“That tiny creature can live more than one hundred years,” he said, his eyes shining. “Think about it, Signe, once it has been created, it lives longer than a human being. Irreplaceable for the entirety of its lifetime.”

The first time he came to the village he stayed at a hotel, and by breakfast time on the second day he had already noticed Iris, the daughter of the hotel owner. And she noticed him. They quickly became an item. Bjørn and Iris were their names, names that went so well together, I remember thinking. Bjørn, meaning bear, a huge, powerful animal that lumbers heavily through the world, and Iris, a fragile, slender blossom, deeply rooted in one place. But actually, it should perhaps be the opposite: she should have had his name, he should have had hers.

It had apparently been beautiful, what they had during the initial period, the first years, but then it grew ugly. Nothing is uglier than something that once was beautiful.

For Daddy the hate that took root in him lasted for the rest of his life. He never forgave her for taking the river away from him.

I think I know where it began, at least I know where it began for me, but maybe they had already been talking about the development project for a long time, during the late-night hours, in angry, whispering voices that didn’t awaken me. They must have done that, but all I remember is the day she came home and told us that the development project had been approved.

I think he had a deadline, an article that he was supposed to write, because he was seated bent over the typewriter out on the porch—he liked working out there, in the fresh air. I envied him that typewriter, what he accomplished on it—all the words, sentences that unfurled onto the paper before him, the speed of his fingers hitting the keys, the letters on the typebars knocking against the paper. And then I pushed my way onto his lap and said that I wanted to write as well.

He let me, as he so often did, but the rhythm wasn’t the same when I typed, the sound didn’t travel through the house, the letters didn’t turn into sentences. It took such a long time, I had only just learned how to combine letters into words, I searched and searched with my index finger.

Besides, Daddy’s lap was hard and his legs restless. He had put his feet on the floor so his thighs sloped forward and I was always on the verge of sliding off. But I tensed the muscles in my body and just kept going.

“There,” he said, finally. “Now you’ve tried. Now I have to get back to work.”

“No,” I said. “I want to write a story.”

“That’s enough for now,” Daddy said.

“No,” I said.

But he lifted me off the chair and gave me a quick hug, as if to apologize, and I held him tight. His beard stubble scraped against my cheek, but I still wanted the hug to last.