She kisses him on the cheek and walks back into the kitchen, where she’s boiling some water for tea.
Burim takes off his shoes and puts them under the shoe rack in the hall, leaving his knapsack on a hook by the front door next to the umbrellas — one with smiley faces against a black background, and the other from the World Wildlife Fund in green with a panda bear on it.
‘Isn’t it a little hot for tea?’ Burim asks in lightly accented English.
‘Iced tea. You use English Breakfast with a bit of honey, and then put it right into the fridge.’
He sits on a pine chair from IKEA in the kitchen, and watches her go through the process.
‘We have a problem,’ he says.
Burim watches her from behind, stirring the honey into the tea, as he slouches in the chair and puts his elbows on his knees. He scratches his shoulder and rubs his face.
Drawing a deep breath, he holds it for a moment and then, finding the courage, says, ‘I just saw Kadri.’
And then, like pushing a button, Adrijana does exactly what he expected her to do.
First, she turns around. Then she says, ‘You said you’d stay away from him.’
To which Burim has no choice but to say, ‘They called. And I couldn’t say no.’
And then she gives him
‘Kadri is dangerous. He’s still part of that mob. He’s a gangster, and he’s crazy. You promised you’d stay away from all those people. They are not your friends. And if you get pulled into their world, especially now, you will fall down a well and you will never get out. And I’ll leave you — I swear I will.’
‘Why especially now?’
‘Why? That’s a good question. Let me see if I can think of the answer.’ Since starting her law studies at the University of Oslo, Adrijana has become a more formidable prosecutor. She always had the talent to argue, but her studies have unlocked her potential by teaching her that reasoned argumentation is a weapon worth unleashing on the feeble.
Feigning a conceptual breakthrough with a wide-open mouth, she waves the wet teabag for emphasis, which sprays on Burim, ruining his T-shirt.
‘Oh, I know. Could it be that we now live together and our futures are permanently intertwined, and part of you being a man in this relationship involves making small compromises like… oh, I don’t know… I do the laundry and, in return, you stay away from heroin-trafficking psychopaths and a dead Serbian woman three blocks from here?’
‘I’m not involved in any of that. You know that.’
‘No. What I know is that you said you’re not and I’ve chosen to believe you. I don’t really know what you’re doing and what you’re not doing.’
‘You know me.’
Adrijana softens a bit in her tone, but the focus remains the same.
‘And I know them, too. And I also read the newspaper. Please tell me they had nothing to do with that woman getting killed. Please tell me that.’
Burim opens his hands, and Adrijana slumps.
‘We should go to the police.’
‘Enver is my cousin. And I’m sure they already know.’
‘How do you know? You can’t even read Norwegian. How do you know what the papers say?’
‘There’s an English-language website. I looked.’
Adrijana shakes her head. ‘Why did you go?’
‘I’m afraid, OK? I need to know what they know.’
‘About what?’
‘About us!’
‘What about us?’
‘You’re Serbian!’
‘I’m Norwegian.’
‘Oh, please. Not this again.’
Adrijana now raises her voice, as she does every time she is forced to defend her identity and those she identifies with.
‘I am Norwegian. I have a Norwegian passport. I’ve lived here since I was eight years old. I have Norwegian parents. I go to the university. It is my best language. I am not Serbian!’
And Burim raises his voice, too. He cannot believe that she can fail to see how little any of that matters.
‘You were born in Serbia. Your name is Serbian. You escaped during a war and were adopted here. Your mother tongue is Serbian. Your blood is Serbian.’
‘So what?’ she yells.
‘It doesn’t matter what you think you are,’ shouts Burim. ‘It matters what
‘Who?’
‘All of them!’
And with that they both fall silent.
Pink Martini plays a glowing song of melancholy and remorse and, eventually, they look at each other. And then — the irony too rich to ignore — they smile.
She says, ‘I love you.’
And he says, ‘I love you, too.’
‘You may not see this, but I really am Norwegian. I trust them. If you think we’re in some kind of danger because the crazies don’t approve of our relationship, then I’m going to tell someone. I’ll tell the police. Because the Norwegians won’t tolerate that sort of thing. I can love whomever I want. You’re a slob, and you smoke, and you keep terrible company.’
Burim frowns and looks up. ‘But.’
‘But what?’
‘You’re supposed to list all my bad traits and then say, “But” and tell me all the reasons you love me.’
Adrijana pouts. ‘I’ve never heard that.’
She puts the tea in the refrigerator, and then readjusts a black-and-white postcard of a Flamenco dancer that slipped from its magnet.
Burim says, ‘I really am worried, though. Kadri said something that makes me think he knows about us. They’re trying to find a little boy.’
Burim looks at her carefully as he says this.
Adrijana is expressionless and says, ‘What little boy?’
‘The son of the woman who was killed.’
‘Why would they want to find a little boy?’
‘I can’t say.’ He pauses and takes out a cigarette that Adrijana immediately takes away, rinses under the faucet, and throws away. ‘You don’t know anything about it?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Are you sure your parents are OK with us?’
‘No. They think I can do better than you. As I said, you’re a slob and you smoke and your friends suck, and you need a better job, and I’d like you to go to college. But they don’t care that you’re from Kosovo, if that’s what you mean.’
‘What about me being a Muslim?’
‘You’re not a very good Muslim.’
‘That’s not what I mean.’
‘They don’t care.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because they don’t care what you are, Burim. They care who you are. If you act like an arsehole, they’ll hate you. If you act like an arsehole because you’re a Muslim… well… that’s your business. What’s with the little boy?’
