The Devil Book by Asta Olivia Nordenhof

Author:Asta Olivia Nordenhof [Nordenhof, Asta Olivia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Vintage Publishing
Published: 2025-09-04T00:00:00+00:00

Day 10

I did something I’ve never done before. Last night as we lay in bed, I told my host about T. I was afraid I would be met with judgement, or pity, but there was none of that. First and foremost, my host thought it was a good story. ‘Really?’ he asked, when I got to the bit with the armour. ‘Really,’ I replied, and after so many years’ delay I finally got to laugh.

I hadn’t written all day; it never even crossed my mind. I gazed out of the window at the rain-soaked city; at the Lloyd’s building, where my host had performed one of the tasks he did that I would probably never understand. Programming architect? The thought made me smile.

He came home early in the evening with the most beautiful chard I’d ever seen in my life. Large, deep purple and pliant. Taking out a big cast-iron pan (I could have sworn it wasn’t in the cupboard the other day, but I must have been blind with fear), he seared the leaves with some beans. The whole thing glistened with oil and honey as he poured it onto two plates.

Then we sat back down at the table, two people who had been close to one another, and it crossed my mind with strange serenity that he, the chard-eater, had had his organ inside me. ‘I’m only drinking wine because you’re here,’ he said. ‘Normally I never do.’ I sensed it wasn’t the truth, but still, I realised he was re-dedicating the habits of his life to me, as if they were in fact new.

We went to bed. It was very beautiful, careful, two systems running delicately through their series of numbers to find the points of connection that had to be there. He fell asleep, his face smoothing out, becoming moon-like, universal. I felt like a bud, an early leaf against the sheet and his quiet nightly body, but then without warning I was seized with fear. I got up with a start and pulled on my jumper. On the balcony I sat down in the rocking egg, which I had previously ignored out of disdain for the concept. I stared up at the greyish-black sky, and found nothing there to hold me back.

*

It’s morning now, and I didn’t close my eyes all night. My host has left. I didn’t try to hide my renewed suspicions, but sent him out the door on a wave of coldness I’m not sure I regret. I’m dazed with exhaustion, I should probably sleep, but the story of T isn’t finished.

*

I don’t remember leaving the hotel, only that I strode off through a noisy city with my wheelie suitcase. It kept getting stuck on things – a dog’s lead, a chair leg – and I was so exasperatedly preoccupied by the inconvenience that I didn’t stop to think where I was or where I wanted to go. Onward was my only impulse.

I reached a point where the street led up a long flight of steps.

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