The Greenhouse

Fifty-one

Half an hour later there’s a knock on the door again. I think it might be my neighbor who has come to collect the iron I forgot to return to her yesterday. It’s Anna again.

She wavers in the doorway with her case in her hands.

— I was just thinking, she says, casting her eyes to the floor, that’s if you’ve no objections, of course, she continues as if trying to pave the way for what is about to follow, that I could just as easily finish the thesis here instead of going away. While you’re getting to know each other, it’s better for Flóra Sól as well, I mean, that she gets used to you while I’m here as well. That’s if you’ve got nothing against it, she says, sounding insecure; she’s feeling bad because she doesn’t want to leave.

— Of course, I’d sleep on the sofa in the sitting room, she quickly adds, so you two could have the bedroom. Then she hesitantly steps in and bends over to pick up my daughter, who is playing with a cube, as if to emphasize that the child can’t be without her. She takes a few steps back toward the door with the child, while she’s waiting for my response and also because, formally speaking, I haven’t invited her back in yet. Strictly speaking, she has already handed the child over to me. My daughter looks at her mother full of understanding, and I sense she’s showing her solidarity; they’re both staring at me from the door, the mother and daughter, waiting for my reaction.

— I could also stay in the guesthouse, she says, looking straight at the floor. She has a beautiful throat and neck.

— In any case I’d be at the library during the day.

Because I can see how bad she’s feeling, the only thing that occurs to me is to put her mind at rest and gently touch her arm. Then I say:

— You can stay here, and there’s a slight tremor in my voice.

I’ve just splattered it out without thinking about how quickly my life is changing.

— Thank you so much, she says softly. So long as you’re sure it’s OK. She’s so clearly relieved, she almost looks happy.

First I offer her my bed and sleep on the sofa for one night, now I’ve just invited her to live with me and write her thesis. I should probably be asking myself what I just got myself into. What does it mean? That she is going to live with the child and me and teach me the ropes? And yet, deep inside, in some strange and indefinable way, I’m delighted.

— Would you like to just start on your thesis then while I take Flóra Sól out in the carriage? I say. You two can have the bedroom, I’ll take the sofa, I add.

She grabs her case and takes it straight into the room. Then she reemerges with a thick book under her arm, sits down at the kitchen table, flicks through some chapters in the middle of the book, and starts reading her genetics.