Page 13 of White Room Virgin

Jonah hesitated, his expression contorted with indecision. “I … well … I like my room the way it is.”

“Jonah,” Martin firmly said as he switched on the oven. “You spend your time in an empty room. Sitting on the bed with your laptop, working or reading.”

“So, what’s wrong with that?” he defended himself vigorously.

“It’s like you’re not even there,” Martin calmly said while putting cheese on the table and cutting off two slices of bread. “You stow your clothes and books under the bed so that your room is as empty as a prison cell. A bed and a lamp. To be honest, that worries me a little. It’s as if a ghost is living with us. Hang Jesus on the wall for all I care, but do something!” He then set the knife aside and regarded his cousin with concern. “Your parents are coming to visit soon. They’ll end up thinking you’re not being treated well here.”

Jonah’s sudden stiffness revealed his unmistakable sense of discomfort. When he noticed me looking at him—his lips are beautiful even when he’s serious––he left the kitchen in a hurry.

“Hey!” Martin shouted.

“Looks like you’ve hit a sore spot,” I remarked in a straightforward manner.

“What do I know … I have no idea what exactly is going on inside him.” Martin stroked his hair back thoughtfully. “He’s still kind of a kid and hasn’t even had a girlfriend yet.”

“And why is thatyourproblem?”

“It’s not my problem,” Martin replied. My question seemed to have irritated him a little. “You’re right. But let’s be honest—it’s not normal. A shared room shouldn’t look like a prison cell.”

“Just think of it as awhite cube.”

“As what?”

“As a museum room.”

“And that’s better?”

“At least it has more potential than a prison cell.”

“Stop it!” Jonah suddenly shouted as he stood in the hallway, wearing his running clothes and putting on his cap.

“That was obvious. Now he’s off jogging again,” Martin remarked. “He’s acting like a maniac.”

The door slammed shut behind Jonah, his footsteps echoing as he descended the stairs. A glance out of the window indicated it was about to rain. I flicked the ash off my cigarette and said out loud, “It does have its charm, considering how many things we surround ourselves with.”

“Are you taking his side now?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I’m just saying.”

7

–––––

Jonah

One week later, Martin’s words still haunted me.

Why is he even interested in furnishing my room?A bed and a lamp were all I needed. There wasn’t much else back home on the farm. In fact, on the day I moved in, I was surprised at how much stuff there was in Martin’s room. An overflowing bookshelf, a table with a computer, posters of Ella Fitzgerald, John Coltrane, and Louis Armstrong hanging on the walls. At first, I didn’t even know who they were, and now that I did, I still didn’t see the point in hanging them on the wall.

It was Sunday again. I had just come out of the kitchen with a glass of water when I noticed the door to Lucien’s room was open. That was unusual since he normally always made sure it was closed. A slender beam of light pierced the darkness of the hallway.

Ever since the argument with Martin, I kept wondering what Lucien’s room looked like. Although the open door wasn’t an explicit invitation, I couldn’t resist giving it a push.

Initially, I didn’t know where to direct my gaze. I was literally flooded with impressions, yet I walked into the room as if drawn by a magnet. The walls were covered with black and white photographs and concert posters.

A shelf loaded with books, records, and CDs was at the foot of the bed. Lucien stood by the desk, its surface obscured beneath a heap of painting supplies. He stuffed a stack of papers into a bag and tossed in two cans of beer. I was amazed at how neatly the bed was made, despite the books piled up on the small table next to it, almost causing the lamp to fall over. Above the bed, a few photos were pinned to the wall, while clothes spilled out from the chest of drawers behind Lucien.

He slipped into his woolen coat and wrapped a scarf around his neck.

---