 | Aleksandra Kardum
Kar sem zamolčala
If you say you are going to die on a hot slice of pizza, what do you have left when you touch your baby’s face for the first time? Aleksandra Kardum
Aleksandra Kardum works in an Autism Centre. She resides near Split’s central hospital. Woman and mother, terrified by the thought that someday thing will start happening and the will result in her becoming a grandmother. She prefers men’s from women’s talks, as long as it is not about sport, cars and women (ok, can tolerate cars). She almost speaks three languages, but prefers being quiet and writes instead. This is the reason she avoids hairdresser’s salons, because it is not a place where she could be quiet, because they are always talking about brides, mother in laws, and brides mates there and because they are always asking her for her professional pedagogic opinion about today’s youth not greeting the elderly. She dislikes shopping unless she needs something for her favourite laptop. She is afraid of solarium. At long last, typical woman. What I’ve Concealed is her debut, nominated for best Croatian novel in 2004. From the accompanying text
If looking at the scene from the space, nothing really special happens: Saturday morning, young woman counts her wrinkles in the mirror, goes to local store, has a chat with neighbour’s urchin and few phone conversations, receives delivery of flowers, prepares lunch, dresses up and carefully puts on make-up and ends up in a company of a young man. But if looking through a more accurate telescope and with eyes of careful observer one could notice her enthusiasm about the discovery, that if the pencil put under her breast falls down, it means that her body is not old yet, the flowers being roses, and there are thirty of them; for thirty woman’s years in one slow Saturday’s morning. And a pregnancy test. Positive.
by Stanka Hrastelj
translated by Damijan Šinigoj
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