Wednesday 2 March 2022

Thor Sørheim: 'Det faller så lett'

 


It falls so lightly

 

The scissors glide through the piece of cloth on the dining table,

the material falls so lightly to either side, down onto the floor, before

mother picks it up and places the pattern over it. Outside it is raining,

it falls so heavily over the tricycle which has its front wheel

sunk deep in the puddle. I sit quietly with a slice of bread

and a glass of milk, mother has pins in her mouth, soon the material

 

will be cut into pieces. I know this is a critical moment, no point

in going out in weather like this. I sit waiting anxiously to see if she has

cut correctly while she tells me as she has done so many times before

about my father pretending to fight the boy next door, John, just before

he was fetched by the police. I think this was long ago, but I find it easy

to think about death when the scissors glide through the cloth. A wrong cut

 

and all will have been in vain. I drink some milk and eat a slice of bread

and cheese, no one can go out in weather like this. I would never

get to play with John, he died in the gas chamber.

 

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