The Greenhouse

Fifty-four

On the way home it occurs to me to look into a small children’s clothes shop next to the barber’s. I spot a floral dress in the window that might fit my daughter. The furnishings are archaic and the children’s clothes a bit old-fashioned. The owner of the shop is an old woman, close to ninety. She’s happy to get some customers into the shop and immediately pulls out two floral dresses, one with blue checkerberries, the other with pink roses. I stand Flóra Sól up on the counter and loosely measure up the dresses against her. Still, I’m not sure the designs suit a person whose body is mainly built around the waist. Then the woman remembers a yellow dress she has stored away in a special place at the back, with a pattern of white lilies, an irresistible crocheted lace collar, and crocheted yellow stockings to match. I go for it and buy the floral dress and stockings. As I’m about to pay, the woman points out that my daughter needs a coat to go with the dress and says she’ll give me a good discount. She returns quickly with one wrapped in plastic, tiny, a burgundy woolen coat with double lining and a stitched collar and pockets. I put the coat on my daughter and stand her back up on the counter. She is undeniably short in this full-length coat, but the color suits her as she stands there upright on the counter, looking like a porcelain doll in a museum, a miniature adult. Some more people have come into the shop, and my daughter wins the admiration of two of the shop owner’s elderly lady friends who have popped in. I walk out with the burgundy coat, yellow dress, and stockings.

In the evening I cook veal in wine sauce again, but instead of frying the meat in slices, I chop it into pieces and make a veal goulash for the mother of my child and nine-month-old daughter. Then I boil the potatoes like the night before, only this time I mash them.

After dinner I put my daughter into the dress and coat to show them to her mother. The child repeats the performance she gave in the shop on the kitchen table and claps her hands in approval.

Anna laughs and claps back, admiring her daughter for a moment, and then sinks back into her book. I’m a bit worried about how absentminded she can be when she’s with the child; she plays with her daughter for brief spells, they frolic about, laugh and titter, but then it’s as if her mind is totally elsewhere and she loses interest, hands me the child, sits at the kitchen table, and opens her books. Although I don’t think she’s more interested in her research than Flóra Sól, I do nevertheless worry about how fleeting her cheerful moments can be.