The Dancer by Óskar Guðmundsson

Author:Óskar Guðmundsson
Language: eng
Format: epub

29

Monday,6th December1982

The dancers sat in a circle on the stage of the National Theatre. Begga had brought the session to an end after an hour’s practice.

‘Stop, stop, stop,’ she had ordered over the booming music, marching with quick steps to the cassette player to switch it off. ‘Stop, stop, stop,’ she repeated, just as loudly, even though the music had been turned off. ‘Young man. Young man, you can’t continue like this,’ she said, going over to the dancer who was supposed to be in the role of the dragon.

‘I’m all right,’ he said feebly.

Tony could see in his eyes that this wasn’t true. He had noticed that the lad was in real pain, but with so much at stake, he was clearly unwilling to admit it. He had been unable to keep the pain from his face through the challenging steps and the leaps that the role demanded.

‘No, dear boy,’ she reproved, trying to soften her tone, something Tony had noticed she only did with difficulty. ‘You’re going to go and get that foot checked out. Go home now and get someone to take you to hospital. That needs an X-ray.’

The boy did his best to protest, but Begga was adamant. Finally, the lad left the stage in tears.

During the night, Tony had gone straight to Grettisgata from the workshop and was asleep the moment his head touched the pillow. Waking up around midday, he felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He thought of Hulda and could hardly wait to see her at that evening’s training. From the moment he opened his eyes, he was constantly glancing at his watch, and eventually realised that this simply made the time pass even more slowly.

He stepped under the flow of hot water and sat in the shower tray. He opened the flask Hulda had given him and rubbed the oil into his feet, feeling a glow of wellbeing course through him. He realised this when he noticed that he was singing, as if to himself: Do, do, do, do it...

Tony dressed and stopped off at Bernhöft’s bakery on the way to Öldugata.

‘Dearest Mum,’ he said as he found her lying on the bedroom floor and fetched the wheelchair. He helped her into it and looked at her thoughtfully for a while. It occurred to him that he had never before called her Dearest Mum.

‘Time for something to eat.’

‘Tony, why are you being so nice to me?’ she asked after he had made her a meal and helped her take a bath.

‘It’s because I’m so happy.’

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