It was a rainy afternoon in Copenhagen. Gertrud sat by the window sill. Toes curled under her blanket she stared into the wet streets of Kristianiagade in Vesterbro, which was a cozy little Danish neighborhood where nothing unusual would ever happen. Nothing unusual in particular. Gertrud would like to think she was familiar with strange incidents. She’d wait most days for bizarre events to take place, and whenever she thought anything appeared out of the ordinary – her parents would simply respond by saying, “sludder & vrøvl” – meaning, nonsense in plain Danish.
Gertrud’s mom, Mrs Jespersen was a secretary at the ministry to a very important minister indeed. Henrik Mads Nielsen. A very common Danish name. Nothing unusual about that. Mrs Jespersen was slender and very tall, yes, but only a little taller than Gertrud’s dad. Her hair was honey blonde wispy and thin on her big head. Every morning she cycled to the ministry, while Gertrud’s dad stayed home and prepared smørbrød – Danish sandwiches for Gertrud and her younger brother Asger.
Mr Jespersen was a skinny man with sandy blond glossy hair and electric blue eyes. He worked as a chef in a very famous restaurant, where food was an ornament. They served beetles and bugs on bedded flowers and grass. No chicken nuggets. No fries, no pasta. No, thank you very much this is a Danish restaurant where we serve fine Danish food. The best of its kind and the best in the world.
Mr Jespersen loved to decorate Asger and Gertrud’s school lunch. Of course, Gertrud would never eat such disgustingly decorated sandwiches. Most of the time, her teacher would, and in exchange give Gertrud good marks for being an inattentive student.
Asger on the other hand, a chubby little boy would chunk in anything he could get his fat little fingers on. He was eight and short for his age. His hair was also sandy blond and glossy. Brown little freckles crowded his pig shaped nose, and his eyes were big and round like saucers and sunny blue.
Gertrud looked a lot like Pippi Longstocking. Red fiery hair, moss green eyes and dark freckles. Gertrud was also superhumanly strong. Very unusual for a ten-year-old girl and very strange. Mrs and Mr Jespersen didn’t like to speak about Gertrud’s superhuman strength. Instead they colored her room baby pink and enrolled her for ballet dressed like a white swan. But Gertrud just didn’t fit in. She was tall, clumsy and a tomboy.
It did occur to Mr and Mrs Jespersen that their daughter did not have a hipster name like Emma, Anna or Anja. Nor did she look anything like them or Asger. Slightly odd perhaps, but there’s a secret to that and they simply refused to speak about it.
Denmark was a mysterious place because it had the happiest people in the world, and the Jespersen family was an average happy Danish family. Well almost, because it was perhaps only Gertrud who wasn’t very happy. She hated her lunches, and always felt like she didn’t fit in anywhere. She wasn’t a girly girl, and if the boys bothered her, she’d punch them to the floor giving them unstoppable nosebleeds.
After two hours of staring at the rain Gertrud noticed something odd. It was not that it was odd, it just didn’t seem to fit in to the cozy little neighborhood of Kristianiagade in Vesterbro. She widened her eyes and jerked her head around. At the corner of the street giant of a man marching like a lion was walking in the direction of their apartment block. He was sturdy, wore very little clothes and had deep red hair. He nearly straggled crossing the pavement. When he looked up his green eyes met Gertrud’s.
Instantly she flung toward the door, nearly breaking her mom’s favorite vase.
“Gertrud what on earth is going on?” said Mr Jespersen. Gertrud threw on her wellies and yellow submarine jacket and reached her hand to the door handle.
“There’s a strange looking man. He’s on his way in here.” Gertrud could hardly catch her breath out of excitement.
“Sludder & vr… - wait what strange looking man?” said Mr Jespersen furrowing his eyebrows. His entire face creased forming layers of intense suspicion.
“He looks just like me!” screamed Gertrud. She was bouncing up and down shaking the entire floor. The glassware in the kitchen was making clingy sounds.
Mr Jespersen’s face blew up like a red balloon. He fetched Gertrud’s arm hard and twitched her around so she slid across the oak floors and landed in a pile clothes in the entrance.
“Gertrud! Go to your room right now! And stay there!” Mr Jespersen was usually a very gentle man that never rose his voice. He’d never grabbed his children or ordered them around to do anything. This particular incident suddenly seemed very peculiar to Gertrud. This time she was certain she was on to something that wasn’t sludder & vrøvl.