The Sun and the Shadow #58325
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The Sun and the Shadow. A novel by Fríðu Á. Sigurðardóttir.
Life in the world of the octopus house went on as planned. Sigrún started on new medications. Gugga still underwent radiation therapy that was supposed to prevent a new brain tumor and destroy dangerous cells. Olga continued her research and Halldóra was still here. And the patients in old Guðrún's bed were always being changed.
Everything went as usual.
Yet nothing was the same as before.
Every now and then, Sigrún would shiver in the heat of Z-3.
Maybe she was just getting the flu? Or a cold? She was always so lethargic.
Of course, it was just a cold.
She had trouble sleeping. She lay awake and listened to the sounds of the night in the octopus's world.
“Good morning,” she said sleepily after one such night. She looked around and saw that Olga, Gugga, and Rósa, the woman in Guðrún's bed, had left. Birna and Nanna were making the beds.
“Today,” Birna said cheerfully. Nanna mumbled something. She was clearly sleepy too. “It’s eight o’clock.”
"Oh, now I remember. The wagon – the young man – he died last night. Didn't he?" Sigrún asked without thinking. "'I saw into his living room last night. He who was so young – "
Birna and Nanna pretended not to hear her. They hurried to Halldóra's bed and began to undress her. They brought out clean clothes for her.
"What did he die of?" Sigrún continued to think to herself.
The girls finished dressing Halldóra, then lifted her out and put her in the wheelchair. Birna started telling her how awful the weather was.
"What's wrong with you girls?" Sigrún asked in surprise, suddenly feeling cheerful. "Why don't you answer me?"
“Huh?” said Birna. “Aren’t we going to answer? What do you mean?”
"The young man..."
"What young man?"
"The one who was lying here next to me..."
"Now, what about him?"
“I just asked what he died of,” Sigrún said wearily, preparing to leave. “But it doesn’t really matter.”
"You don't have to be angry – you just – well, you just can't talk about things like that," Birna said irritably after a short silence. "It's not customary to – to –"
"Can't I talk?" Sigrún repeated, surprised. "What do you mean?"
"You know exactly what I mean. We just can't talk about – about –" Birna fell silent.
“About death? In a hospital?” Sigrún blurted out. “Why on earth not?”
"It ruins morale. It has a bad influence –"
“To whom?”
"On you, of course."
Life in the world of the octopus house went on as planned. Sigrún started on new medications. Gugga still underwent radiation therapy that was supposed to prevent a new brain tumor and destroy dangerous cells. Olga continued her research and Halldóra was still here. And the patients in old Guðrún's bed were always being changed.
Everything went as usual.
Yet nothing was the same as before.
Every now and then, Sigrún would shiver in the heat of Z-3.
Maybe she was just getting the flu? Or a cold? She was always so lethargic.
Of course, it was just a cold.
She had trouble sleeping. She lay awake and listened to the sounds of the night in the octopus's world.
“Good morning,” she said sleepily after one such night. She looked around and saw that Olga, Gugga, and Rósa, the woman in Guðrún's bed, had left. Birna and Nanna were making the beds.
“Today,” Birna said cheerfully. Nanna mumbled something. She was clearly sleepy too. “It’s eight o’clock.”
"Oh, now I remember. The wagon – the young man – he died last night. Didn't he?" Sigrún asked without thinking. "'I saw into his living room last night. He who was so young – "
Birna and Nanna pretended not to hear her. They hurried to Halldóra's bed and began to undress her. They brought out clean clothes for her.
"What did he die of?" Sigrún continued to think to herself.
The girls finished dressing Halldóra, then lifted her out and put her in the wheelchair. Birna started telling her how awful the weather was.
"What's wrong with you girls?" Sigrún asked in surprise, suddenly feeling cheerful. "Why don't you answer me?"
“Huh?” said Birna. “Aren’t we going to answer? What do you mean?”
"The young man..."
"What young man?"
"The one who was lying here next to me..."
"Now, what about him?"
“I just asked what he died of,” Sigrún said wearily, preparing to leave. “But it doesn’t really matter.”
"You don't have to be angry – you just – well, you just can't talk about things like that," Birna said irritably after a short silence. "It's not customary to – to –"
"Can't I talk?" Sigrún repeated, surprised. "What do you mean?"
"You know exactly what I mean. We just can't talk about – about –" Birna fell silent.
“About death? In a hospital?” Sigrún blurted out. “Why on earth not?”
"It ruins morale. It has a bad influence –"
“To whom?”
"On you, of course."