneak about in the dark.
The demons reek of soot.
Minna switches on the light and opens the door to the kitchen stairs.
Minna goes down into the backyard and its twilight.
The man in number eight’s watching soccer.
The woman in number four’s having sex.
The stars twinkle.
The trash can gapes.
Minna casts the demons from her and closes the lid.
Minna opens the lid again.
Minna jams the book under a bag.
It’s not enough.
Minna jams it farther down.
Minna can feel the trash around her hand.
Minna feels the trash’s soft and hard parts.
Minna gets damp fingers.
Minna gets her upper arm in.
Minna thinks of vets and midwives.
Minna’s as deep down as she can get.
Minna releases the book.
The book’s wedged in there deep down.
Minna hauls back her damp arm.
Minna averts her face from the stench.
Minna presses the lid down hard.
The man in number eight scores.
The woman in number four ditto.
Minna goes back upstairs.
Minna scrubs herself.
Minna goes to bed.
Minna can’t sleep.
You never know with demons.
Demons are parasites.
Parasites need individuals.
Minna knows that.
Minna’s an individual herself.
Minna’s one individual among millions.
Minna’s a gnu on the savannah.
Minna’s a herring in a barrel, but even worse:
Minna places her hands across her eyes.
Minna feels something: Is that hair?
Minna slips out to the mirror.
Minna places her face against it, and there she is:
Minna with fur on her face.
Minna in a wild stampede.
Minna on her way over the cliff edge.
The sea waiting below.
Death by drowning.
Her paws paddling and paddling.
The paws can’t do it, they can’t.
The orchestra plays a hymn.
Minna can no longer sing.
Minna sinks quietly toward the bottom.
Minna doesn’t struggle at all.
Minna doesn’t understand it herself.
Minna tells her mirror image, Swim then, God damn it, but
Minna doesn’t swim.
The sun’s shining.
Jette’s placed the paper across her knee.
The paper’s opened to the culture section.
The front page of the culture section is full of a woman.
The woman’s Linda Lund.
Minna balances two cups of coffee.
Jette’s busy smoothing out the paper.
Minna’s having a hard time getting her legs to bend.
Minna glances at the mermaid’s gaping gaze.
Minna glances at Linda.
Linda fills most of the front page.
Linda’s shot with an out-of-focus lens.
Linda’s mouth is slightly open.
Linda’s eyes are deep and alert.
Linda sits and strokes her guitar.
The guitar no longer plays Segovia.
The guitar plays wistful pop.
People love wistful pop.
The guitar’s positioned between Linda’s legs.
People love Linda’s legs.
Minna has goblins in her diaphragm.
Minna turns green.
Minna’s terrible to photograph.
Minna’s better in person, but
Linda looks lovely in the paper.
Minna can’t breathe.
Minna’s throat stings.
Jette rustles the paper excessively.
Jette lifts it up.
The paper’s right in Minna’s face.
Minna sees what Jette wants to show her:
Lars has written the article.
Lars has made the article fill seven columns.
Lars has used the word sensual in the headline.
Minna looks toward Christianshavn.