Scenes From a Childhood by Jon Fosse

Author:Jon Fosse
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Short Stories (Single Author), Fiction
ISBN: 9781910695531
Publisher: Fitzcarraldo Editions
Published: 2018-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

LITTLE SISTER

TALL GRASS

He was standing outside the house and he could see the boat. It was tied up down at the shore. It was a pretty boat, white and pretty. And the fjord was so blue, so smooth, that the mountains had lain down on the water and now they were lying there, green and black and brown. He couldn’t see a single boat out on the fjord, maybe it was still too early in the day? No one was awake but him. Not Mother, not Father, not his sister. He was the only one up, at least that’s how it seemed to him. In the whole wide world only he was awake, he thought.

He was standing in his pyjamas looking down at the fjord. He breathed in deeply, breathed out slowly. Why was everyone asleep on such a beautiful morning? he thought. The air was so soft, the morning so bright and at the same time a little hazy. But it’s boring just standing around, he thought. He wanted to do something fun. Was there anything to look forward to doing today, he thought, there had to be, maybe he’d run down to the shore with Mother or Father or his sister, they could go swimming, or maybe he’d have to think up something himself, he thought, he usually had to think up something himself, and it would be like that today too, he thought, and why not?

Why not? he thinks, and he looks over at the tall grass, all the long blades of grass, green and pointy, and he walks over to the grass and the grass is taller than he is, maybe he should walk into the grass? he thinks, yes, he could do that, he thinks, and he steps between the first blades of grass and they hang over his head, green and pointy, and he walks further into the grass and in some places the grass is so high that it towers far above his head, and then, when he’s in the middle of it, he stops and looks through the blades and all he can see are blades of grass, nothing else, as far as his eyes can reach only blades of grass, green blades, and then he sits down and up above him the green grass waves back and forth, it’s like he has a roof up there, a green roof over his head, he thinks, and he lies down and he lies there and he looks up at the sky; it is not a bright blue, it’s a soft and yet dark blue, that’s what it looks like, and far, far up above is a soft cloud, almost not even a cloud any more, just a few wisps of cloud moving up above his head the whole time and divided into lots of parts by the blades of grass above his head, and the blades of grass move gently, and then he looks at one single blade of grass, watches it move

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