The Copenhagen Trilogy: Childhood ; Youth ; Dependency by Tove Ditlevsen

Author:Tove Ditlevsen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux

16

‘Can you dance the carioca?’ I look up from my shorthand and say no. I look at the secretary who I’m taking shorthand for; he’s really handsome, but he doesn’t take his work seriously. He sits lazily leaning back in the chair, now and then taking a gulp of the beer at his side. He yawns noisily without holding his hand in front of his mouth. ‘Well,’ he says tiredly, ‘where were we?’ We’re sitting in a large room on the top floor. Here there are lots of desks with many secretaries. Whenever they need a typist, they phone down to our office and the supervisor sends one of us up. I like this work, but the secretaries bring me to despair. They would rather talk, and in the meantime the case lies in a blue folder on which it says ‘urgent!’ in red letters. There are applications for all kinds of things, and with each application there’s a compelling letter implying that refusal of the enclosed will lead to suicide. Every single applicant writes about pressing, strictly personal reasons why he should be allowed to import his goods. I can dance the carioca just fine, but this is company time and I’m getting a high salary now, more than I’ve ever gotten before. ‘Stop frowning,’ says the secretary smiling, ‘the wrinkles will end up being permanent.’ I run down all the stairs and into the office to type up the letter. It’s a rejection, and I try to make the tone of the letter kinder and less businesslike, just like I changed the letters to the brothers, but it isn’t allowed here. I have to type it all over again and am requested to hold myself to the shorthand. There are about twenty of us young girls in the office, which looks like a schoolroom. There’s a girl at every desk, and the desks are in three long rows. Farthest forward sits the supervisor, facing us like a teacher, and when the noise gets too intense, she hushes us sternly. All the other girls are very chic, with tight dresses, high heels, and a lot of makeup on their faces. One day one of them decides to make up my lips, my cheeks, and my eyes, and they all think I look much better that way. They say that I should wear makeup every day, and I start to borrow Nina’s cosmetics when we go out in the evening. After I’ve typed up all of my poems, I can’t stand sitting in my room with my teeth chattering from the cold. So I continue my nightlife with Nina, and even though it’s rather monotonous, the days and nights fly by during this time, like a drumroll just before something’s about to happen onstage. The terrible years at I. P. Jensen have passed; I’m eighteen; I’ve broken away from my family. One evening in the Heidelberg, I dance with a tall, blond young man who isn’t like any of the usual young men and doesn’t talk like them, either.

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