Hotel Silence by Olafsdottir Audur Ava

Author:Olafsdottir, Audur Ava [Olafsdottir, Audur Ava]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780802165596
Publisher: Grove Atlantic
Published: 2018-02-02T05:00:00+00:00

ADAM

The mother and son’s room is number fourteen on the second floor. Like the other hotel rooms, there are few personal items there, apart from some toys. The boy is in his pyjamas, with water-combed hair, sitting at the table eating an apple that has been sliced into pieces. He feigns not to see me. On the floor there is a row of little plastic men he has arranged one behind the other, with equal gaps, not unlike my tools on the table.

The mother and son clearly share the same bed, a stuffed rabbit lies on a pillow adorned with pictures of puppies.

“We fled with virtually no belongings, running from one place to another,” she says when she sees me scanning the room. “Adam was born at the beginning of the war and has never had a home.”

She follows me into the bathroom with the wrench and stands beside me as I clean the pipes. I also have a roll of black insulation tape, which I use on the spots where the seals have started to leak.

“This is just a temporary solution,” I say.

As I’m cleaning the pipes, she tells me that she had just graduated as a librarian when the war broke out and she worked in the children’s department of a library.

“We tried to live a normal life in between our escapes. I took on whatever jobs came my way and in the meantime Fifi took care of Adam. Sometimes I was paid, sometimes not.”

Once the water acquires a natural colour and pressure, she brings me the bedside lamp and shows me the wiring. She says she changed the bulb, but the lamp doesn’t work so she was wondering if it might be something else.

I immediately see the plug needs to be changed.

She nods with a grave and apprehensive air.

“It can be complicated to get spare parts,” she explains, adjusting a lock of hair. “The stores are out of stock. You have to have connections,” she adds.

The words of the man in the leopard socks in the hall echo in my mind: you can buy anything if you have the right contacts.

Then she’s suddenly positioned herself in front of me with her hands planted on her hips and wants more detailed information on my real purpose here.

“It’s not at all convincing that you are here on vacation,” she says. “With a drill.”

She tugs the elastic out of her hair and then almost immediately slips it back on again.

I remain silent. I’m good at remaining silent.

“Mom said you didn’t talk,” Waterlily said. That isn’t quite true, however, since at the beginning of our relationship, I did. I spoke and G was silent, it says in the diary entry about our hike in the mountains.

She looks me in the eye and won’t give up.

“Why are you here?”

I hesitate and stop myself from repeating that I’m on vacation. Instead I say:

“I’m not sure.”

She scrutinises me.

“Have you come to collect something? Buy something?”

“No.”

“Sell something?”

“No. I have no plans.”

I can’t tell this young

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