Butterflies in November

FIFTY-SEVEN

Across the chasm there is some kind of stone arch or bridge. It has been considerably eroded since I last crossed it, but I decide to give it a chance and lean forward, at first only gently pushing against the stone with one arm. Then a bridge automatically stretches across the abyss; it obviously has hinges. I tell myself that this is an ingenious invention. But as I’m pondering on whether I should leap over the chasm or not, I’m awoken by the phone. I leap out of bed, searching everywhere for my new mobile, our renewed link with the vanished world, and finally find it in the pocket of my raincoat. It’s 04:07.

It’s my ex-husband calling from the capital from some bar where he says he’s been drinking beer for the past two and a half hours. He tells me he’s been trying to track me down for three weeks to tell me he’s had a daughter. He’s emailed me a picture of her, but I obviously don’t answer. He got my new number from his ex-mother-in-law.

“She’s lovely, tiny and soft,” he says.

“Congratulations.”

“You didn’t have to run away like that, just vanish. You’ve got a new address, a new phone number. What crime did you commit?”

“I’m not running away, I’m taking a break.”

“Just because we’re divorced doesn’t mean we have to lose all contact, does it?”

He wants to know if he woke me up.

“I hear you injured yourself.”

“Who told you that?”

“Your mom, when I finally reached her to get some news about you, she just got back from India.”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, the cast was removed yesterday.”

“How are you anyway?”

“Just fine, thanks.”

“I was thinking of visiting you, coming to say hello?”

“I thought you were tied down, with a woman and child.”

“Tied and not tied.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Do you know what the special thing about you is?”

“What?”

“You’re always so sexy when you’ve got that sleepy tone of voice, when you’ve just woken up.”

“I’m not sure it would be a good idea for you to come.”

“Your mom told me the roads are impassable so I guess the flying instructor will just have to come on his plane.”

“What does Nína Lind have to say about all this?”

“You can barely reach her or the child, she’s got so many of her girlfriends around, the house is always packed right up to the front door. When they aren’t at our place, she’s at their places with the baby. When I walk into the living room of my own house, there’s a sudden silence and awkwardness. Easy to guess who they’re talking about and what the nature of the problem is.”