The Morning Star

by Karl Ove Knausgaard

  They were probably all asleep anyway.

  A whitish churn became visible on the surface to the northwest, the sound of the outboard growing in intensity.

  I got my phone out, opened it and tapped on the text from Ingvild.

  Dad I’m scared when are you back

  Oh no.

  What could it be?

  I stood up.

  Maybe it was the new star that had scared her. The fact that there were no adults around.

  But Tove was there.

  Should I phone her?

  No, it would be meaningless, given the state she was in at the moment.

  I went down to the water’s edge again. The body of the boat was visible now, cutting a wide arc as it came toward land.

  It occurred to me he didn’t know where I was.

  The outboard slowed abruptly.

  A few seconds later, my phone rang.

  “Where are you?” he said.

  “I can see you,” I said. “I’m standing on the beach.”

  “OK,” he said. “I’ll moor in the inlet here. Where are you standing exactly?”

  “About halfway along. You know the rock that looks like a priest?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll meet you there.”

  “OK,” he said, and we hung up.

  I lit a cig.

  If I phoned Ingvild, I might wake her up, and not being there meant I’d only make things worse.

  Should I text her?

  If something serious had happened, she’d have phoned.

  Wouldn’t she?

  The boat slid into the inlet and disappeared from view behind the trees.

  I tapped on her number and put the phone to my ear as I looked up at the stars in the darkness above my head.

  Please, God. Don’t let anything bad have happened. Let everything be all right.

  “Dad, where are you?” Ingvild’s voice said.

  “I’m with Egil,” I said. “I’m on my way home now. Has something happened?”

  “It’s Mum,” she said. “She keeps going in and out of the house and wandering around the garden all the time. I can’t get through to her. It doesn’t matter what I say, all she says is ‘Are you sure?’ or ‘Sorry’ or ‘I don’t know.’ The twins were frightened.”

  “Are they asleep now?”

  “Yes. I’ve been sitting with them, they’ve only just dropped off. But there’s someone downstairs.”

  “What?”

  “There are noises coming from downstairs. I’m too scared to go down. You’ve got to come. Please, Dad.”

  “I’m on my way,” I said. “No need to worry about Mum, she just needs to shut everything out at the moment, that’s all. A bit of rest and she’ll be fine again, you’ll see.”

  “A bit of rest in the hospital, you mean?” said Ingvild.

  “Yes,” I said. “She’ll be able to rest there.”

  “It’s so awful,” said Ingvild. “It’s like she doesn’t see us! She looks right at me and still can’t see me! And she keeps walking all the time. Heming wanted to know why you couldn’t come home and hold her.”

  “I’m on my way, Ingvild. Where’s Mum now?”

  “I don’t know. Out somewhere.”

  “OK. It’s nothing to be worried about,” I said. “All right?”

  “But what about the noises? I’m so scared. It sounds like someone’s down there.”

  To my left, a figure emerged out of the woods onto the shore.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably just the cat.”

  “It’s not the cat, Dad. There’s someone down there.”

  “I’m sure there isn’t, sweetheart. Don’t be scared. We’re on our way now. Home in fifteen minutes, maybe. Half an hour at the most. OK?”

  “OK. But hurry.”

  “You’re such a good girl, Ingvild. You’ve been so strong and brave tonight.”

  She sighed and hung up.

  Heavy with despair, I turned toward the figure farther along the shore and lifted my hand in a wave. But he was on his way toward the three rocks and didn’t see me.

  “Egil!” I shouted. “Over here!”

  Everything was all so hopeless.

  He looked around in bewilderment for a few seconds before he saw me.

  “Thought you said the priest!” he shouted back.

  I lit another cigarette as I watched him traverse the stony shore.

  He stopped in front of me, out of breath.

  “The state of you,” he said.

  I put my hand toward my nose, a reflex, halting the movement at the last second.

  “Your nose looks broken,” he said. “Is it?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It hurts, though.”

  “I should think it does,” he said. “Where’s the car?”

  I nodded in the general direction.

  “We need to get going,” I said. “Tove’s not well and the kids are on their own with her.”

  “While you’re out drunk driving and smashing the car up?”

  “No need to rub it in,” I said, and started to walk. “It’s serious by the sounds of it. I think she’s getting psychotic.”

  “She definitely didn’t seem good today,” he said.

  “No, maybe she didn’t,” I said. “It’s just always so hard to tell where it’s going.”

  “That’s what you always say,” he said.

  He made his way up the slope beside me, his chest wheezing. Tall and upright, with his little paunch, his unruly hair.

  “So what are you going to do?” he said.

  I ducked beneath the low branch of a pine tree, the pain immediately throbbing in my nose. I straightened up, but too soon, the branch whipping back into my neck.

  “Christ,” I said. “I hate these damn woods.”

  Egil opted for a longer way round, vanishing for a moment behind a curtain of foliage.

  “What are you going to do, then?” he said when our paths converged again.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “About Tove, you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “I need to know what sort of a state she’s in first,” I said.

  “Psychotic, you just said.”

  “Perhaps. I don’t know. If she is, I’ll have to take her to the hospital.”

  Egil looked up at the new star as we crossed the road, but said nothing.

  “This is where I’m parked,” I said.

  “Doesn’t look too bad,” he said. “Give me the key and I’ll see if I can back her out.”

  “It’s in the ignition,” I said.

  He opened the door and got in. A moment later, the engine started and the left headlight came on. He revved a couple of times like a damn racing driver before putting it into gear and reversing steadily and slowly through the heather and scrub.

  Once it was back on the road I got in the passenger side.

  “So far so good,” he said.

  “Thanks, Egil,” I said.

  “No problem,” he said, reversing across the tarmac, twisting the wheel and then arcing forward again to bring us onto the right side of the road.

  “How are the kids taking it?” he said.

  “Ingvild’s scared,” I said. “The twins are asleep.”

  “OK,” he said.

  There was a silence.

  “I’m not exactly good with kids,” he said. “But if you drive her to the hospital, I can stay with them, at least.”

  He looked at me.

  And then he laughed.

  “No, you can’t take her to the hospital looking like that,” he said. “They’ll have you in too!”

  “Didn’t you hear me? Ingvild’s scared. A psychosis is no laughing matter.”

&n
bsp; “A person who’s been as stupid as you’ve been tonight ought to be able to take a joke,” he said. “I’ll take her in, you can stay home and take care of your kids.”

  I didn’t answer him.

  Why did he have to moralize now?

  And who did he think he was, anyway? Living on his own in a summer house, fifty years old and without a job. Not much of a life to boast about.

  We came out of the woods onto the high flatland where the crabs had been crossing the road. They were all gone now, apart from the odd shell that lay crushed here and there.

  I glanced at Egil.

  He was staring straight ahead and changed gear as we got to the bend on the other side.

  I couldn’t be bothered telling him about the crabs.

  I leaned my head back and closed my eyes instead.

  “Thanks for coming out,” I said.

  “No problem,” he said.

  “Did I wake you when I rang?”

  He didn’t answer, but I sensed him shake his head.

  “I was reading,” he said.

  “What are you reading?” I said.

  “A book about the Lion-man.”

  Something about his tone of voice told me he was now expecting a question about who the Lion-man was. He wouldn’t get it from me, that was for sure.

  “Oh, right,” I said, and opened my eyes. We passed the road leading down to the marina. What I’d told Ingvild was true, there was no need to worry about Tove. But it was unsettling, nevertheless. To see a person vanish into their own world and become unapproachable was unsettling in itself. And this was their mother.

  As the road swung north, the star was above us in the sky.

  It was beautiful.

  As beautiful as death was beautiful.

  “We haven’t talked about the new star,” I said. “It’s a bit weird.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “But you’ve got other things to think about.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  There was a silence. We turned onto the gravel track that was our road, and Egil took his foot off the accelerator, the car almost sailing like a boat between the empty houses.

  “What do you think it is, then?” I said. “A comet? A supernova? Or a new star?”

  He shrugged.

  “I don’t know. Probably a new star. It’s happened before in history.”

  “Has it?”

  “Yes, lots of times.”

  He looked at me.

  “Have you heard of The Augsburg Book of Miracles?”

  “No,” I said.

  “It’s an illustrated manuscript from sixteenth-century Germany. It wasn’t found until quite recently. Anyway, here we are,” he said, pulling up in the driveway next to the house. “We can talk about it later.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  He switched the engine off and engaged the handbrake.

  “Do you want me to wait here while you check on the kids?”

  I unclicked my seat belt.

  “If you would,” I said. “You can still drive her to the hospital?”

  “Of course.”

  “OK. Wait here a bit, then.”

  I opened the door and got out. All the outside lights were on, every lamp and light in Tove’s studio likewise, the garden an illuminated island in the dark.

  The rooms appeared empty as I went up the paved path along the front of the house. There was no one in the garden either.

  The door was wide open.

  And then I focused on what Ingvild had said about the noises from downstairs, that someone was there.

  I hesitated in the doorway and peered inside.

  Everything seemed normal.

  I went in and opened the kitchen door.

  Everything normal there too.

  “Dad, is that you?” came Ingvild’s voice from the landing.

  “Yes,” I said, and went up the stairs.

  She was standing at the top, leaning forward with a hand on the banister. Her mouth opened as our eyes met.

  “What’s happened? What have you done? You’re injured!”

  I didn’t know what she was talking about at first. Then it came back to me.

  “It’s nothing,” I said. “Bashed my nose a bit, that’s all. It doesn’t hurt. Don’t worry about it. How are things here? Are you all right?”

  I came to a halt and put my arms out toward her.

  She did the opposite, folded her arms across her body and looked down.

  “You’ve been drinking,” she said.

  “It’s all right,” I said. “Let’s concentrate on what’s been going on here. Give me a hug?”

  She nodded, but remained standing as before, as if curled up inside herself. I put my arms around her.

  “My grown-up girl,” I said. “Everything’s going to be fine, you’ll see. It’ll all work out in the end.”

  “Dad, you’ve been driving,” she said, and pulled away.

  She looked me in the eye.

  “Are you still drunk?”

  “Let’s just sit down nice and quietly, and then you can tell me what’s been going on,” I said. “We’ll sort things out. Are the twins still asleep?”

  She nodded.

  I stepped past her and went into their room. They were lying on their sides, cheek to arm. Everything about them was closed, not just their mouths and eyes, but their bodies too in a way, and the thought flashed in my mind that life is something that takes place inside us.

  I turned toward Ingvild who was standing looking at me.

  “You need to sleep too,” I said. “Come on, let’s go into your room.”

  “Can’t you find Mum and take care of her first? Now?”

  “Taking care of you is more important.”

  “What do you mean?” she said, and looked at me with what seemed like suspicion.

  “Mum won’t remember any of this,” I said. “It’s like she’s dreaming. But you’ll remember. That’s why you’re more important. And Asle and Heming too.”

  “Go and find her now,” she said.

  She had the moral high ground with me being drunk and not having been there for them. But I couldn’t let her boss me about either.

  There was a noise from downstairs, a heavy thud, and then something breaking.

  Ingvild jumped.

  “Did you hear it?” she said. “There is someone down there.”

  “It sounds like the cat to me, Ingvild,” I said. “Nothing to worry about. I’ll go down and let her out.”

  She stayed where she was, her eyes following me as I went down the stairs.

  What could it be?

  It wasn’t the sort of noise a cat would make.

  I paused at the front door and glanced out to see if Tove was there, but the garden was as empty as before. Then, cautiously, I opened the dining-room door and peered inside.

  Nothing.

  I tiptoed through the room to its other door. Put my ear against it.

  Someone or something was rummaging around in there.

  Could it be a dog?

  I felt like walking away from it. The door was closed, so whatever was in there wouldn’t be able to get out.

  Unless it was a someone, rather than a something.

  It didn’t sound like it, though.

  Full of trepidation, I pressed the handle down and opened the door.

  It was completely dark inside. And the noises stopped.

  I felt for the switch on the wall, and when instantly the light came on, a badger was standing in the middle of the room looking at me.

  It growled.

  I closed the door again in a hurry.

  “What is it, Dad?” Ingvild said from the hall. “Dad? What is it?”

  “There’s a damn ba
dger in there!” I said.

  “What?”

  She came into the room.

  “How can it have got in?”

  “No idea,” I said. “Let’s just leave it for now. I’ll go and look for Mum first, then we can deal with the badger after that.”

  “You’re going to leave it in there? Aren’t badgers dangerous?”

  “No, they’re not dangerous,” I said. “Anyway, it can’t get out on its own, can it?”

  I smoothed my hand over her head.

  “You go to bed, sweetheart, get some sleep.”

  Quietly, she began to cry.

  I put my arms around her.

  “Are you going to take her to the hospital?” she said after a bit.

  “Yes.”

  “And leave us on our own here? I don’t want to be on my own.”

  “Egil can drive Mum, I’ll stay here with you. OK?”

  She nodded.

  “You get some sleep,” I said.

  She nodded again.

  I got the key from the drawer in the kitchen and locked the badger in, then went outside to Egil who was sitting quite still in the car with the door open.

  “The kids are fine,” I said. “Tove’s not in the house, so I’m going to go and look for her now.”

  “Do you want me to help?”

  “I wouldn’t mind,” I said. “By the way, there’s a badger in the living room. Behind a locked door now.”

  “Really?” he said. “I didn’t know there were badgers around here.”

  “Apparently, there are,” I said. “Are you coming?”

  He got out.

  “She likes a walk along the shore,” I said. “I reckon we’ll find her there. Unless she’s just gone off down the road, of course.”

  “Have you looked in the studio?” he said.

  “Just from outside. Looks empty to me.”

  “Maybe we should check first, before going off somewhere else,” he said.

  “You’re right,” I said. “You wait here, then.”

  I went to the door and opened it.

  Tove was asleep on the sofa below the window. Her mouth was open and she was snoring. She was lying on her back with one hand on her chest, her feet flat on the sofa, knees in the air, legs splayed.

  It was over, I thought to myself. At least for now.

  I picked up the blanket that was draped over the armrest and was about to cover her up when I noticed her other hand was covered in blood. Thick and red, as if she’d dipped her hand in a bucket of blood.