Fog Island. Mariette Lindstein

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      ‘But what’s so difficult about doing renovations?’ Sofia asked.

      Elvira laughed. Sofia wondered if she’d misjudged her — she suddenly seemed so pleasant.

      ‘Well, on the second floor, where we live now, Franz had to hire a contractor to get it all done. But now he says we have to finish the first floor on our own. It’s a type of test, you know?’

      Sofia was sincerely grateful that Oswald had drawn up that library project. She was in charge of her own day and could work at her own pace.

       *

      One day Oswald showed up at morning assembly. He appeared without warning behind Bosse, who was once again droning on about how important the renovation project was. It was a comical sight, because everyone but Bosse could see Oswald. Once Bosse realized why each staff member’s gaze had frozen on a point behind him, Oswald just smiled and said, ‘Go on. Don’t mind me. I’m only listening.’

      It continued for a few days. Oswald would come to the assembly and just stand there with an amused smile on his lips. This made Bosse anxious. He began to stutter, trip over his words, and lose his train of thought as he spoke. He started bringing notes with him. An awkward silence descended upon the staff, who were swept along in Bosse’s despair and suffered with him.

      Then one day, Oswald took over. He waved dismissively at Bosse, who immediately ducked into line like a dog afraid of being beaten.

      ‘You are all an incredible resource,’ said Oswald. ‘You just haven’t realized it yet.’

      Murmurs of agreement cropped up here and there.

      ‘I only want you to finish renovating your new living quarters. Can you manage that?’

      Their positive response came in unison, as if with military precision.

      ‘Well there you go!’ Oswald said. ‘Bosse can stop nagging you now, and you can stop pretending that you don’t know what to do!’

      They looked at him with great anticipation; they wanted him to keep talking because a sudden sense of solidarity had arisen. But he was done with them.

      Sofia stayed behind as the staff scattered, hoping he would notice her. He did, and waved her over.

      ‘What do you say, Sofia? Do you believe, too, that people have more potential than they realize?’

      ‘Definitely, I’m sure they do.’

      ‘Good, because that’s my life’s motto. I hate mediocrity.’

      She didn’t quite know what he expected her to say, and she felt that anxiety that came from standing before Oswald in silence. Later on she would learn that she didn’t need to say anything at all. Oswald didn’t speak with his staff. He spoke to his staff.

      When he spoke to you, you were only supposed to make eye contact, and, when fitting, nod or express agreement. But she hadn’t come to this realization yet, so she nervously scraped one foot through the gravel.

      ‘Are you working on my library program?’ he asked.

      ‘That’s all I do.’

      ‘And what do you think of it?’

      ‘It’s fantastic,’ she lied. Or, rather, exaggerated.

      His face brightened a bit.

      ‘Good, good. Keep at it. I want to see everything — the layouts, the computer systems, your list of books to purchase, the whole lot.’

      Then he took a quick step forward, so he was standing very close to her.

      ‘Your hair,’ he said. ‘It’s nice when you put it up like that.’

      He looked at the bun she had, with great effort, gathered on the very top of her head.

      ‘Thanks.’

      ‘Although I like it better down.’

      ‘Oh, but Bosse said —’

      This was as far as she got before he ran a finger down the back of her neck.

      ‘Wear it loose tomorrow. Bosse’s an idiot.’

      ‘Okay, I will.’

      He smiled at her, but the warmth in his eyes was gone.

      ‘You’re new here, but you should know that I don’t have a boss. Least of all Bosse. You can get back to work now.’

      His touch was still burning her skin as she hurried across the courtyard.

       *

      One night in September, she became fully aware of the coming autumn for the first time.

      She was on her way back to the library after the evening assembly. A cold wind swept across the courtyard, tugging at her blazer and finding its way under her clothes, to her body. As she looked up, she realized that the aspens and birches were almost completely yellow. There was a fresh tension in the nature around her. Those migratory birds that were left seemed restless, as if they knew what awaited in their long journey south. The trees bent in the wind, full of nervous creaks and rustles. She was struck by the fact that she would be spending the entire winter on this island. The trees would lose their leaves. The whole island would become bare and bleak. The autumn fog everyone talked about would move in from the sea.

      Shivering, she slipped through the library door, hoping to find a bit of warmth, but the cold wind had found the cracks in the draughty old building. She turned on the radiator, then decided to check her email, even though it was against the rules. She was one of the few staff with computer access; it was strictly for research purposes. But she had written a long email to her parents and had been waiting for a response for several days.

      An answer was waiting, but it wasn’t from her parents. Instead, a message in large type had appeared at the top of her own email. A rejection of sorts.

      INFORMATION ABOUT THE INTERNAL PLANS OF THE ORGANIZATION IS CONFIDENTIAL AND MAY NOT BE SHARED WITH OUTSIDERS.

      Someone had censored her email. She had no idea that anyone had been reading what she wrote to her family. She hadn’t even known it was possible to censor email. An uncontrollable wave of fury welled up inside her. She immediately knew who was behind this.

      In a rage, she put on her jacket and shoes and headed back into the wind. She found Bosse bent over a folder in the staff office.

      The door was open, so she stepped in and stood before him, her hands on her hips.

      ‘Have you been reading my email?’

      ‘Sure! I read everything the staff sends out.’

      ‘What’s wrong with you? Those are private; you have no right to read them.’ Her voice had risen into a shrill falsetto.

      ‘Sofia, it’s okay. I don’t care what you СКАЧАТЬ