So Much for That Winter

by Dorthe Nors

  SO MUCH FOR THAT WINTER

  Also by Dorthe Nors in English

  Karate Chop

  A PUBLIC SPACE BOOK

  So Much for That Winter

  NOVELLAS

  Dorthe Nors

  Translated from the Danish

  by Misha Hoekstra

  Graywolf Press

  Minna Mangler et Øvelokale copyright © 2013 by Dorthe Nors & Rosinante&Co., Copenhagen. English translation copyright © 2015 by Misha Hoekstra. First published in English by Pushkin Press, London.

  Dage copyright © 2010 by Dorthe Nors & Rosinante&Co., Copenhagen. English translation copyright © 2016 by Misha Hoekstra.

  The author and Graywolf Press have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way. Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright, please notify Graywolf Press at: us.macmillanusa.com/piracy.

  Published by agreement with Ahlander Agency.

  A portion of Minna Needs Rehearsal Space appeared in Asymptote.

  This publication is made possible, in part, by the voters of Minnesota through a Minnesota State Arts Board Operating Support grant, thanks to a legislative appropriation from the arts and cultural heritage fund, and through a grant from the Wells Fargo Foundation Minnesota. Significant support has also been provided by Target, the McKnight Foundation, Amazon.com, and other generous contributions from foundations, corporations, and individuals. To these organizations and individuals we offer our heartfelt thanks.

  The author and the translator wish to thank the Danish Arts Foundation, the Danish Arts Council, and Hald Hovedgaard for their support.

  DANISH ARTS FOUNDATION

  Published by Graywolf Press

  250 Third Avenue North, Suite 600

  Minneapolis, Minnesota 55401

  All rights reserved.

  www.graywolfpress.org

  Published in the United States of America

  ISBN 978-1-55597-742-9

  Ebook ISBN 978-1-55597-938-6

  2 4 6 8 9 7 5 3 1

  First Graywolf Printing, 2016

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2015953715

  Cover design: Carol Hayes

  Cover art: Robert Daly / Getty Images

  Contents

  Minna Needs Rehearsal Space

  Days

  SO MUCH FOR THAT WINTER

  Minna Needs Rehearsal Space

  Minna introduces herself.

  Minna is on Facebook.

  Minna isn’t a day over forty.

  Minna is a composer.

  Minna can play four instruments.

  Minna’s lost her rehearsal space.

  Minna lives in Amager.

  Minna spends her days in the Royal Library.

  Minna has to work without noise.

  Minna’s working on a paper sonata.

  The paper sonata consists of tonal rows.

  Minna writes soundless music.

  Minna is a tad avant-garde.

  Minna has a tough time explaining the idea to people.

  Minna wants to have sound with the music—no,

  Minna just wants to have sound.

  Minna wants to have Lars.

  Minna’s in love with Lars.

  Lars used to really like Minna.

  Minna doesn’t dare launch the relationship app.

  Lars has a full beard.

  Lars has light-colored curls.

  Lars works for the paper.

  Lars is a network person.

  Lars is Lars, Minna thinks, fumbling with the duvet cover.

  It’s morning.

  Lars has left again.

  Lars is always in a hurry to get out of bed.

  The bed is a snug nest.

  Minna’s lying in it, but

  Lars is on his bike and gone.

  Lars bikes as hard as he can in the direction of City Hall Square.

  Lars makes the pigeons rise.

  Lars has deadlines.

  Minna has an itch on her face.

  Minna goes out to the bathroom to check.

  Lars has kissed her.

  Minna doesn’t look like who she looked like when she made the spaghetti last night.

  Minna looks like someone who drank all the wine herself.

  Minna walks around in bare feet.

  The apartment is full of notes.

  Bach stands in the window.

  Brahms stands on the coffee table.

  The apartment’s too small for a piano, but

  A woman should have room for a flute.

  A woman should have room for a flute, a triangle, and a guitar.

  Minna takes out the guitar.

  Minna plays something baroque.

  Minna plays as quietly as possible.

  The neighbor bangs on the wall with his sandals.

  Minna needs a rehearsal space.

  Minna needs security in her existence.

  Minna misses the volume.

  Minna misses a healthier alternative.

  Minna wants to devote herself to ecology.

  Minna wants to involve a kid in it.

  Minna wants to try to be just like the rest.

  Lars ought to help her but

  Lars uses condoms.

  Lars is on his bike and gone.

  Lars is Lars.

  Minna calls Lars.

  Minna calls Lars until he picks up the phone.

  Minna and Lars have discussed this before.

  Lars has a cousin.

  The cousin’s name is Tim.

  Tim knows of a rehearsal space in Kastrup.

  The rehearsal space is close to the airport.

  The rehearsal space is cheap.

  Minna’s never met Tim.

  Minna is in many ways desperate.

  Minna says, I can’t go on being quiet.

  Minna says, I’ve got to be able to turn myself up and down.

  Lars sighs.

  Minna says, Let’s bike out to the rehearsal space.

  Lars doesn’t want to.

  Lars is a culture reporter.

  Lars and Minna met at a reception.

  Lars introduced himself with his full name.

  Minna could see that he knew everyone.

  Minna could see that he would like to know everyone, but

  Lars doesn’t traffic in favors.

  Favors are for politicians, he says.

  Minna says, But it’s just a rehearsal space.

  Lars says, One day it’s rehearsal space, the next …

  The conversation goes on like that.

  Minna pesters.

  Lars relents, but only a little.

  Lars says that he can call up Tim.

  Minna waits by the phone.

  Minna changes an A string.

  Minna drinks her coffee.

  The phone doesn’t ring.

  Minna goes for a walk.

  The phone doesn’t ring.

  The phone is dead.

  Minna checks the SIM card.

  The SIM card is working.

  Amager Strandpark is shrouded in sea fog.

  Amager Strandpark is full of architect-designed bunkers.

  Amager Strandpark wants to look like Husby Dunes.

  Husby Dunes used to be part of the Atlantic Wall.

  Husby Dunes used to be a war zone.

  Amager Strandpark makes itself pretty with a tragic backdrop.

  Minna doesn’t like Amager Strandpark.

  Minna really likes the Sound.

  Minna loves the sea, the gulls, the salt.

  Minna is a bit of a water person, and now her pocket beeps.

/>   Minna looks at her cell phone.

  Lars has sent a text.

  Tim’s on Bornholm, it says.

  Minna was prepared for something like that, but

  Minna wasn’t prepared for what comes next:

  Lars writes, I think we should stop seeing each other.

  Minna reads it again, but that’s what it says.

  Lars is breaking up via text.

  Minna cannot breathe.

  Minna has to sit down on an artificial dune.

  Minna writes, Now I don’t understand.

  Minna calls on the phone.

  There’s no signal.

  Minna waits for an answer.

  The cell is dead, and so she sits there:

  Amager Strandpark is Husby Dunes meets Omaha Beach.

  Amager Strandpark is full of savage dogs trying to flush something out.

  Amager Strandpark is a battlefield of wounded women.

  Minna has gotten Lars to elaborate on his text.

  Lars wrote, But I’m not really in love with you.

  Lars has always understood how to cut to the chase.

  Minna can’t wring any more out of him.

  Lars is a wall.

  Lars is a porcupine.

  Minna lies in bed.

  The bed is the only place she wants to lie.

  Minna hates that he began the sentence with But.

  Minna feels that there was a lot missing before But, but

  Minna should have apparently known better.

  Men are also lucky that they possess the sperm.

  Men can go far with the sperm.

  Men with full sacks play hard to get.

  Men with full sacks turn tail, but

  Minna can manage without them.

  Minna is a composer.

  Minna feels her larynx.

  The larynx isn’t willing.

  Minna can hear her neighbor come home.

  Minna places an ear against the wall.

  The neighbor dumps his groceries on the table.

  The neighbor takes a leak.

  Minna puts Bach on the stereo.

  Minna turns up Bach.

  The neighbor is there instantly.

  Bach’s cello suites are playing.

  Minna’s fingers are deep in the wound.

  Minna looks at the portrait of Lars.

  The portrait is from the paper.

  Lars is good at growing a beard.

  Lars sits there with his beard.

  Lars’s mouth is a soft wet brushstroke.

  Chest hair forces his T-shirt upward.

  The beard wanders downward away from his chin.

  An Adam’s apple lies in the middle of the hair.

  Minna has had it in her mouth.

  Minna has tasted it.

  Minna has submitted, but

  Lars looks out at someone who isn’t her.

  Lars regards his reader.

  It isn’t her.

  Minna is tormenting herself.

  Minna feels that Lars is a hit-and-run driver.

  The hit-and-run driver has suffered at most a dented fender.

  Minna savors her injuries.

  Her heart is spot bleeding.

  Her mouth stands agape.

  Minna comforts herself.

  Minna has the music, after all.

  No one can take the music from her.

  The music is an existential lifeline.

  Minna would just rather have a child.

  Minna ought to be glad for what she’s got.

  Minna would just rather have a child.

  Once upon a time, composers were sufficient unto themselves.

  Composers didn’t need to have kids.

  The tendency has changed:

  Minna should take it upon herself to have a child.

  Minna looks at the bookcase.

  Minna grabs the first book under B.

  Ingmar Bergman opens up for her.

  Bergman’s wearing the beret.

  Bergman’s gaze peers deep into Minna.

  Bergman wants to get in under Minna’s persona.

  Minna’s persona attempts to make way for him.

  Minna wants Bergman all the way inside.

  Bach plays.

  The neighbor thumps.

  Bergman drills.

  Minna keeps all superfluous organs to the side.

  Bergman says, I am drilling, but …

  Either the drill breaks, or else I don’t dare drill deeply enough.

  Minna’s managed the impossible:

  Bergman can’t find the woman in Minna.

  The mother won’t turn up.

  The mother, the whore, the witch.

  Minna lifts up her blouse a little.

  Bergman shakes his head.

  Minna stuffs him up under the blouse.

  Bergman doesn’t protest.

  Bergman makes himself comfortable.

  Bergman whispers sweet words to her.

  Bergman’s words don’t work.

  Minna’s lower lip quivers.

  Minna whispers, I used to sing.

  Minna hasn’t been out of her apartment in three days.

  Minna has sent a lot of texts.

  Minna has asked Lars to tell her what was supposed to be in front of But.

  Lars doesn’t reply.

  Lars won’t budge an inch.

  Lars was otherwise so mellow.

  Minna recalls when they last saw each other.

  Minna and Lars lay in bed.

  Minna stroked his beard.

  Minna read and interpreted.

  Lars just needs time.

  Minna decides to send Lars an email.

  Minna writes, I think we should meet and talk about it.

  Minna writes, We can always of course befriends.

  Minna writes, I miss you so.

  It’s wrong to write that, yet she’s written it regardless.

  It thunders through the ether.

  The email’s directional.

  Minna’s ashamed.

  The rehearsal space is gone.

  Tim’s on Bornholm.

  Minna’s got no money.

  Minna’s got no boyfriend.

  Minna’s only got herself, and now she’s going out.

  Minna goes down the stairs.

  Minna goes down to her bike.

  The bike stands in the backyard.

  The backyard amplifies all sound.

  The neighbors’ orgasms, the magpies, the pigeons dominate.

  Minna puts on her bike helmet.

  Minna bikes onto Amagerbrogade.

  Minna walks through the revolving doors into the Royal Library.

  Minna wants to concentrate.

  The young female students are wearing high heels.

  The heels bang against the floor.

  Minna despises the students’ high heels.

  Minna despises their catwalk character.

  Minna doesn’t think they’ve studied what they ought to.

  Minna fiddles with her sonata.

  Minna removes long hairs from her blouse.

  Minna waits for news from Lars.

  Karin’s sent her an email.

  Karin sends lots of emails every day.

  Karin’s emails are long.

  Karin tells about her life in the country.

  Minna’s with her in the bedroom.

  Minna’s with her at handball in the gym.

  Minna isn’t shielded from anything.

  Karin uses Minna as a diary.

  Karin’s everyday life will take over Minna’s.

  Minna makes a rare quick decision.

  Minna writes, Dear Karin.

  It’s not you.

  It’s me.

  Minna breaks up with Karin.

  All things must have an end.

  A worm has two.

  Minna doesn’t write the last bit.

  One shouldn’t hurt others unnecessarily.

  One should above all be
kind.

  Minna would rather not be anything but.

  Minna’s hardly anything but.

  The email thunders through the ether toward Karin.

  That’s as it should be, thinks Minna.

  The ether is full of malicious messages.

  The ether hums with breakups and loss.

  The ether is knives being thrown.

  The ether is blood surging back.

  Minna has wounded a creature.

  Minna stares out on the canal.

  Minna listens to the banging heels.

  Minna needs to go to the bathroom.

  Minna’s peed.

  Minna’s back in her place.

  Minna sits and feels the pain.

  The pain’s a contagion.

  The borders recede.

  Cynicism buds.

  Pointlessness grimaces!

  Minna’s snuck Bergman out of her bag.

  Minna’s got to concentrate.

  Someone waves from behind the panoramic glass.

  Jette’s standing with a bakery bag.

  Coffee’s to be drunk on the quay.

  Jette’s a classically trained harpist.

  Jette’s given up finding rehearsal space.

  The harp’s stood in her way her entire life.

  Minna knows the feeling.

  Minna’s had the same experience with grand pianos, but

  Grand pianos grow on trees.

  Harps are exclusive.

  Harps are for fairies, angels, and the frigid.

  Jette’s erotic.

  Jette calls her boyfriends lovers.

  Jette’s boyfriends are married to other women.

  Jette’s studying composition in Reading Room North.

  Minna writes paper sonatas in Reading Room East.

  Minna and Jette drink coffee together.

  The relationship isn’t supposed to get serious.

  Jette talks too much about bodies.

  Jette has an IUD in her genital tract.

  Jette has discharges and domestic obligations.

  Jette needs a weekend escape with a lover.

  Jette fears vaginal dryness.

  The uterus is an abandoned studio apartment.

  The vagina’s the gateway to the enjoyment of all things.

  Jette says, Don’t you agree?

  Minna says, Isn’t that a balloon?

  Minna points to a spot above the harbor.

  Jette’s content with the two kids she has.

  Enough’s enough, says Jette.

  Jette has two kids, thinks Minna.