Animal Life by Auður Ava Ólafsdóttir

Author:Auður Ava Ólafsdóttir
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grove Atlantic
Published: 2022-11-22T13:52:09+00:00

40°C

It’s almost eleven and the tourist from the attic flat is standing on the landing in a sweater and apologizes for the disturbance. He is holding a bundle of duvet covers in his arms and says he has been down to the laundry room and is trying to figure out which washing machine belongs to the flat he is renting. It transpires that the boy had freed one shelf and three hangers in the wardrobe, but neglected to change the sheets. The guest says he has been searching for clean bedclothes, but not found any, and has come to the conclusion that the owner only had two sets, the set that had been left on the bed and another set in the dirty laundry basket.

I slip into my sneakers and, on my way down to the laundry room, he tells me that his son was originally supposed to be coming with him.

“This was meant to be a father and son trip,” he says. His son had changed his mind, however, and decided to spend Christmas with his mother instead.

I ask him how old he is and he says sixteen.

“He doesn’t want to fly any more. He says the whole of humanity inhales the same air.”

He continues. “One day it’s winter and the next day it’s summer and boiling hot. There used to be a spring for several weeks. Now it only lasts a day. The tulips shoot out of the soil and only live a day. Then it gets too hot.”

I show him how the washing machine works. He tells me that initially he had planned to go somewhere else, but decided at the last minute to come here.

“At first I wasn’t going to travel this far north, but then I changed my mind,” he says.

He doesn’t say I’ve travelled across the entire globe hoping to find a country where everything flows with milk and honey.

He could just as well have stayed in a hotel, he says, but he gave up on that idea and thought it would be more personal to rent a flat. It had been a coincidence that he had ended up in this one because he’d already selected another one, but in the end that owner had decided not to rent it out.

“If you have any whites, put it on eighty degrees,” I say, “if you have a mixed wash put it on forty degrees.”

He stands beside me and watches as I pour washing powder into the drawer and set the temperature and time. It turns out he has the same brand at home.

I ask him if he’s planned how he is going to spend his holiday and he says he’s going to mull things over. I mull over his choice of words for a moment, mull things over.

Then I remember that I did a wash two days ago and have yet to take it out and hang it on the line. I open the machine, take out a T-shirt, give it a shake and hang it up with two pegs.

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