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But now he’s sitting in his room. Is your heart beating?


sitting against the wall of the house, the same one you

crashed into, you and the big man, Jens. It’s sunny and

everything is very wet. Your feet get wet just by looking out.

But now the sun is warm. You can give it that. The frost

melts into the ground. That’s why the ground is wet, as if

it’s crying. I’m sitting on a stool. I brought a book with me

to read, I wasn’t going to write you a letter, the book is a bit

thick. It’s called

The Odyssey

and is age-old. Steinunn said

it was a ‘classic,’ I expect that you know something about it.

That’s how you are. I noticed it immediately. That’s why

you know it’s about a man who’s trying to make it home,

but who ends up in all sorts of adventures and catastrophes.

In the meantime his wife has to wait at home, albeit in a

palace and with enough to eat, it’s warm there and no one

gets buried in snow. Yet it’s probably no easier to exist

there, it’s probably no easier to wait in uncertainty though

the weather is good and the house doesn’t leak. I would

never believe it were easier. She has to wait and doesn’t

even know whether he’s dead or is being unfaithful to her

with other women. She just waits, composed and patient

and faithful, while he undergoes adventures, and then a

book is written about him. No need to tell me about