Excerpts from
Choose Which Hand
By Vita Andersen
Her father and mother never ate together. Anna preferred to eat together with her mother in her four-poster bed. She wasnīt always allowed there. The cats were always allowed.
"Why can they be there when I canīt?" said Anna.
"Thatīs where they live; youīve got your own room."
Your own room. That was the living room. When she was in there, her thoughts were always with her mother, in there behind the gold- embroidered red velvet curtain. Only her body was in the living room. She couldnīt keep still and now and then she would tiptoe across to her motherīs room to look in. If only she could think of something to ask and get her mother to talk, then she would forget Anna and cheer up.
The best thing was to ask about her motherīs time as a dancer. Though it was dangerous to talk about it, too.
She loved to sit in the bed and look at the box of pictures and hear her mother tell about them.
"See this one. That was when I was dancing with Alaja. The costume was made of black tulle with gold on, and I had a diamond in my navel.
"A real diamond?" asked Anna.
"No silly, and I only had a twenty-inch waist, so I could get my fingers right round it - Iīve always had long fingers. Youīve got your fatherīs. Anyhow, he doesnīt need long fingers in his work."
Anna hid her hands behind her back. Her mother told her about admirers and parties and roses being thrown up on the stage. About champagne and delicious food. And once there was a really posh gentleman that wanted to commit suicide on account of her mother.
"Why didnīt you have me with one of those posh gentleman? The one that gave you the bed."
"Iīm tired now. Off you go into your own room."
"Iīll be quiet, promise."
Sometimes her mother would get angry. "Now stop clinging on to me, do."
Translated by W. Glyn Jones
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