Whether it's acceptable to anticipate events in this way.'
Slowly the wedges of cheese turn golden. I go to the fridge for cranberry sauce, find a plate, a knife and a fork.
'Well, I stand by my decision. But nevertheless something about it troubles me. Now take it easy, Alvar, and don't put too much pressure on me.'
I turn the cheese over, the wedges are perfect.
'I do like my flat,' he says. 'I'm very pleased about my job at the gallery. It's almost more than I dared hope for, I could have ended up in a dirty workshop with a gang of noisy, crude men, I would not have enjoyed that.'
'If you're so pleased,' I say, 'why are you here? I think you're too quick to interfere, I've only written one chapter.'
He squirms a little on the chair. I look at his black shoes, they are so shiny you can see your face in them.
'The thing is, I'm worried,' he says. 'I'm forty-two years old and I am starting to question my own worth. My goodness, which I have always taken for granted. And pardon me for mentioning this, but from what you've written so far it's starting to look suspiciously like a midlife crisis.'
I stop what I am doing and my eyes widen.
'Surely I'm not destined for that kind of story?' he asks nervously. Then he smiles apologetically and lowers his head.
I lean back and fold my arms across my chest.
'If this is going to work at all, we have to trust each other,' I say. 'Last night you said that you would accept whatever fate you were given. Do you stand by that?'
Alvar is embarrassed, but he nods. I look at his folded hands, they lie like a knot in his lap.
'Why do you always sit with your hands folded?' I ask him out of curiosity.
'I can't put them in my pockets,' he says quickly, 'it ruins the cut of my trousers, my mother taught me that.'
I nod and I understand. I remove the wedges of cheese from the frying pan and slide them onto my plate, arrange the cranberry sauce next to them and carry everything into the dining room. Alvar follows me softly. He pulls out a chair.
'You will go back to work when you've finished eating, won't you? There's still much of the day left.'
I rest my chin in my hands. 'Would you kindly let me eat in peace?'
He falls silent. His grey eyes flicker around the room, he looks at the pictures on my walls.
'Death,' he says all of a sudden. 'You have a picture of Death on your wall.'
I nod and spear a slice of cheese with my fork.
'Why is that?'
'He's an old friend.'
He shakes his head at this. Gives me an uncertain look. 'What's that supposed to mean? An old friend?'
I cut a piece off the melted cheese and dip it in the cranberry sauce.
'Well, how can I put it? He feels familiar, like an old, faithful friend. When I can't manage any more, he comes and takes me away. Maybe he'll put me on his lap, just like the picture.'
'It's a drawing by Käthe Kollwitz,' Alvar says. 'Death with a Maiden on his Lap.'
'That's right. It's beautiful. Look how gentle he is, see how delicately she rests against his chest. Sometimes when I work, Death comes into my room. He places a hand on my shoulder.'
'That would chill me to the bones,' Alvar says. 'Doesn't it frighten you?'
'No. It's more like a gentle caress. Not now, I tell him calmly, not now, I'm in the middle of a book and I have to finish it.'
'There's never a good time for dying,' Alvar says. 'We know that we all have to and it's a fate we carry with dignity as long as it doesn't happen today. Or tomorrow, because there are a few things we were hoping to do.'
'That's how it is,' I reply. 'However, I prefer to maintain a degree of contact with Death. It's an exit, which is always open. At night I play a game. I go to bed and feel my sleeping pill wash over me like a wave. Suddenly I'm on a beach and a man dressed in black comes rowing. I stand completely still waiting while he moors the boat. The water ripples over the stones, the old woodwork creaks.'
'Do you get in?' Alvar asks me earnestly.
'Yes, I do. The water is like a mirror.
Slowly the wedges of cheese turn golden. I go to the fridge for cranberry sauce, find a plate, a knife and a fork.
'Well, I stand by my decision. But nevertheless something about it troubles me. Now take it easy, Alvar, and don't put too much pressure on me.'
I turn the cheese over, the wedges are perfect.
'I do like my flat,' he says. 'I'm very pleased about my job at the gallery. It's almost more than I dared hope for, I could have ended up in a dirty workshop with a gang of noisy, crude men, I would not have enjoyed that.'
'If you're so pleased,' I say, 'why are you here? I think you're too quick to interfere, I've only written one chapter.'
He squirms a little on the chair. I look at his black shoes, they are so shiny you can see your face in them.
'The thing is, I'm worried,' he says. 'I'm forty-two years old and I am starting to question my own worth. My goodness, which I have always taken for granted. And pardon me for mentioning this, but from what you've written so far it's starting to look suspiciously like a midlife crisis.'
I stop what I am doing and my eyes widen.
'Surely I'm not destined for that kind of story?' he asks nervously. Then he smiles apologetically and lowers his head.
I lean back and fold my arms across my chest.
'If this is going to work at all, we have to trust each other,' I say. 'Last night you said that you would accept whatever fate you were given. Do you stand by that?'
Alvar is embarrassed, but he nods. I look at his folded hands, they lie like a knot in his lap.
'Why do you always sit with your hands folded?' I ask him out of curiosity.
'I can't put them in my pockets,' he says quickly, 'it ruins the cut of my trousers, my mother taught me that.'
I nod and I understand. I remove the wedges of cheese from the frying pan and slide them onto my plate, arrange the cranberry sauce next to them and carry everything into the dining room. Alvar follows me softly. He pulls out a chair.
'You will go back to work when you've finished eating, won't you? There's still much of the day left.'
I rest my chin in my hands. 'Would you kindly let me eat in peace?'
He falls silent. His grey eyes flicker around the room, he looks at the pictures on my walls.
'Death,' he says all of a sudden. 'You have a picture of Death on your wall.'
I nod and spear a slice of cheese with my fork.
'Why is that?'
'He's an old friend.'
He shakes his head at this. Gives me an uncertain look. 'What's that supposed to mean? An old friend?'
I cut a piece off the melted cheese and dip it in the cranberry sauce.
'Well, how can I put it? He feels familiar, like an old, faithful friend. When I can't manage any more, he comes and takes me away. Maybe he'll put me on his lap, just like the picture.'
'It's a drawing by Käthe Kollwitz,' Alvar says. 'Death with a Maiden on his Lap.'
'That's right. It's beautiful. Look how gentle he is, see how delicately she rests against his chest. Sometimes when I work, Death comes into my room. He places a hand on my shoulder.'
'That would chill me to the bones,' Alvar says. 'Doesn't it frighten you?'
'No. It's more like a gentle caress. Not now, I tell him calmly, not now, I'm in the middle of a book and I have to finish it.'
'There's never a good time for dying,' Alvar says. 'We know that we all have to and it's a fate we carry with dignity as long as it doesn't happen today. Or tomorrow, because there are a few things we were hoping to do.'
'That's how it is,' I reply. 'However, I prefer to maintain a degree of contact with Death. It's an exit, which is always open. At night I play a game. I go to bed and feel my sleeping pill wash over me like a wave. Suddenly I'm on a beach and a man dressed in black comes rowing. I stand completely still waiting while he moors the boat. The water ripples over the stones, the old woodwork creaks.'
'Do you get in?' Alvar asks me earnestly.
'Yes, I do. The water is like a mirror.
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