…of lending an ear

She finally relaxed the unnatural hold she had on herself, placed both arms on the table and cupped the warm glass in her hands, her face was harried and drawn… I examined her… she looked like a sketch of herself, as though I’d attempted to draw her from memory, and every line, every stroke had been too coarse, a little too harsh. She drank her toddy without being aware of it, not looking at me or anything else in the room. I began to feel cold myself, and I regretted not having ordered the same. But she seemed to liven up a little now, she got some colour in her cheeks, and her shoulders slouched, whether that was because she’d relaxed, or, on the contrary, because she was exerting herself even further. Then the tears came, as expected I suppose. With her gaze still fixed on nothing, they just began to flow, first from one eye and then from the other: when she blinked a thick film covered both of them. Eventually she turned to face me and I felt it only reinforced my already deep-seated embarrassment, knowing that even if she stayed sitting like that staring at me for a good long time, I still wouldn’t come up with anything sensible to say.
“What can I do?” she asked, in a voice that was surprisingly clear… despite the fact that she was still crying she must have realised that it was up to her to begin. And now that she’d made the effort to say something, it was as though she’d woken up and suddenly remembered why she’d come to see me. And then out it came, all at once: “Oh, what can I do, what can I do?” she chanted, again and again between crying fits. “Oh, Andreas, what can I do?” It was awkward; I had no idea of what you’re supposed to say in situations like that. Besides, my sister and I have never been particularly close, so I felt more than a little embarrassed that she should choose me of all people to confide in. Didn’t she have countless friends back home who she could turn to? And as for Fredrik, I hardly knew anything about him, I’d only met him two or three times, first at the wedding and then at a few Christmas get-togethers since, so I felt far from able to offer an opinion on any qualifications he may have as a husband and father of three. But seeing how she’d come all this way, and it having been such a long time since we’d seen each other, I didn’t feel like I could turn her away. There she sat, her whole face puffed up and wet, with her hand on my arm, rocking it gently back and forth, as if she was trying to wake me up too… a call to arms, I suppose, since I’d barely opened my mouth since we met and probably looked petrified sitting there, showing no sign of compassion or any of the other things she’d come to get.

[Self-Control, Sæterbakken, S.]