mentally he was even younger, in her opinion. Everything centred around him and his needs. His training came before everything else. She shook her head again. Maybe she was just jealous.
Katherina swerved onto the pavement and stopped a couple of metres further along, in front of a grey building with white window frames. There were lights on in only two of the flats; in one the curtains were drawn, but through the other windows she could catch a glimpse of a white plaster ceiling from which hung a big chandelier with real candles.
The fact was that a lot had changed since Pau had started coming to Libri di Luca. The balance had shifted. Now he was the baby of the family while she, not without some pride, had become someone they could count on, and someone who could take care of herself. But the balance would shift again with Jon's return – the question was: to which side?
After parking her bike in the entryway, she checked once again that she wasn't being observed before she pushed open the front door and disappeared into the stairwell. Without switching on the light she headed up the stairs, taking them two at a time. On the fifth floor she stopped outside a panelled door painted grey. The brass plate was clearly legible in spite of the dark, and even though she was unable to read it, she knew what it said: Centre for Dyslexia Studies (By Appointment Only).
Katherina pressed the bell twice, the first time longer than the second, and waited. In a moment she heard footsteps behind the door, and then the sound of a bolt being slid back. The door opened slightly and a strip of light shot out into the hall, capturing her in its glare. The light seemed especially bright since her eyes had grown accustomed to the dark in the stairwell and she blinked, holding her hand up to her face.
'Come in,' said a woman's voice, and the door opened wide.
Katherina stepped into a long, beige-coloured hallway with rows of brass hooks lining the walls. They were almost all taken by jackets and other outdoor garments, but she found an empty hook for her coat.
The woman who had let her in closed the door and turned to face her. She was in her mid-forties and a bit stout around the waist, which she tried to hide under a black dress. Her face was dominated by a pair of sturdy glasses and framed by light-brown hair which seemed a little artificial in the sharp glare coming from a row of halogen spotlights.
'Well?'
Katherina caught the other woman's glance and nodded. 'He's going to be good – better than his father.'
8
Jon woke a few seconds before the clock radio switched on.
At first he wasn't sure where he was. The bedroom's bare white walls and ceiling merged into one, looking like a dome of snow as he lay on his back inside an igloo. It was cold too. The duvet had slid off onto the floor during the night, and the crumpled sheet bore witness to a night of uneasy slumber. He remembered he'd had trouble calming down. For a long time he had lain in bed pondering what had happened in the antiquarian bookshop. Right now Iversen's explanation, the demonstration and the visions that had overwhelmed him when he was alone in the library all seemed unreal and far away. At one point he'd got up to find the book, Fahrenheit 451, which was in his jacket pocket. Tangible proof that it had all happened, but it was just an ordinary book that didn't presume to be anything else.
It was a long time since he'd read stories in bed. As a child he had loved it, an experience surpassed only by having Luca read a goodnight story to him – preferably Pinocchio, and preferably in Italian. This copy of Fahrenheit 451 was a Danish translation, and when he read through the first chapter again, he discovered that the text was significantly more choppy and jolting than was his impression during the demonstration. The colour of the girl's hair wasn't mentioned at all; it wasn't red, as he had so vividly pictured it.
Jon turned his head towards the nightstand where
Katherina swerved onto the pavement and stopped a couple of metres further along, in front of a grey building with white window frames. There were lights on in only two of the flats; in one the curtains were drawn, but through the other windows she could catch a glimpse of a white plaster ceiling from which hung a big chandelier with real candles.
The fact was that a lot had changed since Pau had started coming to Libri di Luca. The balance had shifted. Now he was the baby of the family while she, not without some pride, had become someone they could count on, and someone who could take care of herself. But the balance would shift again with Jon's return – the question was: to which side?
After parking her bike in the entryway, she checked once again that she wasn't being observed before she pushed open the front door and disappeared into the stairwell. Without switching on the light she headed up the stairs, taking them two at a time. On the fifth floor she stopped outside a panelled door painted grey. The brass plate was clearly legible in spite of the dark, and even though she was unable to read it, she knew what it said: Centre for Dyslexia Studies (By Appointment Only).
Katherina pressed the bell twice, the first time longer than the second, and waited. In a moment she heard footsteps behind the door, and then the sound of a bolt being slid back. The door opened slightly and a strip of light shot out into the hall, capturing her in its glare. The light seemed especially bright since her eyes had grown accustomed to the dark in the stairwell and she blinked, holding her hand up to her face.
'Come in,' said a woman's voice, and the door opened wide.
Katherina stepped into a long, beige-coloured hallway with rows of brass hooks lining the walls. They were almost all taken by jackets and other outdoor garments, but she found an empty hook for her coat.
The woman who had let her in closed the door and turned to face her. She was in her mid-forties and a bit stout around the waist, which she tried to hide under a black dress. Her face was dominated by a pair of sturdy glasses and framed by light-brown hair which seemed a little artificial in the sharp glare coming from a row of halogen spotlights.
'Well?'
Katherina caught the other woman's glance and nodded. 'He's going to be good – better than his father.'
8
Jon woke a few seconds before the clock radio switched on.
At first he wasn't sure where he was. The bedroom's bare white walls and ceiling merged into one, looking like a dome of snow as he lay on his back inside an igloo. It was cold too. The duvet had slid off onto the floor during the night, and the crumpled sheet bore witness to a night of uneasy slumber. He remembered he'd had trouble calming down. For a long time he had lain in bed pondering what had happened in the antiquarian bookshop. Right now Iversen's explanation, the demonstration and the visions that had overwhelmed him when he was alone in the library all seemed unreal and far away. At one point he'd got up to find the book, Fahrenheit 451, which was in his jacket pocket. Tangible proof that it had all happened, but it was just an ordinary book that didn't presume to be anything else.
It was a long time since he'd read stories in bed. As a child he had loved it, an experience surpassed only by having Luca read a goodnight story to him – preferably Pinocchio, and preferably in Italian. This copy of Fahrenheit 451 was a Danish translation, and when he read through the first chapter again, he discovered that the text was significantly more choppy and jolting than was his impression during the demonstration. The colour of the girl's hair wasn't mentioned at all; it wasn't red, as he had so vividly pictured it.
Jon turned his head towards the nightstand where
Similar Books
