Another Life by Theodor Kallifatides & Marlaine Delargy

Author:Theodor Kallifatides & Marlaine Delargy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Other Press
Published: 2018-09-24T16:00:00+00:00

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Other changes were also noticeable, for example, the relationship between the local population and the tourists. In the 1970s there was a certain warmth, a friendliness, which was gradually replaced by mutual distrust. The tourists were perceived as parasites, but the locals wanted their money. Meanwhile, the tourists didn’t really want anything to do with the locals, but they needed their services.

It was a paradoxical process. Words such as “conscience,” “duty,” “responsibility” were distorted or mocked, or simply disappeared. Sweden had discovered the carefree life. In my homeland, Greece, people strove to be like my second country, Sweden, where people wanted to live as they did in Greece. In Greece they dreamed of the Swedish model, while in Sweden they dreamed of the Greek lack of any kind of model.

We had the same problem at home. Gunilla tried to teach me her theory about organization, which I gradually realized lay at the heart of the Swedish model.

“Before you can do something, you must do something else first.”

That was how she ran our everyday lives. Let me give you some examples. Before you can open a window, you must remove all the potted plants from the windowsill. Before you can load up the car, you must wash it. Before you make the bed, you must air the sheets. And so on. But she never forgot anything.

I, on the other hand, always forgot something, even if it was nothing major. My boots, maybe, or the novel I was reading. Gunilla advised me to make lists. So I made lists, but I forgot where I’d put them.

However, my forgetfulness reached a whole new level when I made the decision to step aside. My brain was like a clock that had stopped at the wrong time.

It turned out that in addition to several items of clothing and medication, I had forgotten all my notes and material relating to a past project, plus my Swedish and Greek dictionaries, which had been my companions throughout the years. Without them I was helpless.

My reaction was not what you would call normal. I didn’t try to work out a way of getting the things I lacked. On the contrary. I accepted it, as yet further proof that I ought not to write. My forgetfulness was not a coincidence but evidence that I was distancing myself from myself. If I didn’t remember something, it was because it wasn’t worth remembering. If I didn’t write something, it was because it wasn’t worth writing.

“That’s a fine start to the summer,” I said to Gunilla. She hadn’t forgotten anything, but her left knee was causing her problems.

“It’s all going downhill,” I added. She didn’t reply but went out to inspect the devastation. The rabbits had taken everything, but my beautiful Ispahan roses had survived.

We need to grow thorns if we’re going to survive, I said to myself. I didn’t grow thorns, but a few days later I discovered a patch on the left side of my head, on the temple. I touched it; I could feel it, but there was nothing to see.

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