The Peacock 97

 "Hey, Erik, I just looked at the time.  Breakfast is in five minutes, and it's a bit of a walk to get to the breakfast room."

"What time is it, where you are?"

"Almost seven."

"They start you pretty early. What is this place anyway, a monastery?"

"I really don't know how to describe it.  It's like I am inhabiting some kind of story or fable or something."

"Are you alone?"

"There's three other guests.  Really interesting people.  How about you?  Where are you living these days?"

"I'm living with an aunt.  It's nice, pretty quiet.  "We'll talk about it a bit later.  When would you like to talk to me some more?"

"How about this Saturday?  I should have more free time."

"We're in the suburbs here.  Lots of parks.  Have you ever thought of visiting me in Sweden, sometime?"

I don't know how to answer that.  I have never thought of visiting Sweden.

Apparently uncomfortable with my silence, Erik says, "I don't want to interrupt your retreat."

"I wouldn't worry about it."

"What time Saturday do you want to talk?"

"What time is it right now in Sweden?"

"Almost four."

"How about, six, or so, Swedish time.  That'll give me time to get ready after breakfast."

"Okay Bro´,  see you Saturday." Erik is smiling, as though he could hug me right now if he could.  And I would also like to hug him.

"Bye.  Say hi to Greta for me."

"I will."

I am going to be a little bit late for breakfast.  At least they have given me a key for the lock on this door.  The stairs are at the other end of the corridor, and I am passing more paintings, some abstracts, another landscape, and a couple of colourful tropical bird compositions.  Now down to the second floor, which is even wider and now to the main staircase.  It's still going to be a bit of a walk.  This house is huge....