Read Online Stella Descending by Linn Ullmann - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Linn Ullmann
Tags: Fiction
Ads: Link
baking!” She laughed.
I shook my head.
“You’ve got some icing on your cheek.” Still smiling, she ran her right index finger across my cheek and popped her finger into her mouth.
“Mmmm,” she said, and winked. “Vanilla icing. . . . Have you got something up your sleeve?”
“No, not at all!” I said. “I had people over for dinner yesterday, and one of the ladies brought a cake. I was rude enough to eat the last slice before you got here. Well, I didn’t want to offer you the remains of last night’s cake. But Stella, why don’t you sit yourself down in the living room. I’ll put your rolls onto a dish, organize some bread and cheese, and make the coffee.”
“I’ll give you a hand,” she said.
“Stella, go sit down! Please! I’ll see to this.”
I was close to tears again. She smiled hesitantly and left me to myself in the kitchen, giving me a chance to dry my eyes and shove the ill-fated layer cake deeper in the garbage can. Then I put on the coffee.
The next hour passed uneventfully. We sat on the sofa, ate fresh-baked rolls, and drank coffee. She talked. She smelled sweet. She laughed. I didn’t say much; I didn’t need to. She was full of all the things she had seen and done on her short trip to central Norway with her new boyfriend.
“We left early Friday morning,” Stella said. “Flew from Fornebu to Værnes. We could have flown to Namsos, which is closer, but it would have cost a lot more. He paid for everything—”
“I should hope so,” I interrupted.
“You can talk,” she said, “but we’re both pretty strapped for cash. I thought it was really nice of him. Next time it’ll be on me. But that’s not the point. That’s not what I was going to tell you. The thing is, Axel, I’ve always been so afraid of flying. It’s not natural for human beings to fly; we belong on the ground. It’s not natural to put yourself so unconditionally and so helplessly into the hands of another human being—the captain, I mean. That he should have to carry so many bodies up into the air at one time, fly from one town to another, one country to another, goes against everything—the force of gravity, the survival instinct, the need for control, the amount of faith that I, for one, am able to put in others. How do I know that all the people who had a hand in building that particular plane were one hundred percent on the ball and knew what they were doing? Who’s to say there wasn’t some nutcase among them? And how do I know that the mechanics, the guys whose job it is to check that everything’s in working order, weren’t a bit hung over the day I happened to be flying out and cut a few corners? And how do I know that the captain didn’t find his darling in the arms of another man the night before? What if he decides the best revenge would be to send himself and everyone else on board plummeting to their deaths?”
“You just have to trust people,” I ventured.
“So says Axel Grutt, who’s never trusted a living soul.”
I mumbled something or other, but she carried on.
“Anyway, that’s the reason I don’t fly very often—that and lack of cash, of course. But Martin tried to help me. He knows I can’t resist a challenge. Just last week he said he would cook me the most wonderful seven-course dinner if I would dress as a man—his clothes, fake mustache, hat, coat, the lot—and go down to the supermarket with him. Well, on the way to the airport he said, ‘Stella, if you can manage to fly from Fornebu to Værnes without panicking, I’ll give you an ostrich egg.’ I laughed and asked what good an ostrich egg was going to be to me when the plane crashed and we were catapulted into nothingness.
“It went on like that. You know, of course—you do know, don’t you, Axel?—that I didn’t want him to see how afraid I was. He seems so sure of himself, and I feel so awkward and afraid when I’m with him. I’m never afraid with you, Axel, but with him . . . anyway, I
I shook my head.
“You’ve got some icing on your cheek.” Still smiling, she ran her right index finger across my cheek and popped her finger into her mouth.
“Mmmm,” she said, and winked. “Vanilla icing. . . . Have you got something up your sleeve?”
“No, not at all!” I said. “I had people over for dinner yesterday, and one of the ladies brought a cake. I was rude enough to eat the last slice before you got here. Well, I didn’t want to offer you the remains of last night’s cake. But Stella, why don’t you sit yourself down in the living room. I’ll put your rolls onto a dish, organize some bread and cheese, and make the coffee.”
“I’ll give you a hand,” she said.
“Stella, go sit down! Please! I’ll see to this.”
I was close to tears again. She smiled hesitantly and left me to myself in the kitchen, giving me a chance to dry my eyes and shove the ill-fated layer cake deeper in the garbage can. Then I put on the coffee.
The next hour passed uneventfully. We sat on the sofa, ate fresh-baked rolls, and drank coffee. She talked. She smelled sweet. She laughed. I didn’t say much; I didn’t need to. She was full of all the things she had seen and done on her short trip to central Norway with her new boyfriend.
“We left early Friday morning,” Stella said. “Flew from Fornebu to Værnes. We could have flown to Namsos, which is closer, but it would have cost a lot more. He paid for everything—”
“I should hope so,” I interrupted.
“You can talk,” she said, “but we’re both pretty strapped for cash. I thought it was really nice of him. Next time it’ll be on me. But that’s not the point. That’s not what I was going to tell you. The thing is, Axel, I’ve always been so afraid of flying. It’s not natural for human beings to fly; we belong on the ground. It’s not natural to put yourself so unconditionally and so helplessly into the hands of another human being—the captain, I mean. That he should have to carry so many bodies up into the air at one time, fly from one town to another, one country to another, goes against everything—the force of gravity, the survival instinct, the need for control, the amount of faith that I, for one, am able to put in others. How do I know that all the people who had a hand in building that particular plane were one hundred percent on the ball and knew what they were doing? Who’s to say there wasn’t some nutcase among them? And how do I know that the mechanics, the guys whose job it is to check that everything’s in working order, weren’t a bit hung over the day I happened to be flying out and cut a few corners? And how do I know that the captain didn’t find his darling in the arms of another man the night before? What if he decides the best revenge would be to send himself and everyone else on board plummeting to their deaths?”
“You just have to trust people,” I ventured.
“So says Axel Grutt, who’s never trusted a living soul.”
I mumbled something or other, but she carried on.
“Anyway, that’s the reason I don’t fly very often—that and lack of cash, of course. But Martin tried to help me. He knows I can’t resist a challenge. Just last week he said he would cook me the most wonderful seven-course dinner if I would dress as a man—his clothes, fake mustache, hat, coat, the lot—and go down to the supermarket with him. Well, on the way to the airport he said, ‘Stella, if you can manage to fly from Fornebu to Værnes without panicking, I’ll give you an ostrich egg.’ I laughed and asked what good an ostrich egg was going to be to me when the plane crashed and we were catapulted into nothingness.
“It went on like that. You know, of course—you do know, don’t you, Axel?—that I didn’t want him to see how afraid I was. He seems so sure of himself, and I feel so awkward and afraid when I’m with him. I’m never afraid with you, Axel, but with him . . . anyway, I
Similar Books
