‘You’re like an ostrich.’
‘What?’
‘You think nobody can see you if you shut your eyes.’
‘The ostrich buries its head in the sand, as far as I know. And in any case, that’s supposed to be a myth.’
I gave an enormous yawn, still with my eyes closed.
‘Nobody can say I haven’t tried,’ said Geir Rugholmen sourly. ‘If you’re just going to sit here being awkward, well… Sod you.’
His ski boots clumped across the floor and disappeared.
I’m good at that sort of thing.
I might even have dozed off for a little while.
2
i
The Crown Princess had been on the train, according to what people were saying.
Nobody knew where she had gone.
When I insisted on having my wheelchair fetched from the train, it wasn’t only because I felt helpless without it. As far as my mobility went, it didn’t really make that much difference. I had to stay in the lobby anyway. The toilets were on the same floor right next to the main staircase, which made it possible for me to empty my bags with comparatively little embarrassment, thank God, but apart from that there was nowhere I could get to without help.
The most important thing about the wheelchair is that it creates distance.
Not physically, of course; as I said I am constantly stared at and bombarded with offers of help. I strive more for a kind of mental distance. The chair makes me different. It defines me as something completely different from all the rest, and it is not uncommon for people to assume that I am stupid. Or deaf. People talk over my head, quite literally, and if I simply lean back and close my eyes, it’s as if I don’t exist.
You learn a great deal in this way. My relationship to other people is – how shall I put it – more academic in its nature.