Milk Teeth Read online

  AN UNNAMED PRESS BOOK

  Copyright © 2019 Helene Bukowski

  Translation Copyright © 2021 Jen Calleja

  This work originally appeared in Germany:

  Helene Bukowski: MILCHZÄHNE. Roman

  © Aufbau Verlag GmbH & Co. KG, Berlin 2019 (Published with Blumenbar; “Blumenbar” is a trademark of Aufbau Verlag GmbH & Co. KG)

  The Translation of this work was supported by a grant from the Goethe-Institute in the framework of the “Books First” program.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. Permissions inquiries may be directed to [email protected]. Published in North America by the Unnamed Press.

  www.unnamedpress.com

  Unnamed Press, and the colophon, are registered trademarks of

  Unnamed Media LLC.

  ISBN: 978-1-951213-35-0

  eISBN: 978-1-951213-39-8

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2021941567

  Cover design and typeset by Jaya Nicely

  Cover Photograph by Annie Spratt

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are wholly fictional or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Distributed by Publishers Group West

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition

  MILK TEETH

  A Novel

  HELENE BUKOWSKI

  TRANSLATED BY JEN CALLEJA

  The Unnamed Press

  Los Angeles, CA

  Published in German as Milchzähne by Helene Bukowski

  For Tressow

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  About the Author

  About the Translator

  Don’t you think sometimes people are formed by the landscape they grow up in?

  —Joan Didion

  MILK TEETH

  The fog has swallowed up the sea. It stands like a wall, there, where the beach begins. I can’t get used to the sight of the water. I’m always looking for a bank on the opposite side that could reassure me, but there’s nothing but sea and sky. These days, even this line is blurred.

  We hardly ever see the sun, but that will change. There’s a sign already: the animals are losing their color here now too. Some of them try to escape across the sea, but the waves wash them back up on the beach after a few hours. We find them among the pieces of driftwood and plastic. No one knows if we could get sick from them, but our hunger is greater than our fear.

  We can’t turn back. Some say there was a fire. The dryness of the forests. A single spark. Unfavorable wind. I imagine a black plain. Ash falling like snow. The horizon unobstructed.

  Others claimed the process had been creeping. Bit by bit, everything crumbled to dust.

  All we can do is forge ahead.

  I can’t sleep at night. This is why I’ve decided to begin my account. Writing should fill the dark hours.

  I pushed the table we eat at from the middle of the room up against the window. The glass is steamed up from the inside, but I don’t want to stare outside anymore anyway. The floor lamp casts a yellow light into the room. There’s electricity here. Maybe there are huge wind turbines standing in the middle of the sea. What do they care if our world has fallen apart? Weather permitting, they’ll keep turning.

  My notes are laid out before me on the rough tabletop. I haven’t looked at them once since we left the territory. I didn’t want to have to remember. But now, I can no longer block out the images. I start reading, and everything resurfaces. So clearly, as if I were watching a film. With the help of the notes, I want to put everything that happened in the right order. I will tell it as I experienced it, because it should be my story.

  When I’m finished with this account, I’ll leave it behind in the table drawer, in the hope that we will begin a new life on the other side of the sea.

  1.

  I was taught to read and write by Edith. Back then, she still considered me her ally. From one afternoon to the next, we sat on the stained mattress in her room and piled books all around us. Outside the window, the fog veiled the landscape. Next to the bed, the wires of the electric heater glowed, and yet it never really got warm. So that I wouldn’t freeze, Edith wrapped me in a blanket and sat close beside me while she opened a book and read to me. Time and time again, she paused, ran her finger along the letters, and said them loudly and clearly. With great concentration, I repeated them. Later, she would write down individual words and get me to copy them out in crayon:

  HOUSE

  DOG

  FOREST

  Soon, I began finding words by myself:

  FOG

  MOTHER-OF-PEARL

  RUST

  Now, looking back, these afternoons seem absurd in their peacefulness.

  2.

  For a long time, the world beyond our plot didn’t exist for me. I built caves out of sheets and hid deep inside the house.

  “What you need are books,” Edith told me.

  They lay about all over the place because Edith didn’t see the sense in putting them back on the shelf after reading them. Her clothes were wildly strewn around too. When she got dressed, she went from room to room and picked up whatever she found.

  Her jewelry, on the other hand, she kept nice and neat in a wooden box on the vanity in her room. Every piece was adorned with mother-of-pearl. Mother-of-pearl was completely unheard of in the territory before Edith’s arrival, she told me once when I couldn’t sleep. “They only wear gold rings set with boar teeth or amber here. I told them that amber comes from the sea too, but they didn’t believe me.”

  “AMBER—PINE
RESIN THAT, IN A PAST AGE, THE SEA HARDENED INTO AN AMORPHOUS MASS,” I read the next day in the natural history book Edith left open for me on the kitchen table.

  3.

  Two blue Great Danes lived with us in the house. They didn’t have names and listened only to Edith. Every morning, she fed them bark she’d peeled from the firewood.

  I thought all dogs were fed this way, until I flicked through a book about pets. I read about CANNED FOOD and OFFAL.

  When I showed Edith the page, she laughed. “You can’t expect the world to be exactly the same as it is in books.”

  Whenever Edith went out of the house, the dogs wouldn’t leave her side. Even the garden appeared to be a threat to the dogs. I, however, liked it there. There were weeds everywhere. Edith taught me the names of the plants. I especially liked GOLDENROD. They had bright yellow blossoms and grew so high that they towered over me.

  We picked the MUGWORT and hung it up to dry out in the living room. The whole house smelled of it.

  As soon as the STINGING NETTLES spread too much, Edith tore them up out of the ground. I was never allowed to help her. When she came back into the house, her arms would be red and swollen, but each time she did it, she would act as though she hadn’t forgotten her gloves on purpose.

  From the stinging nettles Edith made mulch, which she diluted with water and put in gas cans. She used it to fertilize the soil.

  Next to the shed, Edith laid out a potato patch. I helped her with the digging and weeding.

  On account of the damp weather, there were a lot of snails. In the evenings, I collected them out of the patch and threw them into a plastic bucket that Edith filled with boiling water. I shook the dead animals over the compost.

  In the center of the garden was a pool. The bright blue tiles, dulled. The water, brackish. We bathed in it anyway. Edith taught me how to swim. I learned quickly. When we climbed back out of the water, our lips would be blue with cold. We warmed ourselves by the fire, and Edith read me stories about dark and weighty sea creatures that swam in the ocean.

  Time and time again, Edith lay for hours in the wet grass and caught rabbits that had gone astray from the nearby meadows with her bare hands. She knew how to butcher them from a book about small animals. In the last chapter, it described how to rear them. I read it out to her, and the next day we built the hutches. Eighteen square-shaped wooden boxes, six to a row. Edith tasked me with taking care of the animals.

  From the black fur of the slaughtered animals, Edith sewed coats. For days on end, she sat at the kitchen table and did nothing else.

  After finishing a coat, she would take it and drape it somewhere in the house. The way they lay there made me think of sleeping animals. They watched over me in my dreams.

  Edith wore only one of the coats. It was as black as the water in the rain barrel next to the house.

  She cut the buttons out of the bones, and it had an enormous hood that Edith pulled down over her face when she went into the garden.

  She worked on it every night for weeks. At the time, I didn’t know that she did it because she couldn’t sleep.

  I was there the first time she put it on. Outside, the day was dawning. I stood barefoot on the cold flagstones, shivering.

  “Do you like it?” Edith asked, turning in a circle.

  I didn’t say anything.

  Edith grabbed my hand. “It’s so thick it could stop gunfire,” she said.

  I replied, “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

  Edith let go of my hand and sent me back to bed.

  4.

  “Don’t go beyond the brambles,” Edith ingrained in me.

  This rule didn’t apply to her. She went when she thought I was sleeping. Through the window halfway up the stairs, I would watch her drive off in our rusty white pickup. On the truck bed would be several containers of mulch. When she came back, there were different containers. I assumed it was gas. She brought back fresh firewood too. Edith never hurried getting out of the pickup, and she always carried a heavy linen bag in her hand. As she walked back into the house, it would bump against her legs with every step and leave behind bruises.

  I knew that it was canned food she’d brought back from her wanderings. I would find them the next day in the pantry. Their labels were less faded than the ones on the others.

  I read them so often that I learned them by heart and wrote them on a slip of paper in my room:

  PEA SOUP, PICKLED GREEN BEANS, POTTED MEAT, TOMATO SOUP, PICKLED HAM HOCK, EVAPORATED MILK, RED CABBAGE, SAUERKRAUT, MORELLO CHERRIES, ASPIC.

  5.

  On some days, it was as if the seagulls were dropping out of the sky. We would find them twisted in the grass, their feathers scorched, and often with enflamed patches on their bellies or on their wing joints. Edith buried the carcasses in our garden. She recited rhymes while she did this. I memorized every single one of them. I could recite them now, but who here still cares about poetry?

  These burials were always followed by days when Edith wouldn’t get up. While she lay motionlessly on her mattress, neither asleep nor awake, I tried to keep within calling distance of her. I brought her food or painted something for her on the paper napkins I found in the kitchen. When I spoke to her, she didn’t respond. On better days, I was permitted to bring her a wet flannel and lay it over her face.

  6.

  I lost my first tooth, and everything began to change. I was lying in my bed under the covers, reading with a flashlight, when the tooth gave way under the pressure of my tongue. I spat it out. Not a drop of blood was clinging to it. It lay in my hand like a pearl. I tried to breathe calmly. That a piece of my own body had simply become detached was dreadful to me. I couldn’t make sense of it. Fear bound my chest.

  Outside my bedroom door, the dogs began to whine. I called for Edith but didn’t get a response. I left my room with the tooth in my hand. The dogs retreated from me. I found Edith curled up on the mattress. She was staring at the ceiling with a blank expression. I held out my tooth to her, but she didn’t react. It was only when I started to cry that she sat up and looked at me.

  “Please, just go,” she said.

  The Great Danes came in from the hallway and pushed me from the room, growling.

  I crawled into my bed. I held the tooth in my closed hand and didn’t dare move.

  The morning came, and nothing had happened. I’d lost nothing, except my tooth. I got up, placed it on the window ledge, and knocked on Edith’s door, but she didn’t let me in. I went downstairs and pulled out the medical lexicon. Back in my room, I put the electric heater next to my bed and sat on the mattress with the book. For the very first time, I read about MILK TEETH. The next day, I left our plot. I didn’t want to stick to Edith’s rules any longer.

  I put on my raincoat and went into the garden. The light was milky through the fog. The moisture lay like a thin film on my skin. I stooped toward a rock we’d found while digging. It wasn’t too heavy and sat nicely in my hand. With weak knees, I approached the brambles. The forest behind them looked like a painted backdrop. I fixed my gaze on it and threw the rock. It landed on the other side without making a sound. I had to throw ten more rocks before I dared to push my way through.

  The forest stood there as if it had been waiting for me all these years. I studied the bark of the pines, shunted the needles on the ground with my feet, put two pine cones in the pocket of my raincoat, and lay, until it got dark, in a hollow between the roots, gazing up into the branches above me.

  I understood that I belonged here too and that the landscape beyond the house, beyond the garden, was also made for me.

  By the time Edith got back up, I had been in the forest six times. I had lost another tooth and put it in a small tin can I’d found in the shed.

  I showed them to Edith when she came over to me in the kitchen. Her reaction wasn’t what I had expected. She folded her arms over her chest and said, “So you’re one of them now.”

  I looked at her blankly.

&
nbsp; “I’ve never lost a single tooth. You really do take after your father.”

  It was the first time that Edith had spoken about him.

  “My father?” I asked.

  Edith waved my question aside.

  She went back out again and left me once more alone at the table, where I turned the can in my hands and still didn’t understand.

  Edith found the two pine cones I’d brought back from the forest. For three days, she kept me locked in the cellar. After she let me back upstairs again, I climbed through an open window and fought my way back into the forest.

  Disappearing from the house felt like a heavy rock had been removed from my chest.

  The next morning, a dazzling brightness filled my room. I thought it was a dream, but the light endured. I looked out the window and was shocked by what I saw. The sky over the landscape was blue. Not a cloud in sight, only the sun above the house. It was the first time everything wasn’t overcast with fog. I had to close my eyes; it glowed red behind my eyelids. Squinting, I got dressed and went into the garden. I was wearing only a T-shirt, and yet I wasn’t cold. The sky stretched far and wide above my head. I had never been so afraid.

  Around midday, the fog drew in once more. And in the night, it was so cold that the top layer of water on the rain barrel froze. I broke off a piece, carried it into the house, and put it on the kitchen table. I stayed sitting there until the ice had completely melted and watched the way the water ran off the tabletop.

  Not long after, the weather began to radically change, and for a long time I believed that I was to blame. I hadn’t kept to Edith’s rule of not leaving the plot and had disturbed the order of things.

  To overcome my feelings of guilt, I started writing these things down. Out from single words came whole sentences. Through these I tried to hold on to what was about to disintegrate: the world as I knew it.

  I SAW THE BLUE OF THE SKY, IT LOOKED AS IF IT HAD BEEN HOLLOWED OUT, AND I THINK THAT EVENTUALLY THE HOUSES WILL ALSO STAND LIKE SKELETONS.