than four, maximum five, baubles on the tree, after all we were going to put a lot of other nice things on it, shop-bought baubles, tinsel, lights, hearts, flags and some clip-on birds. I had a feeling this was going to be the same process as with the reading, that whatever was done would have to be repeated
ad infinitum,
it was worrying. I think Mother was worried too, for out of the blue she said we should go out to the balcony and look at the Christmas tree, which of course was not to be moved into the sitting room until the following day, because that was the tradition in our house, she intoned in her fairy-tale voice, standing in the cold balcony doorway on the 22nd and admiring the new Christmas tree before it came indoors, as the snow fluttered down from the Arnebråtens’ balcony upstairs, a scene that was redolent of Walt Disney.
Of course, this was a ploy to distract Linda. I took the hint and stayed behind in the kitchen to tidy up all our mess so that only the eight baubles Linda had made stood in a line against the wall. I had to admit that the black one with the runny yellow paint was in fact the best. When they returned and Mother said with a shiver that now it was time to enjoy a nice hot cup of cocoa, Linda had no problem focusing her attention on supper, which today included an extra slice of bread topped, in her case, with spiced cheese.
We decorated the tree on the 23rd, Mother on one stool, me on another and Linda on the floor with her baubles forming a kind of skirt around the branches, like planets in a rough and tumble solar system, and she had never even done that before, so it was another great night, which the tiniest slip of the tongue on my part could so easily have turned into a catastrophe, and Mother was in a very good mood now that Kristian was away with his family and we had the place to ourselves.
On the morning of the 24th I went into the street with Linda for a few hours. For the first time. Brother and sister. And that passed off well enough too, even though I was nervous, and Anne-Berit, the stay-at-home, made the point that Linda didn’t sledge the way she should, she was always trying to come on my sledge. I let her, of course, but it meant she cramped my style, and I suppose I looked more awkward than usual. When any of the other kids spoke to her she did not answer.
“What’s your name, then?”
“Her name’s Linda.”
“Are you visiting?”
“No, she lives here.”
“Where, at your place?”
“Yes.”
“Are you Finn’s sister?”
Neither of us answered that one.
“My mum says you’re Finn’s sister.”
“Mother does too.”
“Is that true, Finn?”
Silence.
“Hey, Finn won’t answer. Is she your sister, Finn? Come on, out with it.”
“Where the hell’s she
been
all this time?”
A boy by the name of Freddy 2 said to her face:
“Can’t you talk or what?”
“No,” Linda whispered, and the whole gang laughed, Freddy 2 loudest of all, he had been given that name because there were no fewer than three Freddys in our street, of whom only Freddy had any personality.
“P’raps you’re just deaf?” Freddy 2 wondered.
“Yes,” Linda said.
They laughed even louder at that. But it was a good answer, which meant no more questions were asked, for the time being. We did some more sledging, to Linda’s mounting pleasure, because we kept to the shortest slope, in front of the house. When we got to the bottom she grabbed my mitten with more or less the same grip she had used on Mother. We tramped to the top and tobogganed down again. But then some bright spark asked:
“You – what’s your name, then?”
“Her name’s Linda, I’ve already told you!”
“Can’t she speak or what?”
“Say something, Linda!”
“D’you wanna toffee, Linda?”
“…”
When, after a couple of hours, frozen to the bone and aching with lumps of ice dangling from our sweaters and socks and scarves and woolly hats, we went back inside, Mother had to
ad infinitum,
it was worrying. I think Mother was worried too, for out of the blue she said we should go out to the balcony and look at the Christmas tree, which of course was not to be moved into the sitting room until the following day, because that was the tradition in our house, she intoned in her fairy-tale voice, standing in the cold balcony doorway on the 22nd and admiring the new Christmas tree before it came indoors, as the snow fluttered down from the Arnebråtens’ balcony upstairs, a scene that was redolent of Walt Disney.
Of course, this was a ploy to distract Linda. I took the hint and stayed behind in the kitchen to tidy up all our mess so that only the eight baubles Linda had made stood in a line against the wall. I had to admit that the black one with the runny yellow paint was in fact the best. When they returned and Mother said with a shiver that now it was time to enjoy a nice hot cup of cocoa, Linda had no problem focusing her attention on supper, which today included an extra slice of bread topped, in her case, with spiced cheese.
We decorated the tree on the 23rd, Mother on one stool, me on another and Linda on the floor with her baubles forming a kind of skirt around the branches, like planets in a rough and tumble solar system, and she had never even done that before, so it was another great night, which the tiniest slip of the tongue on my part could so easily have turned into a catastrophe, and Mother was in a very good mood now that Kristian was away with his family and we had the place to ourselves.
On the morning of the 24th I went into the street with Linda for a few hours. For the first time. Brother and sister. And that passed off well enough too, even though I was nervous, and Anne-Berit, the stay-at-home, made the point that Linda didn’t sledge the way she should, she was always trying to come on my sledge. I let her, of course, but it meant she cramped my style, and I suppose I looked more awkward than usual. When any of the other kids spoke to her she did not answer.
“What’s your name, then?”
“Her name’s Linda.”
“Are you visiting?”
“No, she lives here.”
“Where, at your place?”
“Yes.”
“Are you Finn’s sister?”
Neither of us answered that one.
“My mum says you’re Finn’s sister.”
“Mother does too.”
“Is that true, Finn?”
Silence.
“Hey, Finn won’t answer. Is she your sister, Finn? Come on, out with it.”
“Where the hell’s she
been
all this time?”
A boy by the name of Freddy 2 said to her face:
“Can’t you talk or what?”
“No,” Linda whispered, and the whole gang laughed, Freddy 2 loudest of all, he had been given that name because there were no fewer than three Freddys in our street, of whom only Freddy had any personality.
“P’raps you’re just deaf?” Freddy 2 wondered.
“Yes,” Linda said.
They laughed even louder at that. But it was a good answer, which meant no more questions were asked, for the time being. We did some more sledging, to Linda’s mounting pleasure, because we kept to the shortest slope, in front of the house. When we got to the bottom she grabbed my mitten with more or less the same grip she had used on Mother. We tramped to the top and tobogganed down again. But then some bright spark asked:
“You – what’s your name, then?”
“Her name’s Linda, I’ve already told you!”
“Can’t she speak or what?”
“Say something, Linda!”
“D’you wanna toffee, Linda?”
“…”
When, after a couple of hours, frozen to the bone and aching with lumps of ice dangling from our sweaters and socks and scarves and woolly hats, we went back inside, Mother had to
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