The Morning Star

by Karl Ove Knausgaard

  “Hey!” I said. “What are you doing?”

  He looked at me. Even from a distance I could tell he was scared to death. His eyes were wide with fright.

  Without a word, he crashed on, through the garden and out into the road.

  I stood transfixed until the sound of his running footsteps died away.

  Then I let myself in, took the guitar out of its case and put it in its stand in the living room, pulled open the can of 7 Up and phoned Mathilde as I stared at the glowing ball in the sky across the valley.

  ISELIN

  The old lady came toward me past the confectionery with her shopping bag hanging from her arm. She was wearing a beige overcoat, despite it being more than thirty degrees outside.

  “Hello,” I said as she got to the checkout and opened the bag she’d put her items in.

  She was small and very thin, and white bristles of hair stuck out from her chin. It was repulsive and I couldn’t understand why she didn’t get rid of them. Just because you were old didn’t mean you had to stop caring about your appearance, surely?

  “Hello there,” she said, and began putting her items on the conveyor one by one.

  “Very hot today,” I said, looking up at her as I scanned them.

  She didn’t reply, but took out her purse.

  Her eyes were unclear in a way, or watery. The skin of her throat was very wrinkled. That’s where you can tell if people have had cosmetic surgery. The throat and the hands. Not that it was relevant in her case!

  She wasn’t slow, I saw that now. How come I’d always thought she was? Her fingers dipped nimbly into her wallet to pick out her card.

  “That’ll be 176 kroner, please,” I said.

  Without looking at me or saying anything she held her card over the reader.

  Although we saw each other maybe three times a week, she didn’t know I existed. They say old people disappear and become invisible, that it’s a shame for them, but they’re not much better themselves. It’s so easy to think old people are good and nice, but of course they’re just as bad as everyone else, at least the ones who were bad when they were young are.

  She put her card back in her purse, put the purse in her bag and went to the end of the little checkout to put her shopping in the bag. When she was finished, she looked up at me.

  “Oh, and a packet of mild cigarettes,” she said.

  I hadn’t seen that coming. Had the old biddy taken up smoking?

  “You’ll need a slip from the machine over there first,” I said. “Then come back and pay here, and after that you can pick your cigarettes up from the machine over by the door.”

  “What a lot of trouble,” she said. “Why’s that?”

  “It’s just the way it is, that’s all,” I said, and sat back.

  I examined my nails while she stood at the machine trying to work out what to do. If she needed help, she could ask. I’d just had my nails done, and the girl who’d done them for me had suggested a pale rose color that I liked and which now gave me a little tingle of pleasure again. Red, the color I normally used, made my fingers look small and chubby. They were too, but red drew attention to them. The same with bright red lipstick, it made my mouth look even smaller and my face even bigger and rounder.

  “Come and help me out,” the woman said, turning to look at me.

  “OK,” I said, and went over. “What brand do you want?”

  “Mild,” she said.

  “There’s a lot that are mild,” I said. “Prince. Marlboro. Petterøe’s. Pall Mall. Camel. Nearly all the brands have a light version as well.”

  Three girls came in through the door in a cloud of giggles and perfume.

  “Prince,” she said.

  I pressed the Prince logo and the selection options came up.

  “Just the one packet?”

  “Yes.”

  When the slip came out I took it over to the till and scanned it. She paid, and I went with her to the cigarette machine, scanned the slip and handed her the packet that dropped into the pickup box at the bottom.

  “Thank you,” she said curtly, putting the packet in her shopping bag and going out just as a tall man in his fifties came in and straightaway sent me into a panic. I turned round quickly and only just avoided being seen.

  Shit.

  What was he doing here?

  In a few minutes he’d be at the checkout putting his items on the conveyor, and there was no one else on except me. Helene was on her break, Dagfinn was in his office, Trude was in and out of the storeroom.

  It was Ommundsen, there was no mistaking him, I recognized him straightaway even though it had been three years since I left.

  It was the last discussion in the world I wanted to have now.

  At the checkout in Bunnpris.

  Iselin? You’re working here?

  Me nodding and smiling, shifting uneasily on my chair, looking down at my feet.

  Very sensible, earning some money alongside your studies! I imagined him saying. How’s the course going, anyway?

  Oh, fine, I’d have to say.

  What was it again? Psychology, wasn’t it?

  And I would nod.

  Lovely seeing you! I’ve thought about you often since you left. Which doesn’t go for all my students, I can tell you.

  Maybe he’d even ask me out for a coffee.

  The three girls came to the checkout. Three Red Bulls and three packets of cigs. They couldn’t be more than fourteen or fifteen, but I didn’t ask for ID, I just wanted them out. They stood there squirming, hardly able to contain their sniggers once they realized I wasn’t checking.

  Ommundsen was somewhere at the back of the shop now. I got to my feet and walked as quickly as I could down the aisle to the door of the storeroom, there were customers coming in now and the till wasn’t supposed to be left unmanned.

  He came round the corner and I ducked my head, turning away from him as I went past.

  To no avail.

  “Iselin?” he said.

  I pretended not to hear him, as if I wasn’t Iselin at all, but hurried on, went through the storeroom door and out into the yard at the back, where Helene sat leaning against the wall, her eyes closed in the bright sunlight.

  “Can you take over at the till for a couple of minutes? I need the toilet,” I said.

  She opened her eyes and turned her head to look up at me.

  “Can’t you keep it in for ten damn minutes? I’m on my break.”

  “You can have half of mine afterward. Go on.”

  She sighed and got to her feet.

  “Two minutes, or else,” she said. The pockmarks on her face were visible close up, and as always when she was on my back it was good to think that she looked so hideous.

  I went back through the storeroom into the tiny, stinking toilet, locked the door behind me and sat down on the lid while I started to count to 120 and tried not to breathe through my nose.

  My headache came back then. It was like a wire cutting through my brain. During the seconds it lasted, I was unable to think, unable to do anything, searing pain was the only thing there was.

  Then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone. I pulled the chain in case anyone was keeping tabs on me outside, washed my hands, pulled some toilet paper off the roll and dabbed my hands with it, dropped it in the bowl, waited for the cistern to fill, and then flushed again.

  He had to be gone by now, surely?

  But as soon as I came back into the shop I found him standing there waiting for me on the other side of the door.

  “Iselin,” he said. “How nice to see you!”

  He was tanned, in an immaculate white shirt, his teeth gleaming.

  “Hello,” I said. “Fancy seeing you here.”

  “Yes, in town for the weekend with a colleague. We went to see Orpheu
s yesterday.”

  “Sounds nice,” I said.

  “How are things with you? You’re working here, I see? I thought it was you, and so I asked the girl at the till.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  He scrutinized me.

  “Things are fine,” I said. “Everything is, really.”

  “You’ll soon be finished at uni, I suppose?”

  “Not quite,” I said. “Anyway, I’ve got to get back to the till now.”

  “Yes, of course,” he said. “What time do you get off? Perhaps we could meet up for a drink? If it wouldn’t be too odd?”

  “No, not at all,” I said.

  He looked at me.

  “Splendid! How about Café Opera?”

  “Fine,” I said, and turned to walk away. “See you there!”

  He came after me with his shopping in a carrier bag.

  “You didn’t say what time you got off?”

  “Eight,” I said.

  “Half past eight, then. Would that be all right for you?”

  I nodded.

  “You mustn’t think I go out with all my old students,” he said. “It would be nice to hear how you’re getting on, that’s all.”

  “Thanks, same here,” I said.

  Helene glared at me.

  “See you later, then!” I said to Ommundsen, who raised his hand in a wave as he went through the door, while I got back behind the till.

  “You just blew your whole break, girl,” Helene said.

  “OK.”

  I felt like bursting into tears. He was so nice, and he’d really believed in me.

  But no way was I going to meet him at Café Opera.

  * * *

  —

  I hadn’t eaten anything all day, so as soon as we’d shut I sat down on some pallets in the backyard with a bag of peanuts and a Diet Coke. My skin under my T-shirt was clammy and disgusting. The sun was going down, but the air above the asphalt still shimmered with heat. There was a smell of rotten fruit from the Dumpster a bit farther away. I plugged my earphones into my mobile and found my favorite Ariana Grande video, the one she made herself where she lays down a vocal and plays it back while singing the second voice, then plays it back while singing the third, and so on, voice upon voice, harmony upon harmony, until at last she’s got a whole choir going there in her bedroom. It’s a fantastic video. If anyone’s a genius, it’s her. People have no idea how difficult that is, what she does there. It should be impossible.

  I usually watched it on my break, it was my little reward. That, or anything by Billie Eilish.

  I put “bad guy” on and leaned back against the wall. The music, so incredibly cool, made me want to go out, just fuck everything and go out drinking and dancing.

  Helene was standing against the back gate smoking. Seeing me look at her, she opened her mouth and pretended to say something.

  Ha ha, I mimed back.

  Then she did say something.

  I pulled out an earphone and gave her an inquiring look.

  “Who was that guy asking after you?” she said.

  “No one in particular,” I said, and put the earphone back in.

  She said something else.

  “What?” I said.

  “Didn’t look like it to me,” she said. “Who was he?”

  “An old teacher.”

  “Were you fucking him?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” I said, twisting the earphone and turning up the volume before shaking the rest of the peanuts into my hand and chucking them into my mouth.

  Couldn’t she just get lost? If I was going out, I’d have to put some makeup on, but I wasn’t going to do it while she was around. And the toilet was too disgusting.

  I turned the music off and pressed Jonas’s number, but changed my mind after only one ring, hung up and sent him a text instead.

  You got any plans for tonight?

  I stood up, went and got my bag, then locked myself in the toilet, the only place I could be on my own.

  Already out. You? he replied.

  If he’d wanted to meet up, he’d have said where he was. So I wrote back and told him I was working late, had been thinking of popping round on my way home, but that I’d see him later in the week.

  I put a goldish-looking eyeshadow on that had a bit of glitter in it, darkened my eyelashes and drew a line out from the corner of each eye. It gave me an accentuated look, which I liked, something strong and passionate. Then a paler lipstick than usual, some shading on my cheeks to make them seem that little bit narrower.

  I understood him not wanting me hanging around with him and his friends. Even if I wouldn’t show him up in any way, having your elder sister in tow was embarrassing enough on its own.

  But still it hurt.

  I remembered when he was a baby.

  Maybe the eyeshadow was plenty, I thought, and took away the black lines. No need to go over the top.

  There.

  I put away my makeup and changed into a baggy black T-shirt, put my arms through the straps of my backpack and went out.

  Helene had gone, thank goodness.

  The street outside was crowded with people. One of those giant cruise ships must have come in. Old men in shorts and women in their summer best trying to blend in with the locals who were out on the town. A babble of voices, cries and laughter filled the hot summer air, and Caribbean music came from one of the cafes.

  I wiped the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand as I went.

  It was boiling hot.

  The air was nearly glowing.

  I liked it better when it was windy and raining. I could lie in my room then and watch films or read and sleep without feeling guilty about it. The sun was so unsparing. You were meant to be out in it, meant to be out with friends, meant to be having a good time. If I lay in my room then, there’d be something the matter with me, I’d be letting myself down, even though I’d be doing exactly the same thing, and even though my life was my own.

  I did what I wanted. So if I didn’t want to be out getting drunk, how come I felt guilty?

  Fuck it. Fuck all of it.

  I stopped and put my earphones in, scrolled until I found Sheer Heart Attack, then carried on through the lane leading down to Vågsbunnen, flapping my T-shirt to stop it sticking to my skin.

  I was still hungry. There was a Burger King a bit farther down. It was cheap, at least. And it was my life, no one decided but me.

  All the windows above me were wide open, and the little restaurants with their outdoor tables in the rear courtyards were all full.

  But what was that?

  An animal scuttled along the foot of one of the buildings. The people in front of me stopped. It was a rat! It crossed the lane, zigzagging through the crowd to disappear under a gate on the other side.

  A woman squealed. People looked at each other. There was an alarm of startled voices, and then a few seconds later everything was normal again.

  They say that whenever you see a rat there’ll always be six others somewhere close by, I remembered, and glanced around me as I walked on. I’d seen rats loads of times in town, especially round the back of the supermarket, but only ever in the evening and at night. Never in the daytime.

  I’d never understood why rats were meant to be so disgusting. They weren’t exactly cute, like a lynx or an owl, but they weren’t exactly horrible either. Their fur was smooth and thick, the tail looked like a little whip, and their front paws resembled little hands with fingers when they held something in them.

  Above the islands in the fjord the sun was on its way down, and as I emerged from the lane I had to narrow my eyes in order to see properly. The wharf and the fish market were teeming with people. On this side of the road too, the crowds were huge. I weaved my way among them, grateful for the mu
sic in my ears that transported me to another place, making all the faces that surrounded me seem remote and irrelevant.

  People were so alike. They squealed when they saw a rat, hit the town in their droves when the sun came out, got married and had kids, forged careers, and then died. And for what? A promotion to departmental manager, partner in a law firm or whatever it was they did. And that was what they worked so hard for?

  All just to lie there in the deep soil.

  Who cared about their important jobs then?

  I crossed over Torgallmenningen into Strandgaten to the Burger King, where thankfully there were hardly any customers and inside was nice and cool.

  I couldn’t make up my mind between a Bacon King and a Double Steakhouse. I hadn’t eaten properly all day, so in the end I went with the Double Steakhouse with extra fries and a Diet Coke.

  My mouth was watering as I carried the tray over to one of the tables farther inside and sat down.

  I opened as wide as I could but still couldn’t get the whole burger in for the first bite, the bun crumpled against my top lip as the juicy meat filled my mouth and everything melted together, bacon, beef, bun, onion, tomato, lettuce, ketchup.

  I always saved the fries until last, the two things were so different I didn’t like to mix them. One juicy and open, the other crispy and dry on the outside, the good, soft part locked inside. The burger I ate quickly, the fries took longer as I dipped them in ketchup and ate them one by one.

  And I was still finished all too soon.

  I wiped my mouth with the paper napkin and thought about what to do. A man had sat down over by the wall. He was dressed like he worked at the university, in blue jeans, a white shirt, brown blazer, brown shoes. His lips slanted in an appealing kind of way, his face looked like an eighteen-year-old’s, whereas the rest of him said he was in his thirties, maybe even forties.

  He sat looking thoughtfully out of the window and didn’t notice me.

  I was full, but wanted some more. The natural thing would have been to get a milkshake for dessert, that was what people did. But there were so many calories in them I could just as well have another burger, maybe the Bacon King with fries I’d been thinking about.