The Morning Star

by Karl Ove Knausgaard

  There was a bustle of activity all around me as I changed and got ready. Everyone still remembered the bus crash a few years earlier involving forty schoolchildren, seventeen of whom had lost their lives. I hadn’t been there then, but several of my colleagues had, and I knew it was still traumatic for them. The images in the mind from that day would never quite go away.

  The trolley carrying the first of the patients emerged from the elevators a few minutes later. A child passenger from the car, a girl about five or six years old. Major, life-threatening injuries to her head and chest. Her face was hidden behind the ventilator, but her hair was matted with blood and it looked as if half her skull was open. They’d put her on a morphine drip in the helicopter, so she was breathing, her heart was functioning and her blood loss was under control, but Henriksen shook his head as he bent over her and I cut away her clothing.

  Behind us another patient came in, and then another.

  “She’s practically dead,” Henriksen said from behind his mask. “How her heart can still be beating I don’t know.”

  “But it is,” I said. “She’s battling.”

  “Hemorrhaging in the brain and chest, probable pneumothorax. No doubt internal hemorrhaging elsewhere too.”

  She was wearing a little necklace, it looked like she’d made it herself, plastic beads in all sorts of colors, with little boxy letters in the middle spelling the name ALICE.

  Henriksen took her hand in his and pressed his thumb hard against one of her fingernails. Her eyes remained closed. He squeezed her shoulder blade between his thumb and index finger. She drew her arm away at the same time as she opened her mouth. The sound that came out was low and protracted and didn’t seem to belong to her at all.

  They wheeled her in for a CT scan and Henriksen leaned over her sister, who was around ten years old, she too seriously injured and comatose.

  “Oh God, what a mess,” he said. “She’s nothing but blood and bone.”

  He picked some shards of bone from her skull with his fingers.

  * * *

  —

  It was evening by the time I left the theater. The family from the car were all still alive. One of the two girls had suffered life-changing injury to her brain, assuming she would get through the days that followed. The same applied to the father. The mother and the two eldest, while having escaped without head injury, were nonetheless critical.

  No one could ever expect to survive the injuries they had all sustained. And yet they had. At least so far.

  I lingered under the shower, strangely unable to acknowledge my surroundings; I felt as if I was still in the operating room, and the shower cubicle with its white floor tiling was something I was dreaming.

  They’d been on their way home from holiday. A lapse in concentration from the bus driver as he rounded a bend and they’d lost everything.

  All the little moments they’d taken for granted, perhaps barely even noticed, would never return. Breakfast before going to school, the youngest dangling her legs on her chair as she ate her cornflakes, the two older ones arguing about clothes upstairs while the coffee maker gurgled and morning radio filled the room.

  How innocent our lives were.

  I turned the water off and took the towel from the hook, pressing it to my face and holding it there. Fatigue came over me again, and at once I felt drained.

  I draped the towel over my shoulders like a cape, stepped out into the changing room and sat down on a bench.

  Even the thought of getting dressed seemed insurmountable.

  I needed to sit for a bit.

  But then I’d have to get a move on. Mum and Line would be needing me at home.

  I could barely stand up, and got dressed still seated.

  I couldn’t even be bothered to switch on my phone.

  But I had to, I told myself.

  It helped slightly to get outside, where the world opened up around me. The weather had changed, the sky was overcast now and the air was dense with rain. Not even the new star could be seen.

  A white broadcasting vehicle was taking up space in the car park. I glanced toward the main entrance, where a dozen or so people, some with TV cameras, stood in a huddle.

  It struck me how absurd it was that everyone had to know when an accident had happened, even people far away in other parts of the country.

  I dipped into my bag for the key, pressed it and saw the lights of the car flash, the wing mirrors slowly open out like the ears of an animal that had suddenly become aware of something.

  I got in, put my bag down on the passenger seat and switched my phone back on.

  Four texts from Line.

  Is it the accident on the news?

  Making waffles for Gran!

  Where’s the waffle iron?

  Found it!

  An intense feeling of gladness unfurled inside me as I typed a reply.

  Lovely! On my way home now. See you soon!

  I put the phone back in my bag, turned the ignition, put the car into gear and pulled away.

  That was the last thing I’d expected.

  It meant she felt at home, even if she hadn’t grown up there. And despite me not having been there with her today.

  It was the house itself that was looking after her.

  And the fact that Mum was there too.

  I opened the window a bit to get some air in so I wouldn’t fall asleep at the wheel. There was hardly any traffic on the roads, and very little in the way of distractions that might keep me awake once I’d got out of town onto the main road, which I could have negotiated with my eyes closed.

  Once, I’d driven Thomas and three of his teammates to a football match after work and had been so tired that I’d dropped off, only for a few seconds, but long enough for the car to veer toward the rock face at the side of the road. One of the boys had suddenly shouted, “Watch out!” and I’d woken just in time to avert an accident.

  Fortunately, I don’t think any of them ever realized how close it had been. But what a shock it gave me. I was responsible for three boys and my own son, and had nearly got us all killed.

  A few heavy raindrops dashed against the windscreen. I closed the window and switched the radio on, only to switch it off again almost immediately. There was no space left inside me to take in talk.

  The river ran dark among the trees. Not a soul to be seen.

  How good it would be to climb into bed and sleep.

  I could make us a light supper. Fried egg and cutlets, perhaps. Give Mum a massage and a shower, and then to bed.

  The big oak trees rose up like dark citadels in the flat valley. The cattle had gathered underneath them to shelter from the weather. Not the smartest place to stand if it began to thunder.

  Why hadn’t they died? I wondered, putting the wipers on full speed as the rain battered down. Something was keeping them here. It was almost as if their hearts had been working on their own, beating of their own free will, beyond the control of the brain.

  That poor girl.

  Alice.

  Several passengers on the bus had been seriously injured too. But none had died, at least not yet. It was hard to believe.

  The miracle in the Sædalen.

  That should be the headline.

  Without taking my eyes off the road, I opened the glove compartment, took out an old CD and slipped it into the player.

  It was Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7. I skipped straight to the final movement and turned up the volume.

  “Bam baa ba, baam ba ba!” I sang, the rain drumming on the body of the car, the dark sky hanging low over the changing landscape.

  I wondered what sort of music Inge listened to.

  I barely knew anything about him. But I felt sure he’d like Beethoven.

  The thought of sitting in a car with him while listening to music ma
de my pulse race.

  How silly I was.

  Tomorrow he was being discharged and would disappear out of my life for good.

  Out of my heart.

  Stop it, I told myself.

  I didn’t even know him. Had hardly even spoken to him.

  And I wasn’t sixteen anymore.

  On the other side of the fell, the fog lay like a lid over the valley. Descending through it, I could hardly see a thing and was forced to slow to a crawl. Below the big boulder where I’d seen the red deer the day before, I followed an impulse and pulled into the side. A few minutes wouldn’t matter, I thought, turning off the engine and opening the window.

  The rush of the falls resounded from the fellside. There was more water in the river than there’d been before, I noticed; it covered more than half the stony bed now. The headlights shone through the fog and made it glisten.

  I’d almost been expecting the deer to be there again. It wasn’t, of course, but it was nice to sit there for a moment anyway. It was a good spot, with the waterfall, the pool below, the narrow river that on sunny days appeared golden because of the sandy bottom and its yellow-white stones. The enormous boulder that according to legend had been hurled across the fell by a giant and split down the middle when it landed. And all because the church bells down at the fjord had annoyed him so dreadfully.

  I looked across at the trees that grew on the other side of the river. The road made it seem almost like the forest started here. Which of course it didn’t. In fact, I was almost in the middle of it now.

  Was that the deer?

  It was!

  There between the trees, it stood looking at me.

  The car must have made it curious. Perhaps the beam of the headlights? It probably couldn’t see me at all.

  It lifted its head and seemed to sniff the air for a long moment. Then it walked forward. Its coat was dark in the dim light, apart from the legs, the backs of which were white.

  Out into the river it went.

  To drink?

  No, it came straight across.

  It paused again, only a few paces from the car now.

  There was no longer any doubt. It was looking at me.

  Its great, dark eyes.

  I leaned forward tentatively.

  “Hello, beautiful creature,” I whispered. “What do you want?”

  It stepped closer and then stopped, its head only an arm’s length away.

  As cautiously as I could, I reached my hand out. It lowered its muzzle and sniffed me, its hot breath against my palm.

  “Hello there,” I whispered again.

  It looked at me. It gaze was warm and open, but quizzical too.

  In the seconds that passed before it lifted its head once more and wandered off, it struck me that it had looked at me in the same way as I had looked at it.

  After it had gone, I sat for a moment to collect myself before driving on. After the serenity of my encounter with the deer, the car engine sounded like an inferno. There was no traffic on the road, and only a few minutes later I pulled up outside the house.

  A new wave of fatigue assailed me. I could barely open the car door and get out. Certainly, I couldn’t remember ever having felt so exhausted. I was often tired, of course, but this was different. It was as if it took all my strength just to walk from the car to the house. But I’d feel better in the morning, I told myself as I stepped into the passage and put my bag down on the chair. A good night’s sleep was all I needed.

  Mum was no doubt asleep already, and Line would likely be upstairs in her room, for the house was completely still.

  Yet the lights were on in all the rooms.

  When would she learn?

  I opened Mum’s door and looked in.

  The bed was empty. The chair as well.

  “Mum?” I said.

  No answer.

  Where could she be?

  I went into the kitchen. No one there either. But the waffle iron had been left out on the counter, along with an empty bowl of batter and two plates.

  “Line?” I called out.

  Not a sound.

  I went up the stairs and opened the door of her room.

  It was empty.

  Could they have gone outside?

  But Mum was far too unsteady on her feet. Unless Line had thought of the wheelchair.

  No, they wouldn’t be out at this time, in this weather. She wasn’t that silly.

  I went slowly down the stairs again. If something had happened to Mum and the ambulance had been here, Line would have phoned.

  I stopped in the passage and listened.

  There was no one in the house.

  “Mum?” I called out again, louder now.

  I went and got my phone out of my bag and called Line’s number.

  She’d switched it off.

  Could they have gone to the hospital?

  There was no other explanation.

  And how badly I needed to sleep. But I couldn’t now. I couldn’t do anything but wait.

  I put the kettle on. Normally, the fell across the fjord would be visible all night in summer, a dark, impenetrable wall against the slate-gray sky, but now it was completely obliterated by the fog. It was as if the world ended at the rowan trees on the other side of the fence, I thought to myself, taking a mug from the cupboard and a tea bag from the box in the pantry, the milk from the fridge, then looking around for the sweetener, which I found by the porridge oats Line had left out on the side.

  As I waited for the water to boil, I went down into the cellar to see if the wheelchair was still there. It was, tucked away between the wall and the freezer, ugly and covered in dust.

  I emerged into the kitchen again just as the kettle switched itself off and the faint, pale blue light at its base went out. I filled the mug with boiling water and left the tea bag to steep for a minute, added some milk, clicked in a couple of sweetener tablets and sat down in a chair with the mug in my hand.

  I ought to ring the hospital.

  But first I needed to go to the toilet.

  Even that seemed like an effort.

  I took a sip of the tea and put the mug down on the table, got to my feet and went to the bathroom.

  Mum’s walker was blocking the doorway.

  Oh, goodness.

  There she was, lying on the floor. She wasn’t moving. Her arm stuck out at a terrible angle.

  I moved the walker out of the way, crouched down and felt for her pulse.

  But her eyes were open, and she looked at me.

  “Mum, what’s happened?” I said.

  She tried to say something, but couldn’t.

  “You’ve broken your arm,” I said. “I’ll call the ambulance. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  I dashed back to the kitchen, grabbed my phone and called the emergency number, darting into the living room to get a blanket as I spoke.

  “It’s Solveig Kvamme here,” I said. “My mother’s fallen in the bathroom and broken her arm. Can you send an ambulance right away? She’s elderly, she suffers from Parkinson’s and is rather frail. It’s an emergency, in other words.”

  I gave them the address and took the blanket with me into the bathroom. Carefully, I adjusted her position so that she was lying more comfortably, put the blanket around her, fetched a glass of water from the kitchen and put it to her lips, encouraging her to drink, talking to her the whole time.

  She closed her eyes and drifted into sleep, or perhaps passed out. She must have struggled to stay awake while waiting for me to come, I thought to myself, feeling despair pumping around my body with every heartbeat. She must have heard me come in, must have heard me call out for her.

  I sat down beside her on the floor and tried to call Line again. At the same moment, the front door opened.
<
br />   I went into the passage. Line was hanging up her raincoat on the peg and looked at me as I appeared.

  “You’re home!” she said. “Well, I knew you were. I saw the car.”

  “Gran’s had a fall and broken her arm,” I said. “I’m waiting for the ambulance to come.”

  “What?” she said. “How? She was asleep! That’s why I went out. She was asleep!”

  “It’s not your fault, love,” I said. “She must have got up herself to go to the toilet and just fallen, that’s all.”

  “Oh, poor Gran!” she said. “Is it serious?”

  “She’s rather frail as it is, so it’s not good,” I said. “Hopefully, she’ll mend all right. She’s a tough old bird.”

  “Is there anything I can do? I mean, anything at all?”

  I shook my head and passed my hand over her cheek.

  “Thanks, Line. I’m just going to sit with her until the ambulance comes.”

  “OK,” she said.

  I turned to go back to the bathroom.

  “Are you going to the hospital with her?” she said.

  I turned round.

  “Yes, that’s what I’m thinking,” I said.

  “Do you have to?” she said. “The doctors and nurses there will take care of her, won’t they?”

  “It can be a rather daunting experience, even so,” I said. “Being taken away in an ambulance to a big hospital like that.”

  “OK,” she said again, and stepped past me, her eyes downcast, before going upstairs to her room.

  Mum’s eyes were still closed when I returned to her. I put my hand cautiously to her brow. It was cold and clammy. This wasn’t good, I thought, and sat down on the floor with my back against the wall. It wasn’t good at all. Her breathing was so faint I had to stare at her chest for a long time to detect any movement.

  It was as if she needed less of everything now, even air.

  I hoped she wouldn’t die.

  Her mouth was open and drawn, and her cheekbones were again as pronounced as when she was a young woman.

  Of course I had to go with her in the ambulance, it didn’t matter how exhausted I was. I could sleep there and go straight on duty in the morning, it wasn’t a problem.