The Morning Star

by Karl Ove Knausgaard

  The sun was low in the west and the horizon was edged by a ribbon of orange-red light. Through the open window came the sound of voices from next door’s front patio, jaunty and expectant, I thought, as if they were awaiting some major event.

  I put my head out slightly and saw four or five people standing with wine glasses in their hands while Vroldsen, the head teacher at Gaute’s school, emptied a bag of charcoal into the barbecue. Faintly, I heard voices from our garden too, the children laughing and shouting.

  I took two large dishes from the cupboard and the paper bags containing the prawns and the crabs from the fridge. The prawns spilled out, scraping against each other in their hues of reddish-pink as I upended the bags into the china.

  I placed one dish on top of the other and carried them outside into the garden, where the grown-ups were sitting at the table on the patio, the children playing in the little playhouse Gaute’s father had made for them.

  “What a good idea to have prawns,” Sigrid said, immediately getting to her feet. “Our first time all summer, in fact.”

  She gave me a hug. Martin got up too and waited his turn behind her.

  “Hi,” he said, putting his cheek toward mine and placing a hand in the small of my back, though without our cheeks actually touching to complete the maneuver.

  He avoided looking at me too.

  Sometimes I got the feeling he was attracted to me and that the reason he so conspicuously kept his distance was that he didn’t want anyone to suspect.

  “Hi, Martin, how are you?” I said.

  “Fine,” he said, and sat down again, glancing at Sigrid as he did so. “I’m fine, aren’t I?”

  “Yes, you’re fine,” said Sigrid.

  “Anything new?” said Gaute, leaning back and crossing his hairless legs, tilting his head somewhat arrogantly, I thought.

  “New isn’t something I connect with Martin,” said Sigrid with a laugh.

  Had they been arguing before they came out? I got the feeling they had.

  “Wine or beer, Kathrine?” said Gaute.

  “Perhaps a beer,” I said, sitting down.

  The table looked so nice with the prawns and lemons, the bread and the butter, the blue glass plates, and a tall, slender green wine bottle, all set off against the white tablecloth.

  “Come and get something to eat, you kids!” said Gaute.

  The children came crawling out of the playhouse, sat themselves down at the little table next to our big one and began helping themselves to sausages and bread that they turned into hot dogs.

  “Do you know what I saw today?” Sigrid said to them.

  They shook their heads and stared at her.

  Did they think she was beautiful?

  No, that sort of thing didn’t start until later.

  Perhaps Peter did?

  “I was sitting in the garden when I heard a noise behind the fence. Then all of a sudden a fox jumped up onto it.”

  “A fox?” said Marie.

  “Yes!” said Sigrid. “It just sat there and looked at me. For a long time. And then it jumped down and ran off into the woods again.”

  “Are foxes dangerous?” said Marie.

  “No, of course they’re not,” said Peter.

  “How strange,” said Gaute.

  Martin said nothing, although he almost certainly had an opinion about it. He extracted some meat from one of the crab shells and spread it onto a slice of bread, hunched over his plate, eyes fixed on what he was doing.

  “What have you been up to since we last saw you, then?” said Sigrid.

  “Kathrine was away at a seminar last weekend and I was here with the kids,” said Gaute. “We went swimming out at Nordnes, it was lovely.”

  “In the sea?”

  “No, no, in the pool there. Apart from that, just working all week. No great shakes. How about you?”

  “Work’s been quiet,” said Sigrid. “The world hasn’t really got going again yet after the holidays.”

  “There must be something happening somewhere, surely?” said Gaute. “Those four boys who’ve gone missing, for instance?”

  “That’s not really my department,” said Sigrid. “Martin’s just made an interesting decision about his work, though. Haven’t you, Martin?”

  Martin looked at her, and something resembling anger flashed in his eyes.

  “Maybe,” he said. “I’m sure we’ve got better things to talk about than that, though.”

  “No, go on,” said Gaute. “What sort of a decision?”

  “He’s giving up his PhD project and wants to start another one instead,” said Sigrid.

  “I thought you were nearly finished?” said Gaute.

  “Not exactly,” said Martin. “It’ll need another six months or so yet.”

  “So why are you giving it up?” I said.

  He gave a shrug.

  “He wants to write about how trees think,” said Sigrid, and laughed.

  Don’t laugh at him, I thought.

  He looked at her. Then he put his napkin down on the table, and for a moment I thought he was going to get up and leave.

  “That sounds really interesting!” I said.

  “No, it doesn’t,” said Sigrid. “It sounds totally brainless, if you ask me.”

  “Let’s hear it from the man himself,” said Gaute. “What’s the thrust of it?”

  Martin sighed.

  “I haven’t actually decided I’m going to yet,” he said.

  “Yes, you have,” said Sigrid.

  If they hadn’t been arguing before they came, they certainly would be once they left, I thought to myself.

  “Can trees think?” said Gaute.

  Something sank inside me as soon as he said it. Sometimes he could be so . . . well, stupid.

  At the same time, it got the situation on an even keel again, Martin taking his cue.

  “No, not as such,” he said. “But if I do have to explain it, that’s not the right place to start. Everyone knows what thoughts are. But we don’t know what they actually are.”

  “Chemical and electrical impulses in the brain, aren’t they?” said Gaute.

  “Yes, but to get from the biological processes to actually thinking something is rather a leap. What’s a thought?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know!” said Sigrid, and laughed.

  Fortunately, Martin smiled.

  “Human consciousness is the biggest mystery that exists. No one knows what it is. Or even why it’s there. Nietzsche believed we could all do very well without it.”

  “Eternal return,” said Gaute. Martin glanced up at him before going on.

  “The mind is a kind of place where we become visible to ourselves. But why? What’s it good for? When we see ourselves, we see ourselves from without—the way others see us, in other words. That was what Nietzsche understood, that the mind exists for the good of the community. It’s there for what goes on between people. And that’s where some scholars believe there to be other kinds of consciousness too. Other forms of intelligence. The forest, for instance. The point being that those kinds of consciousness—intelligence, if you will—are so alien to us that it’s hard for us to see that they even exist.”

  “That’s very interesting,” I said.

  “But in six months he’d have been finished and could have got himself a job,” said Sigrid.

  “So a tree can’t think,” Martin went on. “But the trees can. The ecosystem as an entity can. The fact that such an idea is being talked about now is probably down to people trying to construct forms of AI. We don’t know what that’s going to look like either.”

  “What what’s going to look like?” said Gaute.

  “Artificial intelligence,” I said. “But these thoughts aren’t new, Martin.”

  “How do you
mean?”

  “People believed long ago that everything was living, that the forest was populated by spirits, even that the forest was a being itself.”

  “That was superstition,” said Martin. “This is science.”

  * * *

  —

  Martin’s little talk was followed by a brief lull before everything picked up again and we sat eating, drinking and chatting about a variety of other things. The sun set behind the trees, the blue sky dimmed and dissolved into darkness. The strange thing was that the air did not cool as the sun went down, but remained hot, burning hot almost.

  After a while, Gaute and Martin took the children inside to put them to bed. Sigrid lit a cigarette as soon as they were out of sight and leaned back in her chair.

  I fetched the paraffin lamp from the shed, put it on the table and lit the wick.

  “Do you want some more wine?” I said.

  “Yes, please,” said Sigrid.

  I poured some into her glass first, then my own.

  “Cheers,” I said.

  “Cheers,” she said. “Here’s to thinking trees!”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much, if I were you,” I said. “As long as it doesn’t affect you financially, I mean.”

  “It’s not that,” she said. “It’s just that I get so fucking down about it. He can never see anything through, you know? Nothing ever comes of it. There’s never any result, never anything palpable to show for it all, not even a completed dissertation. All he does is plod about. I mean, he’s supposed to be a role model for the kids. They’re supposed to learn what a man is by looking at him. And now he comes up with this!”

  “It is actually quite interesting,” I said.

  She made a face like an idiot and looked at me, then took a drag on her cigarette and gulped a mouthful of wine.

  Behind the fell on the other side of the valley the sky started to brighten. It could only be the moon, I reasoned, turning round to look up at the children’s room, the two windows where the light was on.

  “But you’re a priest,” said Sigrid. “So you’re disqualified when it comes to fantastic theories about invisible powers.”

  “There’s a lot we don’t know,” I said.

  “Not true. It’s the other way round. There’s a lot we know.”

  What on earth was that?

  “Look!” I said.

  Sigrid turned.

  “Jesus Christ,” she said.

  An enormous star rose up above the fell.

  “Hey!” Gaute shouted down from the veranda. “Have you seen that?”

  It seemed almost to wipe everything else out.

  “It’s hard not to,” Sigrid shouted back.

  It’s as if it’s watching us, I thought.

  Gaute and Martin came back across the lawn, Gaute’s movements were hectic.

  “What do you think it is?” he said, stopping to look up at the sky. “A UFO? Ha ha ha!”

  “It’s a supernova,” said Martin. “A star flaring up somewhere in the galaxy before burning out.”

  “But it’s so close,” said Sigrid.

  “It only looks close,” said Martin. “The reality is it’s very distant. What we’re seeing now is actually something that happened hundreds of years ago.”

  “What do you think, Kathrine?” said Gaute.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But what you say sounds convincing, Martin.”

  For a while, we all looked up at it. The sight filled me with a terror I tried to counter with rational thought, telling myself it was a natural phenomenon, not a sign, and that a star couldn’t see us, couldn’t think about us, couldn’t judge us.

  Then, after a few minutes, it was as if we could look at it no longer, as if we’d seen all there was to see. Gaute poured some more wine into our glasses and sat down again, Sigrid lit another cigarette, I began to wonder whether to bring some dessert out or just coffee. But the star did not vanish from our minds, for we kept squinting up at the sky, I too, and even when I wasn’t looking at it, I was thinking about its presence.

  Were the others scared?

  They didn’t seem to be.

  “Are they asleep up there?” said Sigrid.

  “Far from it,” said Gaute. “At least they don’t have to get up for school tomorrow. They’re having a whale of a time.”

  “They’ve always got on so well together,” said Sigrid. “Peter is Theo’s hero.”

  “Still?” said Gaute.

  “Yes, he mentions him all the time.”

  “What are they up to, if they’re not asleep?” I said.

  “They’re devising a play,” said Martin. “Peter and Helene are writing and directing and playing the main parts, Theo and Marie are extras.”

  “I’m amazed they’re not on their iPads,” I said, and got to my feet. “Who’s for coffee?”

  As I went in, I remembered that Mum was going to give me a ring when she got to the summer house. I put the plates down on the worktop and checked my phone. Nothing. Martin and Gaute came in with the rest of the things from the table. She must have forgotten, I thought. It was unlike her, though.

  “Where should I put these?” said Martin.

  “Just on the side there,” I said. “Thanks.”

  I emptied the shells into a bag and tied a knot in the top before pressing it into the bin under the sink. When Gaute started loading the plates and glasses into the dishwasher I went to my study, closed the door and called Mum’s number as I looked up at the star. It was higher in the sky now and no longer as unsettling.

  She didn’t answer.

  I called again. Behind me the door opened. I turned round. It was Gaute. As soon as he realized I was on the phone, he closed the door again.

  Either something was wrong or she’d forgotten to charge her phone.

  Everything all right? I texted, and went back into the kitchen. Gaute had put the coffee on, put the berries out in a dish and taken the cups and glasses from the cupboard.

  “Do you need a hand?” I said.

  “You could go and look after our guests, now that you’ve finished on the phone,” he said without looking at me.

  “I’m sure they can look after themselves for a few minutes without my help,” I said. “Is something the matter?”

  “No, not at all,” he said, opening the fridge door and pulling the drawer out from the freezer compartment.

  “OK,” I said. “I’ll take as much of this as I can manage.”

  I stepped past him as he straightened up with a tub of ice cream in his hand, took out the big serving tray that was wedged between the wall and the microwave and began putting cups, bowls and glasses on it.

  “Who were you talking to?” said Gaute.

  “My mother,” I said.

  “At this hour?”

  “Yes, she said she was going to call when she got to the summer house, only she hasn’t, so I just wanted to check on her.”

  “I see,” he said, still without looking at me.

  Upstairs there was an eruption of children’s voices and laughter, coming closer as they emerged from their room onto the landing.

  “Can we put on our play for you?” said Peter when the little troupe spilled down into the kitchen a moment later. “Please?”

  “Aren’t you asleep yet?” I said. “It’s way past bedtime!”

  “Of course you can,” said Gaute. “We’re dying to see what you’ve come up with!”

  * * *

  —

  Ten minutes later we sat and watched our children’s premiere. Peter was a snowman, he’d wrapped a white sheet around himself and borrowed my white knitted cap to wear.

  “I’m wandering in a strange land,” he said, pacing up and down on the lawn in front of us. “It’s so hot here! Oh no, I’m melting! I’m dy
ing!”

  He sank to his knees.

  Enter Helene with Marie’s tiara on, and wings on her back, a magic wand in her hand. After her came Theo and Marie, each with a pillow tied around their waists with belts, and knitted caps on their heads, though it wasn’t entirely clear who they were supposed to be.

  “I’m wandering in a strange land,” said Helene, pacing up and down with the two smaller children trailing in her wake. Suddenly, she saw the snowman.

  “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” she said.

  “I’m Sam, a snowman,” said Peter. “Help me, help me, I’m melting!”

  “But I can’t help, I can’t command the weather and wind. But I know someone who can,” said Helene. “Wait here!”

  “Hurry, hurry!” said Peter, sinking even farther as the three others began pacing up and down again. Then Peter got up, took off his sheet and cap and stood staring dourly into the sky.

  “Wizard, Wizard,” said Helene as she approached him. “Can you command the weather and wind?”

  “I can,” said Peter. “Do you want it hotter or colder?”

  “Colder, please. There’s a snowman in the desert and he’s melting.”

  “Oooh, wind of the North! Oooh, snow and frost!” said Peter, reaching his arms in the air. “Come and make the weather colder!”

  “Thank you, dear Wizard,” said Helene, stepping aside then with the two little ones while Peter put on his sheet and cap again. This time he lay down.

  “I’m dying,” he said. “But wait! It’s getting colder. A miracle has happened!”

  Slowly he got to his feet. The other three came up to him.

  “Thank you, Good Fairy, for saving me!” he said. “Will you marry me?”

  “Yes, I will,” said Helene, and took his hand.

  We clapped our hands. Gaute shouted, “Bravo!” Peter looked embarrassed.

  “Very well played, everyone!” I said. “But now it’s time for bed.”

  I stood up and took them inside. Peter clung to me.

  “Did you think it was good, Mummy?” he said.

  “Yes, of course I did,” I said, and ruffled his hair.

  “I was thinking about the climate,” he said.

  “I realized that,” I said. “But next time perhaps you could let the others play more of a part?”