Read Online The American Girl by Monika Fagerholm - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Monika Fagerholm
Ads: Link
something you could really ask yourself) and it was obliterated from the face of the earth.
Then Sandra was beside herself again. But this time in the usual way, in the way she had been beside herself in her parents’ company so many times before.
“You’ve messed it up!” she cried and burst into tears. The tears sprayed out of her eyes, she squatted in the snow and just roared. Of course the moon boots did not tolerate this kind of shifting of body weight, so she just tumbled down on her back and ended up in an odd position half sitting on the ground; it was really uncomfortable and did its part in making sure the crying would not stop.
Finally her parents paid attention. They finally stopped with their games. Lorelei Lindberg ran up to Sandra and tried to put her arms around her but Sandra just flailed wildly and became even more hysterical.
“My goodness, sweetheart,” Lorelei Lindberg tried. “Calm down. It was just a game.”
But Sandra did not calm down, nothing helped now, certainly not what someone tried to say. Everything was already destroyed, Sandra was inconsolable. And the Islander and Lorelei Lindberg stood powerless beside her; and now they had to accept standing there, discouraged and bewildered in the cruel storm, like two fools.
But not for very long of course. If there was, as said, something Lorelei Lindberg was not blessed with it was an angel’spatience and, above all, this applied to her only daughter’s cries and howls, which were, as said, frequently occurring.
“My goodness, child!” she finally yelled. “Get it together! I said that it was only a game! I’m not thinking of standing here and staring at you one more second!”
And Lorelei Lindberg turned around and started with great determination to trudge back through the snow toward the promenade that led to the village from which they had come, the village with all of the hotels, restaurants, and the nightclub the Running Kangaroo, which was the gathering place for the international jet-setters. And with all of the people. Once Lorelei Lindberg had gotten started she went straight ahead without so much as a glance over her shoulder. And quickly, very quickly, she was swallowed up by the storm and the fog—just like the house, the woods, the Alps, and the entire magnificent puzzle game had just been swallowed up.
Everything that was wide open becomes a closed world again
.
Now there was just snow, and there in the middle father and daughter. Sandra, who was really trying to calm herself down now and gradually managed to do so, and the Islander, who was so often standing on both sides of the fence. His daughter on one side, his wife on the other. What the hell was he supposed to do now?
No. Getting there using reason was not possible. And that was a good thing indeed because that kind of musing would not have gotten him anywhere. He would just have remained standing in the snow, stiff and frozen in place just like his angel daughter was a moment ago.
No, as luck would have it the Islander was, in contrast to his daughter, someone who WAS NOT endowed with a complicated inner life. One second’s thinking was enough, then he had turned toward her again:
“Listen up, little Miss Sourpuss! It can’t have been that bad! Look at Dad!”
. . .
And he had thrown himself on his back in the snow and started waving his arms up and down, up and down, a few quick strokes and presto he had created a new angel next to the old one, Sandra’s angel, the one that no longer existed.
“SIMSALABIM! Who’s been here? No one other than director Houdini!”
He jumped up and brushed off the snow, made a stupid theater bow at the same time as he once more, carefully, almost in secret, glanced in the direction where Lorelei had walked into a wall of snow, where she could no longer be seen. He pretended not to be bothered by it, but as was so often the case when the Islander was pretending, what he was trying to hide became that much more
Then Sandra was beside herself again. But this time in the usual way, in the way she had been beside herself in her parents’ company so many times before.
“You’ve messed it up!” she cried and burst into tears. The tears sprayed out of her eyes, she squatted in the snow and just roared. Of course the moon boots did not tolerate this kind of shifting of body weight, so she just tumbled down on her back and ended up in an odd position half sitting on the ground; it was really uncomfortable and did its part in making sure the crying would not stop.
Finally her parents paid attention. They finally stopped with their games. Lorelei Lindberg ran up to Sandra and tried to put her arms around her but Sandra just flailed wildly and became even more hysterical.
“My goodness, sweetheart,” Lorelei Lindberg tried. “Calm down. It was just a game.”
But Sandra did not calm down, nothing helped now, certainly not what someone tried to say. Everything was already destroyed, Sandra was inconsolable. And the Islander and Lorelei Lindberg stood powerless beside her; and now they had to accept standing there, discouraged and bewildered in the cruel storm, like two fools.
But not for very long of course. If there was, as said, something Lorelei Lindberg was not blessed with it was an angel’spatience and, above all, this applied to her only daughter’s cries and howls, which were, as said, frequently occurring.
“My goodness, child!” she finally yelled. “Get it together! I said that it was only a game! I’m not thinking of standing here and staring at you one more second!”
And Lorelei Lindberg turned around and started with great determination to trudge back through the snow toward the promenade that led to the village from which they had come, the village with all of the hotels, restaurants, and the nightclub the Running Kangaroo, which was the gathering place for the international jet-setters. And with all of the people. Once Lorelei Lindberg had gotten started she went straight ahead without so much as a glance over her shoulder. And quickly, very quickly, she was swallowed up by the storm and the fog—just like the house, the woods, the Alps, and the entire magnificent puzzle game had just been swallowed up.
Everything that was wide open becomes a closed world again
.
Now there was just snow, and there in the middle father and daughter. Sandra, who was really trying to calm herself down now and gradually managed to do so, and the Islander, who was so often standing on both sides of the fence. His daughter on one side, his wife on the other. What the hell was he supposed to do now?
No. Getting there using reason was not possible. And that was a good thing indeed because that kind of musing would not have gotten him anywhere. He would just have remained standing in the snow, stiff and frozen in place just like his angel daughter was a moment ago.
No, as luck would have it the Islander was, in contrast to his daughter, someone who WAS NOT endowed with a complicated inner life. One second’s thinking was enough, then he had turned toward her again:
“Listen up, little Miss Sourpuss! It can’t have been that bad! Look at Dad!”
. . .
And he had thrown himself on his back in the snow and started waving his arms up and down, up and down, a few quick strokes and presto he had created a new angel next to the old one, Sandra’s angel, the one that no longer existed.
“SIMSALABIM! Who’s been here? No one other than director Houdini!”
He jumped up and brushed off the snow, made a stupid theater bow at the same time as he once more, carefully, almost in secret, glanced in the direction where Lorelei had walked into a wall of snow, where she could no longer be seen. He pretended not to be bothered by it, but as was so often the case when the Islander was pretending, what he was trying to hide became that much more
Similar Books
