Because Venus Crossed an Alpine Violet on the Day that I Was Born by Mona Høvring

Author:Mona Høvring
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Book*hug Press
Published: 2021-09-03T15:01:33+00:00

In the morning, as I sat eating breakfast, it all became clear, this thing between me and Martha, something that might never have happened had it not been for my unexpected peace of mind, which was perhaps thanks to having read Zweig. Then and there, I relinquished any responsibility for Martha. It was self-assumed responsibility. I broke the pact, you might say. The undefined obligation. Who benefited from it anyway? Not Martha. Not me. In other words, I let it go. It was a decision that had crept up on me, uninvited and encouraging. From then on, I thought, I would respond differently to my surroundings.

The world was merciful that day, in a way I’d never before experienced. No demands were made. I felt no degrading or wretched shame.

I stood in the doorway to the ballroom, where Saturday’s dance was going to take place, and watched a carpenter who was replacing some of the floorboards. I watched him without discretion. Like an overgrown schoolgirl, I leaned against the door frame with my arms akimbo and followed his every move, as if I were his apprentice — a pleasing thought. And when he turned around and said hello, I was neither embarrassed nor shy. I walked into the room and shook his hand. I told him my name, surname included. Without thinking, I said how nice it was to watch him work. I said the sound of carpentry was like music. I said I envied him, I envied the hammer and the saw, the spirit level and drill. I chatted away about the wood that the carpenter was fitting, about the sharp-edged peace of the planks. And before I pulled myself away, I said I wished we were somehow related.

Fortunately, it seemed that the carpenter, a lean, older man, was not put out by my rambling, as he continued to work with skill and focus.

Goodness. In retrospect, I think the man must have thought I was mad. But at the time, it never occurred to me. In the moment, I felt elated by my newly acquired inner peace, by my decision to be frank, by Zweig, by who knows what. Also, in retrospect, I have planted a seed of doubt as to whether it really was a state of inner peace, or if I, for a short while, had been bestowed a fleeting but nonetheless gratifying fervour, a much-needed confidence.

On the way back to my room, I was stopped by Ruth. She put her hand gently on my shoulder, as though she were afraid I might break, or perhaps she was so careful because I was obviously lost in my own thoughts. She apologized for the hammering and hoped the noise wasn’t disturbing. It would be a day or two before it was finished, she said, and our room was directly above the ballroom, so we would, of course, be compensated for the inconvenience.

“Where was Martha yesterday, by the way?” Ruth asked.

The question came completely out of the blue and my response was brief.

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