On collecting stamps E-Book

Hakan Lindquist

• Herausgeber: Bruno Gmünder Verlag
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2012

Seitenzahl: 210

Beschreibung

A journey to the town where he was born becomes a trip into the past: When Mattias hears about the death of a friend from his childhood days, he starts recalling the time with Samuel. Mattias was searching for a friend, while Samuel was longing for his big love, a young sailor on the edge of manhood. Samuel's funeral leads Mattias back to an unanswered question. Why did he dedicate his life to a stamp collection instead of really living it? Finally an old letter of the passed away friend resolves a well kept secret ...

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Titel

Quote

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

Notes

Quotations in the novel

About the author

Imprint

”som når et rum fra en drøm

på en rejse engang

er netop det rum man kommer

hjem og flytter ind i”

Inger Christensen, Alfabet

“like when a room from a dream

on a journey

is the same room that you come home

and move into”

Inger Christensen, Alphabet

I wake up from a dream about roe deer on a moor. For a while I lie still with my eyes closed, trying to make those shadowy creatures stay, but inevitably they disappear. One of my hands was clasping something in the dream, I still think I can feel the object in the palm of my hand, against my fingers, and I open my hand and my eyes to see, but whatever it was I was holding is gone. The only thing that remains is the memory of the touch, a light pressure against my skin.

My eyes are drawn to the bedroom window. The light from the window is soft and sensual. I stand up, slowly stretch myself before pushing away the chair to get more space. The parquet floor—worn dark—is shimmering. I can smell the wood as I do my push-ups—sixteen, seventeen, eighteen …

Then the phone rings, my concentration is broken.

“Mattias!”

It’s my mother. Her voice immediately reveals sadness, or fatigue.

“I called to tell you about Samuel,” she says. “Do you remember him? Samuel Gunnarsson.”

She continues to speak, but my thoughts have gone elsewhere.

It was Sunday, early afternoon and just a week left before summer vacation. It had been raining heavily for a couple of days—it was cold, so those who had the opportunity chose to stay indoors—but during the night it had suddenly ceased and the morning brought sunshine and a clear blue summer sky. I had left home early on my bike, while the moisture still covered the world.

Mother had been standing in her bedroom window when I left.

“Be careful now, Mattias,” she called. Careful …