home-cured salt beef we always used to have, and a loaf of sweet, dark bread and a cold beer. And wafer rolls coated in pearl sugar.
She wasn’t, of course. Where would she have got wafer rolls from, just like that? She hadn’t even unpacked the shopping or put the water on for tea. She was standing there in front of the bookcase in the sitting room, arms dangling at her sides, staring at the spines of the books. She didn’t find any lost treasures there, I’m afraid. My old school books and a few things from Mum’s reading circle – and fifteen years’ worth of ancient bound volumes of the National Farming Magazine .
I didn’t feel very comfortable. Despite getting so carried away at her flat, I had noticed she’d got two walls covered in books.
“Looking for some bedtime reading? Would you like Elementary School Chemistry or the National Farming Magazines for 1956? Thrilling year for pig breeding, that one,” I ventured. She gave me a tired smile. Not a summer holiday smile, not at all.
We went out to the kitchen and I started noisily getting cups out and putting water on to boil. She sat down at the table and began leafing through the agricultural supplies catalogue.
It felt a bit strange. I mean, the fact that she expected to be waited on like that.
“I’ve been all through higher education,” she said suddenly, “and I can always answer the current affairs quiz in Dagens nyheter without cheating. But even so, Ihad no idea there were any such things as self-loading trailers or bras for cows.”
I said nothing. She was trying to make a point. I put the bread on the table and she reached for it absent-mindedly .
“I mean, I expect you deal with those sorts of things every day and know them back to front. They’re no stranger for you than Lacan’s theories are for me.”
“Who?” I said. “Lackong?” He was some bloke at Alfa Laval, wasn’t he? Invented the milk separator?”
Of course I realised that she meant it kindly. That I shouldn’t feel I was, like, stupid because I hadn’t got any books and hadn’t been to college, and that she was ignorant in her own way, blah, blah, blah. It riled me, even so. Who the hell did she think she was, coming here and consoling me for not being her? I must have sounded sulky, because she peered at me through her fringe.
“I just mean that sitting here on the settee there should be a girl with thick blonde plaits saying, ‘Benny, have you seen, they’ve got some new styles of cow bra this year! And don’t you think you should invest in a Krone 2400 self-loader?’ I don’t know the first thing about what you do.”
“If it was a girl like that I was looking for, I’d have applied to the farmers’ relief service,” I said. “Or put a personal ad in The Farmer . ‘WLTM woman with tractor licence, appearance no object, unpaid.’ But if you pick up girls in cemeteries, you have to make do with what you get. And anyway, weren’t you going to learn hand milking?”
That brought out the summer holiday smile.
“Have you got anything I can practise on?” she said.
I had. There and then.
We dragged ourselves to bed; I didn’t even manage to change the sheets, though I’d certainly planned to.
I was woken in the middle of the night by her sitting up in bed, her breath coming fast and panicky.
“Örjan?” she said in a dry little voice, feeling my arm with sweaty fingers.
“You’re with me now,” I mumbled, stroking her arm until she calmed down. She took my three fingers and laid them over her mouth and went back to sleep with a sigh.
Good running shoes and a reliable compass –
what help are they
if I don’t know
which way up the map goes?
I was woken by Benny, sitting on the side of the bed, trying to plait my thin, straight hair.
It felt like the middle of the night, and there was a nightmare lurking dimly at the back of my mind. Something about Örjan trying to get me into a lifejacket . “But I’m only going in a
She wasn’t, of course. Where would she have got wafer rolls from, just like that? She hadn’t even unpacked the shopping or put the water on for tea. She was standing there in front of the bookcase in the sitting room, arms dangling at her sides, staring at the spines of the books. She didn’t find any lost treasures there, I’m afraid. My old school books and a few things from Mum’s reading circle – and fifteen years’ worth of ancient bound volumes of the National Farming Magazine .
I didn’t feel very comfortable. Despite getting so carried away at her flat, I had noticed she’d got two walls covered in books.
“Looking for some bedtime reading? Would you like Elementary School Chemistry or the National Farming Magazines for 1956? Thrilling year for pig breeding, that one,” I ventured. She gave me a tired smile. Not a summer holiday smile, not at all.
We went out to the kitchen and I started noisily getting cups out and putting water on to boil. She sat down at the table and began leafing through the agricultural supplies catalogue.
It felt a bit strange. I mean, the fact that she expected to be waited on like that.
“I’ve been all through higher education,” she said suddenly, “and I can always answer the current affairs quiz in Dagens nyheter without cheating. But even so, Ihad no idea there were any such things as self-loading trailers or bras for cows.”
I said nothing. She was trying to make a point. I put the bread on the table and she reached for it absent-mindedly .
“I mean, I expect you deal with those sorts of things every day and know them back to front. They’re no stranger for you than Lacan’s theories are for me.”
“Who?” I said. “Lackong?” He was some bloke at Alfa Laval, wasn’t he? Invented the milk separator?”
Of course I realised that she meant it kindly. That I shouldn’t feel I was, like, stupid because I hadn’t got any books and hadn’t been to college, and that she was ignorant in her own way, blah, blah, blah. It riled me, even so. Who the hell did she think she was, coming here and consoling me for not being her? I must have sounded sulky, because she peered at me through her fringe.
“I just mean that sitting here on the settee there should be a girl with thick blonde plaits saying, ‘Benny, have you seen, they’ve got some new styles of cow bra this year! And don’t you think you should invest in a Krone 2400 self-loader?’ I don’t know the first thing about what you do.”
“If it was a girl like that I was looking for, I’d have applied to the farmers’ relief service,” I said. “Or put a personal ad in The Farmer . ‘WLTM woman with tractor licence, appearance no object, unpaid.’ But if you pick up girls in cemeteries, you have to make do with what you get. And anyway, weren’t you going to learn hand milking?”
That brought out the summer holiday smile.
“Have you got anything I can practise on?” she said.
I had. There and then.
We dragged ourselves to bed; I didn’t even manage to change the sheets, though I’d certainly planned to.
I was woken in the middle of the night by her sitting up in bed, her breath coming fast and panicky.
“Örjan?” she said in a dry little voice, feeling my arm with sweaty fingers.
“You’re with me now,” I mumbled, stroking her arm until she calmed down. She took my three fingers and laid them over her mouth and went back to sleep with a sigh.
Good running shoes and a reliable compass –
what help are they
if I don’t know
which way up the map goes?
I was woken by Benny, sitting on the side of the bed, trying to plait my thin, straight hair.
It felt like the middle of the night, and there was a nightmare lurking dimly at the back of my mind. Something about Örjan trying to get me into a lifejacket . “But I’m only going in a
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