Lugha inayolengwa: Kiingereza
There is always housework to be done, even in a small apartment. The husband's voice is irritating, both inside and outside his living quarters. The neighbors know his voice by now, even though he doesn't have much contact with them. Right now, Anna and the rest of the things that have been put off until later boil down to a bed that she makes first thing in the morning, a washing machine full of clothes that she picks up off the floor, and that later she will hang one by one on a small balcony that looks out over a light-filled patio. In the meantime she tidies up the house, airs out the bedrooms and dining room, sweeps the floor and goes down on her hands and knees to scrub it, because that's how you reach all the corners. Later she makes a note of what they need and does a bit of shopping, always aware of just how much she can spend. And before the floor has dried she makes lunch, turns on the T.V. while she folds and iron the clothes, and all of a sudden the husband is already there. His eyes and face make it clear that he's waiting for something, which doesn't mean that he's waiting for Anna. She sits down next to her husband in the dining room, where their eyes are drawn to the T.V. out of habit. Unlike the house, the T.V. is comforting. So are the neighbors' kids who laugh and shout as they throw stones on the patio. They don't have any children anymore, although they tried it in the past. They brought up one. Now he's gone, and soon he will start a new family of his own, following the model of this one, the only family he's ever known.