steps in The Hall

Posted by jan oskar hansen on June 2, 2010 at 10:56 AM

The Steps In The Hall

Murky, cold October evening, the northwesterly throws rain, hard as pebbles,

at the window, the old house groans in agony under this autumnal offensive.

Mother is reading, my sister too has her nose in a romantic magazine, I sit by

the table doing homework. We have no TV, but after two years of waiting

a phone has been installed, a shiny black monster in the side table. I had taken

an instant dislike to this intrusive ogre, but mother thought it the height of

refined middle class living; needless to say my sister thought it wonderful.

We all heard the steps in the hall and waited for the kitchen door to open,

it didn’t mother went to investigate; hesitantly she opened the door, no one

there. I wrote something on a scrap of paper, or rather the pen did,

The phone began ringing it rang and rang for a long time, none of us got up

to answer it. It rang again, mother had to answer it. She stood there saying

nothing as lost in thoughts, and I could hear the steady hum of a line that

waited to be dialed. Finally she put the phone down and said; “Your Brother

is dead”. She sat down and began reading again but her eyes was stuck on

the same page in the book. My sister’s eyes were unfocused she was still

struggling to understand. I looked at my scrap of paper on it was written:

“Your brother is dead”.


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