The Old Church 5
Pure
This story is part of The Old Church series.
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Pure
† † †
EXPECTING SHIT TO ARRIVE
SHADOWS, THE WRETCHED
SHE’S FREE, AT LEAST SHE IS
MUFF
THE CALL OF A BIRD
TAKING MY LIFE BACK
I LIKE IT
SHE’S NEVER SUCKED A COCK? EVER?
† † †
Here we are. Expecting shit to arrive with his Mercedes Sprinter, to pick me up, me who am another piece of shit.
Cold, morning. Jacket not heavy enough. Cigarette, taste of beer, headache, taste of aspirin, cereal mixed with beer and aspirin, haven’t brushed my teeth.
Go back inside, brush my teeth. After all, I still maintain a shred of dignity.
Outside: freezing. I’m waiting for Vlad to pick me up to take me to the Cale farm with the Thingies.
I know, I shouldn’t call them that. But don’t worry: I don’t respect even myself, so how can I respect them? There he is on the horizon making his way past the fishermen’s little houses: all red and white, like mine. Not as well kept: theirs are maintained, mine is shit.
Here they come. Vlad driving the dark blue petroil van, Lumi in the passenger seat, and me in the back with the Thingies. Fleshy lips, spitting, endless talk about football teams. Rosenborg, Molde, Brann, Vålerenga, Juventus, Manchester United, Liverpool, Real Madrid, Naples, Bayern Munich.
Shadows, the wretched. Condemned before birth, society doesn’t help them: it put them with me. And think about it: as irascible, distant, and indolent as I am with them, they consider me a friend, because they have nothing better.
I watch the marshes outside the window, moving in parallax: the distant shrubs and marsh reeds and pools of water and the sun, a red ball, that can never quite make up its mind up here in the arctic whether to rise or set. Mosquitoes, fucking mosquitoes, smell of peat, sweat. The mountains, splendid, grey, snow-covered, in the distance. We’re descending, the air gets humid.
Persephone, the old grey and white bitch, comes to greet us at the gate. She’s free, at least she is.
Actually, I kind of like the Cales. Obadiah and Carla, two elderly hippies who seem to have stepped out of a Grateful Dead concert. Carla and Lumi take the Thingies, bring them to play the Tibetan bell, to pet donkeys or similar bullshit. Us men, real men, me Vlad and Obadiah, we go into the geodetic greenhouse. The big blue eye of the fly, but I wonder, everything falls apart here and where did Oba find the money for all this expensive stuff? Nederwiet, Skunk, Moroccan Pollen grown here thanks to artificial lighting and geothermal heating. We smoke a joint, me, him and Vlad, and fortunately none of the three of us cares about football.
On the way back I’m nicely toasted, crispy, laughing like mad with the Thingies. Lumi turns around now and then and gives me a dirty look, but what do I care? That asshole social worker found me this shitty job to break me, to fuck me over, but no, they won’t fuck me over, I’m fucking myself over by not finding a real job.
We agree to let me out in the town square, in front of the Church of St. Olaf, which is where Lumi returns with the Thingies anyway.
I have something to do, and this too helps my mood quite a bit. The fat guy told me that at the pharmacy there’s this half-Italian guy, Bjorn Paduzzi, who’s the pharmacist but also passionate about photography, so he asked him to prepare for me what I need. I check the materials, and then the fat guy will pick me up, so we can talk a bit.
Good. I go inside. A quiet little shop, windows not too clean, curtains rather dull. The counter runs the length of the place, dark wood, green shelves full of little boxes, syrups. A blown glass flask with a cork stopper, a ceramic bottle with a label written by hand in Latin, a mortar with a marble pestle, a scale with brass plates.
Smell of herbs, probably herbal teas.
Muff.
The pharmacist isn’t there, there’s a girl. Very young, very pretty.
Sure she should smile a bit more: black hair, black shirt, black bags under her eyes like Winona Ryder in Beetlejuice but with smaller tits since she’s skinny as a sparrow. In fact Bjorn left the stuff for me in a small box: a Velbon CX-300 tripod and a Metz 45 CT-1 electronic flash, plus half a dozen Kodak Gold 200 rolls.
As I’m leaving she tells me: wsadź sobie statyw w dupę. Incomprehensible. Slavic? Lithuanian? Russian? Well I know she told me to go fuck myself, but I don’t care, I have other thoughts.
The fat guy at home had an absolute arsenal: a Zenit-E, FED-5, a Zorki-4 and even three Kievs. The poor bastard showed them to me like useless old scrap metal from some dead grandfather, I was about to jump on him and scratch his face like a cat: they were all perfect, the Zenit-E would have been perfect for what we had to do. In short, an old church, exterior shots in broad daylight, interior shots with tripod and flash, even a kid could manage it, and...
Interruption of thought: outside the pharmacy a small white Volvo tipper truck blocks my path. It wasn’t there before.
Behind my shoulders a whistle, it sounds almost like the call of a bird.
The Knight.
She’s sitting on a bench. She gives the last stroke with a mushroom knife to the point of a piece of wood. She’s dressed exactly like the other night, and puts the knife in her jeans pocket.
- Here, she tells me, and hands me the pointed stick. It looks like a small chisel.
- And what am I supposed to do with it?
- I don’t know, if you run into a vampire.
I smile.
- Tell me, what did you come to pick up? Doesn’t look like medicine.
Uh oh.
- Well, I wanted to start taking some photos again. You know, take my life back.
Mentally I ask myself: really? Did I really say that? Doesn’t seem like a bad idea.
But was I lying?
Bah.
The Knight smiles back. Her smile is sweet, distant.
- Come on, Pelle isn’t coming, he and my dad had a problem at the farm, a cow had a miscarriage. I offered to come pick you up. Didn’t he warn you?
- I don’t think so. Let me check.
I pull out my cell phone. Three missed calls, one SMS. I always forget to turn off silent mode.
Pelle.
“Rikku will pick you up. Leave the photography stuff, we’ll get it tomorrow.”
Ah.
- Yeah, he did warn me, but I didn’t hear my phone.
- Want to go get a drink before we head home?
Ah.
Before I can say anything, she anticipates: don’t worry, I know your problems, I’ve talked to Lumi too. We’ll just have a couple of beers, and you have to keep up with my pace. And I’m buying. Deal?
She talked to Lumi?
Oh, screw it. Fine that I'm an idiot but I certainly won't let slip that I fucked her sister. I pout my lower lip, tilt my head and nod satisfied.
- Deal. I promise I’ll buy as soon as I have some money. So never.
As she leads the way to the truck, Rikku laughs.
She closes her eyes, the sky fills with clouds.
† † †
Rikku is so different from Elli. Not that she’s a chatterbox, in fact, she was rather silent at the pub, she’s more hermetic than her sister, but it’s like she doesn’t want to let me inside my house.
I like it.
Elli is more, let’s say, pragmatic, in the management of time.
I pull out the pack of Pall Malls, see there’s the last one. I ask her if she wants to smoke it together but she says no, lowers her head and looks away.
She walks toward the van, gets in, rolls down the window and I rest both hands on the door.
- You know, she tells me, I’m happy. I trust Pelle a lot.
- So?
- So the fact that he welcomed you into the community made me happy.
- What does that mean? He didn’t welcome me anywhere.
- He sure did. The fact that he spends time with you means a lot, for us.
- Really?
- Didrik.
- Yes?
- Did you see that I left my number in your phone?
- You want me to call you, so you have mine?
- No.
Pause.
Rikku penetrates me with her blue eyes. We’ve had more than two beers, she’s a bit drunk.
She caresses my hand. Takes it, places a kiss on the back of my left one. Light, almost without lips, like that of a child.
She rolls up the window, leaves without saying goodbye.
I can do two things now.
One is to take a corner of my jacket, and wipe away the saliva, but no: I put the palm of my right hand on the back of my left, and seal the kiss forever.
Pure?
What the fuck does it mean that she’s pure?
How can a mouth be pure?
She’s never sucked a cock? Ever? Has she never told lies?
No.
No no no no no.
Oh.
How is it possible? What are these depths to explore?
The geothermal fault, where is it, to the North? What swims there for millennia, protected by the heat of hell, imprisoned by the purity of ice?
Demon.
Violence.
There it is, there it is, that’s what happened. There are two little blonde girls, in the dark, on their knees. They pray and tremble like leaves, they cry, Elli has pissed herself.
Teeth sink into cartilage, tear it, almost break from rage. In Rikku’s mouth remains only the taste of blood.
Spit.
† † †
- Hello?
- Did you go out with my sister?
- What?
- Shut up, asshole, just answer yes or no. Did you go out with Rikku?
- Yes.
- Did you make a move on her?
- No.
- Do you want to make a move on her?
- No, absol...
- I told you to answer only yes or no, dork. Did you tell her anything about us?
- No.
- Fuck you, Didrik. You’re playing with fire here, I’ll fuck you up good, you got it? Are you home?
- Yes.
- I’m coming to pick you up, we need to talk, just talk, you got it?
- Yes.
- Did you buy condoms?
- Yes.
- Bring them.
- Yes.
- Fuck off.
Click.
© 2026 Grimelight. All rights reserved. Don’t be a dick. Good luck, and godspeed.
- I’m coming to pick you up, we need to talk, just talk, you got it?
- Yes.
- Did you buy condoms?
- Yes.
- Bring them.
What are the condoms for? Find out in the next episode of...
Didi’s clearly pushing it, one more minute of this and he’s ostracised for loife
Well done, church lad