TE22 Potpourri

Nordic Fauna (short story) Andrea Lundgren Translated from Swedish by John Litell

The Bird That Cries in the Night That night I dream about Dad. We are in the shed, branches whip against the windowpanes, there’s a storm out on the point, it’s night. He is half turned away from me, an orange glow radiates from a lantern on the wall in front of him. The noise outside is deafening. ‘Can you hear it beating?’ he says, his voice hollow and distant. I try to look at him but his features are indistinct. It’s as if he constantly turns away from me, right at the moment that I almost catch a glimpse of his face. I try to speak but the wind is howling so loudly that I can’t hear my own voice. My legs move heavily towards him but I don’t get any closer. Then I see that he’s holding something between his cupped hands, somethinggolden. Hehunchesover it. The lightflickers. He presses the secret to his chest and runs headlong out into the storm. There are safe fathers, I think to myself as I slam the car door in the car park outside work. Fathers who sit in the Sunday 123 ‘What’s beating?’ I scream. ‘What is it that’s beating, Dad?’

Andrea Lundgren