Excerpts from
Lucca
By Jens Christian Grøndahl
Lucca rested a hand on the parapet of the terrace. Perhaps they could take a walk along the beach, if he felt like it. He took her hand and placed it on his arm, and thus they walked, in an old-fashioned way, he thought. She said so. Now we´re walking like two old people...
The shadows had grown long and accumulated in small bluish pools in the trodden down sand. The foam on the waves shone in the low sunlight. They walked close to the sea where the sand was firm and wet. They walked slowly, but he could see she was regaining her strength. It was the first time she had been down the beach. The white stick left little holes in the sand, a wavering track. She breathed in the air. Seaweed, she said. She was right. A salty, slightly rotten odour hung over the matted layers of dried-up seaweed between the edge of the beach and the sand dunes. It was better than the smell of cleaning material... She paused. Her hand slipped down from his arm when she stopped. She could not bear to be caged in any more. She said this quietly, like a statement. No, she said.
They sat down on the sand, close to the edge of the beach. She bent her knees and pulled her dress over her calves. The sea was calm, and there was complete silence each time a little wave had broken before the next one collapsed and fell. The fans of water and foam came up right to the shadows of their heads and shoulders. He told her Andreas was back at the house, and what he had said in the morning. That he was sorry. That he wanted to try again. He didn´t say anything about how things had gone in Stockholm. She picked up a handful of sand, clenched her fist and let it sift through her fingers in a fine spray like the sand in an hour glass. Was this why he had come? To tell her that? For a moment Robert said nothing. ´Yes´ he replied.
The last grains of sand trickled out of her hand, and she laid it flat on the sand. He looked at her, waiting for her to say something. She sat facing the waves. She was no longer the person who could have come back. Her voice had a hard clear note. She was no longer the person who could have been able to decide on that, she went on. She said no more. Silence fell. He took his pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket, there were two left. Would she like to smoke? No, thanks. He lit a cigarette and gazed across at Kullen. She didn´t know... now her voice was so low that half the sentence was blotted out as a wave broke. He asked her to repeat it. She cleared her throat. She didn´t know anything any more. She drew a deep breath and leaned her head back, and he caught sight of the tears running down under her wide sunglasses. She wiped them away with her fingertips, her knuckles pushed at the edges of the glasses and he caught a glimpse of her ruined eyes. She sniffed and breathed out through her mouth. It was like living in a waiting room, she said. Without knowing what you were waiting for.
He invited her to come and stay with him. Then it would be easier for her to spend time with Lauritz while considering what was to be done. She turned towards him, and he looked out at the sea to avoid his reflection in her dark glasses. He had not thought of it before, but as soon as he had made the suggestion it seemed obvious. She could have his room, he could sleep in Leah´s. In a week or two she might perhaps change her mind. When she had talked it over with Andreas. Surely they would have to talk to each other at some point.
She made no reply. Neither said anything as they walked back. When they came into the hall she stopped and let go of his arm. Had he meant it? He sounded more offended than he´d wanted to when he answered her. What did she think? She smiled apologetically and reached for his arm again. It was just that it was... unexpected. They went on across the hall. Why was he bothering himself with all her problems at all? She turned her dark glasses towards him as if regarding him expectantly. Let´s say I´m someone who has too much room, he finally brought out. Too much room? Yes, he said. Too much room, too much time.
Translated by Anne Born
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