Takes Place

By Svend Åge Madsen

The road winding to the left of the garden must be the one he was following a moment ago, on his way towards the sea, when he changed his mind. When he allowed himself to be persuaded to turn back.
   Miss Crochetneedle´s legs describe an arch beneath her skirt. If she stretched her legs a little, the circle would seem more complete. Just as the thought struck him, she turned round and stretched her legs, at which her white-stockinged feet came into view beneath the bottom edge of the skirt.
   She´s pretty, really pretty. A lock of her dark hair drops down, dangles in front of her eye, bothers her a little. A couple of times she blows it away, too preoccupied with her work to put it right. At last she stops. Takes the needle in the other hand, while pushing the stray lock in under the clasp. During this operation, her body adopts a perfect stance, pure, harmonious, so he can only hope she will retain it. She lapses into thought, sits for a while before drawing herself up, straightening her back, making a comment that is answered by the older woman.
   A smile, let me see your smile. Her reaction to the older woman´s remark really is a smile. A brief spasm which momentarily reveals a row of white teeth.
   Almost dazzled, he has to draw back from the window. To close the shutter, to go back to bed in confusion. What has happened?

Translated by Glyn Jones