Since this woman became a believer, she has been causing trouble in the house # 57398
- Regular
- 6,900 kr
- Sale
- 6,900 kr
- Regular
Sold Out
- Unit Price
- per
Since this woman became a believer, she has been a source of trouble in the house. A novel by Elísabetu Kristín Jökulsdóttir.
A good copy, signed.
She came back on Monday and her tired eyes shone. Varnish is a wonderful material, as if it were alive, she said, you should see how shiny the stairs are. Can I see the black paint again? I opened a can for her and went to do something else and must have spent an hour serving a customer who needed wood for a porch and when I returned the woman was still looking into the can.
"I'm sorry," she said, "but this is so tempting. I'm beginning to understand the darkness."
I was dealing with a man with a porch, I said to reassure her that it was all fine, but I felt so unnecessarily condescending and regretted it.
A terrace, she repeated, and her expression became dreamy. When I've finished the inside of the house as it should be, I'll build a terrace, or do you know what I want most of all, she asked, almost dragging me out onto the flat land outside the shop. Look at my skylight, I want to have a balcony built on this side, I know it's the north side but the sun sets behind the mountains and the bay turns red, it's wonderful, the kitchen is sometimes like a disco in the spring, but there on the balcony I could sit and watch the sunset. And in the winter I look at the stars, the Big Dipper is visible past midnight and all the other stars, just think, I can look up at the sky, I just wear wool socks. I always wear white wool socks, she added after a short silence. What do you think of that?
Well, I said, not feeling like I should be banging on the skylight, there's going to be construction going on, I said, and I saw her in my mind's eye on the balcony. She was wearing white wool socks that reached mid-thigh and a loose white fleece sweater, holding a cup of cocoa and whipped cream dripping from her lips. She had just woken up and was sound asleep.
A good copy, signed.
She came back on Monday and her tired eyes shone. Varnish is a wonderful material, as if it were alive, she said, you should see how shiny the stairs are. Can I see the black paint again? I opened a can for her and went to do something else and must have spent an hour serving a customer who needed wood for a porch and when I returned the woman was still looking into the can.
"I'm sorry," she said, "but this is so tempting. I'm beginning to understand the darkness."
I was dealing with a man with a porch, I said to reassure her that it was all fine, but I felt so unnecessarily condescending and regretted it.
A terrace, she repeated, and her expression became dreamy. When I've finished the inside of the house as it should be, I'll build a terrace, or do you know what I want most of all, she asked, almost dragging me out onto the flat land outside the shop. Look at my skylight, I want to have a balcony built on this side, I know it's the north side but the sun sets behind the mountains and the bay turns red, it's wonderful, the kitchen is sometimes like a disco in the spring, but there on the balcony I could sit and watch the sunset. And in the winter I look at the stars, the Big Dipper is visible past midnight and all the other stars, just think, I can look up at the sky, I just wear wool socks. I always wear white wool socks, she added after a short silence. What do you think of that?
Well, I said, not feeling like I should be banging on the skylight, there's going to be construction going on, I said, and I saw her in my mind's eye on the balcony. She was wearing white wool socks that reached mid-thigh and a loose white fleece sweater, holding a cup of cocoa and whipped cream dripping from her lips. She had just woken up and was sound asleep.