The Morning Star

by Karl Ove Knausgaard

  The tourist family’s campfire had gone out.

  Lights twinkled from a few boats farther away, but apart from that the night was dark and black.

  August night.

  I paused and lit myself a smoke, sitting down on the still-warm rock. The cover of cloud was so dense now that not even the new star was visible.

  Thunder rolled in the distance.

  Unrest in the land beyond, I said to myself, and got my phone out to see if Jesper had replied. He hadn’t. But there was a text from Camilla.

  You two getting on all right? C

  Fine, I replied. You?

  Fantastic, she wrote back promptly.

  That good? I replied.

  She sent a smiley back. From some Roman restaurant, I imagined, out with that Milo guy.

  Who cared?

  Lightning lit up the sky out there.

  Ten seconds later and there was a peal of thunder.

  It was louder now.

  I stood up and went the last bit of the way toward the house. I stopped above the inlet and looked down at the sailing boat as it lay white and motionless in the darkness. No sign of the tourists. No doubt they were tucked up down below. Strange to think of people sleeping there, afloat inside that thin shell. Helpless, to all intents and purposes. Anyone could go on board.

  Another lightning flash illuminated the sky. I counted the seconds. Seven before the thunder came.

  Suddenly there was a scream.

  I wheeled round.

  It was from the house. It was from Viktor.

  I started running.

  Another scream, more protracted, more sustained.

  I got to the veranda, pulled the sliding door open and dashed into the living room.

  Viktor was standing back against the wall staring at me. His face was distorted in terror.

  “Viktor, what is it?” I said. “Is someone here? What’s happened?”

  He pointed to the bedroom door. It was closed.

  I jumped forward and opened it. The room was empty.

  I spun back to Viktor.

  “There’s no one there,” I said, and stepped toward him.

  He was crying, and I put my arms around him.

  “What is it? What’s the matter?” I said.

  “A man,” he sobbed.

  “Was there a man here?” I said, thinking immediately of the man from the sailing boat.

  Viktor nodded.

  “At . . . at . . . at . . .” he sobbed. “At the wi . . . window.”

  “A man at the window? Outside?”

  “Y . . . y . . . yes,” he said.

  I didn’t like what he was saying, but I couldn’t let him know.

  I crouched down.

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of, I promise. It was probably just someone going past who thought they’d look in.”

  “No, no, no,” said Viktor.

  I ruffled his hair.

  “I’m sure it was,” I said. “You woke up and saw someone at the window, and you thought you were all on your own here. No wonder you were frightened! But there’s nothing to be afraid of, I promise.”

  “But there is,” he said, and clung to me.

  “We’re safe here in our little house. And nobody’s been in. It was just someone out for a walk, that’s all, who was curious to see what was inside. They shouldn’t have looked in, but some people are a bit like that. It’s happened to me too, twice at least.”

  “But . . . he . . . he . . . didn’t look . . . like . . .”

  “Like what?”

  “A . . . hu . . . hu . . . human,” he sobbed.

  Not like a human, is that what he was saying?

  Like what, then? Like a dead person?

  Had the gates of hell opened?

  “You stay right here, Viktor, and I’ll go out and have a look.”

  “No!” he cried.

  Oh, the poor kid.

  “Of course it was a human,” I said. “It’s dark outside, that’s all. Things often look strange and different in the dark. Even quite normal things.”

  “No, Daddy,” he said. “It . . . wasn’t . . . a human . . .”

  “Could it have been an animal, then, do you think?”

  He shook his head as the tears ran down his cheeks.

  “All right,” I said. “I’ll go into your room and open the window and look out. There’s nothing there, but I want you to be quite sure, OK?”

  “OK,” he said.

  I went into the room, turning round to give him the thumbs up before opening the window. The trees in the darkness swayed in the wind that had gathered over the sea and now rushed about the land. Everything was sighing and creaking out there.

  “Is anyone there?” I called out.

  No reply, obviously. I felt stupid. But I’d done it for Viktor’s sake, not mine.

  I closed the window and returned to him.

  “You see, there’s no one there,” I said. “Perhaps you just imagined there was?”

  He shook his head firmly.

  “Then I’m sure it was only an inquisitive walker,” I said. “Listen, shall we do something cozy?”

  He looked at me without speaking.

  What would he find cozy?

  “How about some chocolate pudding?”

  He shook his head.

  “We could light a candle and sit for a bit? How does that sound?”

  He shook his head again.

  He was scared out of his wits. It was more than just waking up on his own and feeling frightened. He must have seen something.

  I felt there was some kind of underlying angst in him, too.

  I put my arms around him. He was as stiff as a board.

  “Everything’s all right, Viktor,” I said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. Come on, let’s sit outside for a bit.”

  I led him tentatively toward the door. He allowed me to guide him, and a moment later we were sitting in our chairs on the veranda. The sky above the sea split with lightning every now and then. He looked out, expressionless.

  I was concerned. Something clearly wasn’t right.

  The new star. The great skin I’d found shed in the woods. The crabs on the road.

  The dead girl.

  And now Viktor seeing something that wasn’t human.

  But then again, I had no idea what films he watched, what games he played.

  “I got a text from your mum just before,” I said. “She’s having a nice time in Rome.”

  “Mhm,” he said.

  “Are you and Mum getting on all right?”

  He turned his head and looked at me for a second, then looked back at the sea.

  It was impossible to tell what he was thinking.

  “Do you fancy some crisps?” I said after a moment.

  “OK,” he said.

  I got up and fetched the tray I’d left for him in the living room, a candleholder and four candles.

  He leaned forward and took a handful of crisps as I lit the candles.

  “Are you still frightened?” I said, sitting down again.

  “A bit,” he said.

  “But you know there’s nothing to be afraid of now, don’t you?”

  He shrugged.

  I poured some soft drink into his glass. He drank it in one go.

  “It’s like being at the cinema, this!” I said.

  It really was magnificent, watching the lightning in the dark sky in front of us.

  Viktor took another handful of crisps, and stuffed them into his mouth, flakes and crumbs dropping onto his chest.

  He hadn’t been taught any manners, that much was obvious.

  But he did seem calmer now.

  I reached out and picked up my cigarett
es, tapping one out against my palm and then lighting up.

  There was that sound again, from behind the house.

  kalikalikalikalik

  What was it?

  I stood up.

  “I’m just going to get something from the garage,” I said. “Won’t be a minute.”

  “Don’t go!” said Viktor.

  I couldn’t take him with me, and I couldn’t leave him on his own.

  I sat down again. From the sea came a faint, thrumming sound. It was the rain beginning to fall. And then, moments later, the first drops struck the rock in front of us, spattering everywhere within seconds, and all of a sudden we were as if in a dome, sheltered on the veranda from the elements that raged around us.

  We sat for a while without speaking.

  “Is there something else you’re afraid of?” I said after a bit. “I understand you being scared seeing someone at the window like that. Especially if you thought you were on your own. But is there anything apart from that?”

  “No,” he said.

  He picked up his bottle of pop and drank from it.

  “That’s all right, then,” I said. “Because there is nothing to be afraid of. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I know,” he said.

  “But listen,” I said, “it’s late. I think you should go to bed now, don’t you?”

  He shook his head.

  “Are you frightened of being on your own in your room?”

  “No.”

  “You can sleep in my bed, if you want.”

  “What about you?”

  “I can sleep on a mattress on the floor.”

  “OK,” he said.

  I followed him into the bedroom. He took his shorts and T-shirt off and his pale, skinny body crept under the duvet.

  I sat down on the edge of the bed, but when I made to run my hand through his hair he turned away.

  I got up.

  “Where are you going?” he said.

  “Just onto the veranda,” I said. “It’s a bit early for me to go to bed yet.”

  He sat up immediately, picked his shorts up off the floor and put them on.

  “Viktor, it’s bedtime now,” I said. “Do you want me to sit here with you?”

  As soon as I said it, he pulled off his shorts again and got back into bed.

  “You mustn’t go when I’m asleep,” he said.

  “I won’t,” I said.

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  He closed his eyes, and I sat down on the floor with my back against the wall. His breathing was calm and steady, and I sat for several minutes without moving, sensing that he wasn’t quite asleep.

  “Daddy?” he said abruptly.

  “I’m here.”

  “I am afraid of something.”

  “What are you afraid of?” I said.

  For a long moment, he didn’t speak.

  I turned my head and looked at him. He was lying quite still, staring at the ceiling.

  “I’m afraid of death,” he said quietly.

  I didn’t know what to say. But he was waiting for an answer.

  Perhaps he’d never told anyone before.

  If there was one thing I wasn’t afraid of myself, it was death. It could come only as a relief, a liberation from life’s torment, its badness and petty malice; from those who constantly craved, who took and never gave.

  “Everyone is from time to time,” I said after a pause. “Even grown-ups.”

  He said nothing. It was almost as if I could hear him think.

  “But you’ve a long life to look forward to,” I said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. OK?”

  He didn’t answer.

  Twenty minutes later, he was fast asleep.

  I crept out and sat down outside. The darkness was alive with pouring, dripping rain. I wondered if the rain was warm, and whether to go and see what was making that noise. But I dismissed the idea, put my feet up on the rail and lit a cigarette.

  kalikalikalikalik, came the noise from the woods behind the house.

  kalikalikalikalik, came the reply.

  SOLVEIG

  When I went out into the garden the next morning, it was to birdsong everywhere. Strings of chirping undulated through the air, a swinging network of sounds, some wistful, others full of joy, underpinned here and there by the throaty, angular coo of a wood pigeon, and all set against the cawing of hundreds of crows now starting their day in the trees a bit farther away.

  I put down my bowl of yogurt and my mug of coffee on the little table that stood up against the house wall, sitting down in the chair beside it with my face lifted toward the sun that had just risen above the spruce on top of the ridge to the east.

  My body ached with fatigue. But with only a little breakfast and some coffee it would recover. It always did. Fatigue didn’t matter, all one had to do was stick it out. It had its various phases, too, and often concealed itself to the extent that one hardly noticed it.

  I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand as I swallowed, and reached for my coffee. My whole mouth tingled with the yogurt’s acidity.

  One of the pigeons came flying toward the house from over by the woods. Turning my head to watch it, I saw that the star was still shining, high in the sky.

  I took out my phone to see what the papers were saying about it. Above, a window opened. I tipped my head back and looked up, but saw no one. She must have gone straight back into bed.

  The experts were having a field day. Most, it seemed, considered it to be a supernova. A rare phenomenon, though by no means unprecedented. What puzzled them was that they were quite unable to identify it.

  Inge’s theory, that it was a new star, seemed not to figure at all in their considerations.

  I smiled and put the phone down on the table. As I finished my yogurt, a calf came into view by the fence that marked the boundary with the next-door farm. It shook its head from side to side a couple of times, no doubt bothered by flies, horseflies perhaps, before beginning to graze. Behind the hillock, two cows appeared, wandering sedately in the same direction as the calf, before they too began to graze.

  Surely it wasn’t unthinkable that something new could occur? Something that had never occurred before?

  I scratched an itch on my lower leg and closed my eyes to the sun. When I opened them again, I saw a little sparrow come flitting from the tall birch onto one of the branches of the apple tree. It performed a little twirl in the air before settling, as if in glee.

  I would have liked to have sat there awhile longer, but Mum may have been awake and I didn’t want her to have to lie helpless in bed, so I swallowed the last mouthful of coffee, got to my feet and went back inside to the kitchen, rinsed the bowl and mug and left them in the sink before opening the door of her room.

  She was asleep, in exactly the same position as when I’d last looked in on her.

  I put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Mum,” I said. “You’ve got to wake up now. I’ll be off to work soon.”

  She opened her eyes and looked at me.

  Her gaze was clear and bright the very instant she awoke, revealing no doubt at all as to where she was, or who I was.

  It was a comfort to see.

  “Anita will be here any minute,” I said. “Do you want me to sit you up, or do you want to lie for a bit?”

  Her lips shaped the word up, and I took the remote control from underneath her pillow and pressed the button for the upper part of the bed to lift slowly into the air with a hum.

  “I’ll go and get myself ready,” I said. “Is there anything you need while I’m still here? A glass of water, perhaps?”

  She shook her head.

  “The radio?”

  She opened her mouth to whisper a barely audible no. />
  I opened the curtains, smiled at her and went out into the passage, where I got some clothes out and took them with me into the bathroom. I showered quickly, dried my hair with the hairdryer, put some makeup on and got dressed just in time to hear what could only be Anita’s car come up the track.

  It stopped outside, the door opened and shut, footsteps crunched the gravel, and then from the passage came a bright and cheerful: “Good morning!”

  When I came back in, she was standing beside Mum, who was sitting with her feet on the floor, slowly moving her trembling hands to the walker that had been placed in front of her.

  “Hello, Anita,” I said.

  “Hello,” she said. “She’s had a good night, I understand?”

  “Yes. I think so,” I said.

  I liked Anita, whose breezy nature could only be a boon to my mother. My only reservation about her was that she often talked to me over Mum’s head, as if she wasn’t there.

  Mum turned slowly toward me, her eyes seeking mine. She opened her mouth to say something.

  I stepped closer and lowered my head, placing my hand on hers, which was warm.

  Line, it sounded like she was saying.

  “Line’s still in bed,” I said. “She probably won’t be up until much later. But she’s going to be here all day.”

  She whispered something else.

  “What was that?” I said.

  She whispered again.

  Realizing that I still hadn’t understood, she became frustrated, her arms trembling violently. Her eyes filled with rage.

  I smoothed my hand over her upper arm.

  “What’s on your mind, Mum?” I said, putting my ear to her lips.

  But her breath was the only thing left now, not a word could she utter.

  I had no idea what was troubling her, it could have been anything. Perhaps she wanted us to have something for dinner that Line liked, or perhaps she wanted me to tell Line that her grandmother was fine on her own, that she didn’t have to worry about her, but could do as she pleased?

  Her whole body shook now.

  “Are you thinking about what Line’s doing today?”

  He eyes were veiled with protest as she looked at me. So it wasn’t that.

  “What is it, then?” I said.

  Again, she whispered something, but I still couldn’t work out what it was.