A Great Deserted Landscape (Electric Literature's Recommended Reading) (2 page)

When she brought me breakfast, she was dressed. She was wearing a loose-fitting blouse buttoned right up. She said I should try to sit up, and she fetched some cushions, which she put behind my back. She was different. She looked everywhere but at me. She placed the tray with sandwiches and coffee on the duvet in front of me. Shout if you need anything, she said, and left.

After I’d eaten, I made up my mind not to call her, she could come of her own accord. I put the cup and plate on the nightstand and let the tray drop onto the floor, I was pretty sure she’d hear it. I lay waiting, for a long time, but she didn’t come. I thought about how I’d forgotten to ask her how Mom was. Then I thought about how, when I was better, I’d be all on my own. I’d have the house all to myself, there would be no one who’d know when I was coming and going, and no one would know what I was up to. I wouldn’t need to hide.

At last she came. I’d been feeling the effects of the pill for quite some time, and I was considerably better disposed towards her. I asked how Mom was doing, and she said that she was just getting up. I thought she was in hospital, I said. No, she said, it was only cuts and bruises. I told her what Mom had said to me about Dad. At first she looked like she didn’t believe me, then it was like her whole body froze, her gaze too, and she said: That’s... that’s... disgusting! I was taken aback by her vehement reaction, after all she was a modern young woman. These things happen, I said. She stared at me as if I’d said something wrong. Oh, sure, yeah, she said, then picked the tray up off the floor and planted the cup and plate hard down on it. Don’t let Mom know I told you, I said. Why not? she said. She asked me not to, I said. So why did you then? she said. I thought you should know, I said. Why? she said. I didn’t reply, I was beginning to grow quite irritated, I certainly didn’t like being told off. So the two of us would have a little secret? she said, in a tone I wasn’t supposed to like. Yes, why not, I said. She looked at me, for quite a while, then she said: I think we both have different ideas about each other. That’s a pity, I said. I closed my eyes. I heard her leave and close the door behind her. It hadn’t been closed since I had come home from the hospital, and she knew I wanted it open. I was already angry, and that closed door didn’t serve to lessen my anger. I wanted her out of the house, I didn’t want to see her anymore. I wasn’t so helpless that I needed to put up with all this. I hadn’t done her any harm.

It took quite some time before I calmed down again. Then I thought about how the way she had behaved probably had more to do with Dad than with me, and once she had a chance to think it over, she’d see how unreasonable she had been.

But I couldn’t quite manage to relax, and I had to admit to myself that I was dreading her return. I kept thinking I heard footsteps outside the door, and I’d close my eyes and pretend to be asleep. And I was just as relieved each time when she didn’t come. Finally I lay there with my eyes closed just listening and waiting, and then I don’t remember anymore until I saw Mom at the end of the bed, standing looking at me, a gauze dressing on her forehead, and a kind of bonnet on her head. Were you having a bad dream? she said. Was I talking in my sleep? I said. No, she said, but you were making faces. Are you in pain? Yes, I said. I’ll go get you a pill, she said. She could hardly walk. I thought Sonja was probably embarrassed about having behaved in such an unreasonable manner, and that was why Mom had come instead of her, but when Mom came back with the pill, she said: Well, it’s just the two of us now. She said it as if I was already aware of it. I didn’t reply. She gave me the pill and offered to hold me up behind the shoulder, but I told her it wasn’t necessary. I put the pill in my mouth and drank from the bottle. She sat down on the chair by the window. She said: Sonja was worried it would be too much for me, but she really wanted to get back. I nodded. Yes, she said, she said that you understood why she had to leave. Yes, I said. She smiled at me, then she said: You don’t know how grateful I am. For what? I said, even though I knew what she meant. When I came around and saw you lying there beside me, she said, and I thought, at least William cares about me. Of course I do, I said. I closed my eyes. After a while I heard her get up and leave. I opened my eyes and thought: if she only knew.

Kjell Askildsen was born in 1929 in Mandal, southern Norway. At the age of twenty-four, he published his first collection of short stories. In the 1960s and 1970s, his output was restricted to short novels, yet he turned his back on the form for good after his 1983 novella,
Thomas F's Last Notes to the General Public
, which is available in English in the collection
A Sudden Liberating Though
. In 1991, Askildsen was nominated to the Nordic Council's Prize for Literature. His books have been translated into more than twenty languages. He lives and works in Norway.

About the translator:

Seán Kinsella is from Ireland. His last translation for Dalkey Archive Press, Stig Sæterbakken´s
Through the Night,
has been long-listed for the Best Translated Book Award 2014. He lives in Norway.

About the Guest Editor:

Dalkey Archive Press, founded by John O'Brien in 1984, is an international nonprofit literary publisher dedicated to expanding the readership for world literature by publishing challenging modern and contemporary writers, developing new audiences for these works, and placing them in historical, international, and cross-cultural contexts. Dalkey Archive Press has published over 700 literary works, all of which are kept permanently in print.

About the Publisher:

Electric Literature
is an independent publisher working to ensure that literature remains a vibrant presence in popular culture. Electric Literature’s weekly fiction magazine,
Recommended Reading
, invites established authors, indie presses, and literary magazines to recommended great fiction. Once a month we feature our own recommendation of original, previously unpublished fiction, accompanied by a Single Sentence Animation. Single Sentence Animations are creative collaborations: the author chooses a favorite sentence and we commission an artist to interpret it. Stay connected with us through email, Facebook, and Twitter, and find previous Electric Literature picks in the
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Halimah Marcus
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Josh Milberg
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Readers:

Michael Beeman, Claire Carusillo, Shane Cashman, Scott Cheshire, Ellen Duffer, Emily Firetog, John Francisconi, Susan Hood, Vedika Khanna, Donna Kozloskie, Ilya Lyashevsky, Noreen McAuliffe, Sara Ortiz, Corey Sabourin, Julia Sanches, Leah Schnelbach, Kate Simonian, Jake Zucker

"A Great Deserted Landscape" is excerpted from
Selected Stories
by Kjell Askildsen and is reprinted by permission of Dalkey Archive Press.

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