The Morning Star

by Karl Ove Knausgaard

  “I think I’ll put Åse to bed for her nap,” I said. “She’s tired out.”

  “Yes, of course,” he said. “I’ll sit outside for a bit.”

  I picked her up and she rested her head heavily on my shoulder.

  “You can have a nice sleep now,” I said as I carried her toward the stairs. Softly, so that Atle wouldn’t hear me, I said:

  “Can you say mummy?”

  “Mu-mmy!” she said.

  “Oh, you little star!” I said, and hugged her tight.

  She was really tired and didn’t protest at all when I tucked her in. I turned the air conditioning on, drew the blinds, then went to the bathroom and splashed my face with cold water.

  Atle was sitting smoking on the terrace, the green can in his hand.

  “Is she asleep?” he said.

  “She’s well on her way,” I said, and sat down in the chair across from him, on the other side of the terrace door.

  “Aren’t you having one?” he said.

  I shook my head.

  “There’ll be plenty to drink tonight, I shouldn’t wonder.”

  “And he still doesn’t know?”

  “No. I don’t think he’s cottoned on yet.”

  There was a silence.

  I was dying for something to drink, but if I went and got myself a Coke, it would only prolong the situation.

  He put the can down on the floor. I could hear it was empty.

  I stood up.

  “I’ve got lots to do,” I said.

  “I’ll give you a hand,” he said.

  “That’s kind of you,” I said. “But I need time to myself before everything kicks off.”

  “I can take a hint,” he said with a smile. He stubbed out his cigarette and got up.

  I followed him out into the hallway.

  “Thanks for your help, Atle,” I said.

  He stepped forward and gave me a hug.

  His hand moved down my back.

  He drew me close.

  “Atle,” I said, and tried to extricate myself.

  “Yes,” he said, and kissed me on the mouth.

  “What are you doing?” I said, immediately pulling away. “Have you gone mad? You fucking idiot!”

  “I thought you liked me,” he said. “It seems I was wrong.”

  “I’m your stepmother!” I said.

  “Technically, yes,” he said. “Although I am older than you.”

  “You’re leaving, now,” I said.

  “Yes,” he said, and he turned, opened the door and went out into the corridor before stopping.

  “Don’t say anything to Dad,” he said. “I’m asking you.”

  I closed the door without replying and locked it behind me.

  I didn’t want to cry, but I did.

  Cried as I went back through the apartment and up the stairs to take a shower. To wash it all away.

  What had I done to make him think he could have me?

  I closed the door of the bedroom where Åse was asleep, undressed, turned the shower on and let the water jet out over my body.

  Why had he done it?

  What was it about me that had put such a thought in his head?

  I couldn’t tell Helge. He’d be devastated.

  I soaped my entire body, washed my hair, rinsed out the shampoo, dried myself, hung the towel on the rail and went cautiously into the bedroom.

  She was fast asleep, her little chest rising and falling like a bellows.

  He was her brother.

  Damn him.

  I picked out a white cotton dress.

  But it was too short and too low-cut; suddenly I didn’t feel like putting it on, and I took out a pair of shorts and a shirt instead.

  Downstairs I started cutting the flowers, thinning the foliage and putting them into vases.

  They were lovely, at least.

  As I was about to fetch the tablecloth and iron it, I remembered the cake. The longer it stood with its pastry cream and filling, the more delicious it would be, his mother had said.

  I moved the bottles of wine and drink we’d bought back against the wall, got out the biggest chopping board we had and put it on the counter, carefully sliced the sponges into three, and placed the layers next to each other in the right order so I knew how they were to be put back together.

  Then I mixed the pastry cream, stopping the mixer every now and then to listen out for Åse.

  When the cream was done, I realized I needed to go down into the basement and get the jam and berries from our storage room down there.

  It should have been the first thing I did. Åse was more likely to wake up now.

  It would only take a few minutes though. Five at the most.

  I stood without moving and listened.

  She was all quiet up there.

  OK.

  I picked the keys out of the bowl on the bench by the door, then stood and waited a few seconds for the elevator to arrive while looking out of the window. The lawn that sloped down to the courtyard was empty and bathed in light. I pressed the button for the basement. There was no need for concern, even if she did wake up. A few minutes on her own wouldn’t harm her.

  Down in the basement, where the various apartments had their storage rooms, the lights went on automatically as I stepped out of the elevator.

  But what was that?

  The door of our room was open.

  Had there been a break-in?

  I craned and peered in.

  A figure was lying on the floor.

  A homeless person or a drug addict.

  I only hoped he wasn’t dead.

  I switched the ceiling light on inside and stepped cautiously toward him.

  It was a young man.

  I crouched down beside him.

  He was breathing.

  Most likely sleeping it off.

  But he couldn’t lie there.

  I stood up.

  What was I supposed to do?

  My phone was upstairs. I couldn’t leave Åse on her own much longer either.

  Close the door on him and call the police?

  He looked to be about twenty. Seemingly not a drug addict.

  Probably a student who’d had too much to drink the night before.

  I leaned forward again, put my hand on his shoulder and shook him gently.

  He opened his eyes. As soon as he saw me he recoiled against the wall, scrambling back like an animal.

  “You can’t sleep here,” I said.

  “Help me,” he whispered. “You’ve got to help me.”

  ARNE

  I woke up in the middle of the night, needing a piss. For a while, I resisted and tried to go back to sleep, but the pressure on my bladder merely increased and eventually I got up and went downstairs. Instead of using the bathroom, I went out into the garden and pissed in the rose bed in the middle of the lawn. I did so now and again, when everyone else was asleep, it gave me a sense of freedom, or maybe it was ownership: I owned the house, I owned the garden, I could do as I liked there.

  It was so warm there was no difference between outside and in. My skin was moist even though I was only in my underpants. The new star shone from the dark night sky, so much brighter than the others, and its light made the vegetation shimmer faintly.

  I’d have to pull myself together from now on, I thought, my piss splashing against the flowers in front of me until I started spreading it from side to side so the sound was less conspicuous.

  I wasn’t drunk anymore, but my head was thumping and it hurt every time I moved.

  When I was finished, I opened the door of her studio to see if she was still asleep.

  She was lying in exactly the same position as before. Her mouth hung open and she was snoring slight
ly. Thank goodness for that. Sleep drew her back down to earth again, and I needed her here now. We were going home the day after tomorrow. The kids were going back to school, and my own term was starting then too.

  I was desperate to get back to work. My plan had been to press on with my novel during the summer, only it hadn’t turned out that way.

  It never did.

  It wasn’t for lack of ability. It was the will that was missing, that last bit of will.

  But I could lecture. And writing about literature came easily to me. I could do both with my eyes shut.

  I crept into the adjoining room.

  The torn-off head of the cat was still there on the desk.

  Christ, it was so macabre.

  The vacant eyes, the grinning mouth, the blood.

  She’d never done anything like it before.

  Probably best to get rid of it now, before the kids woke up and found it.

  I went and got a bin liner, a pair of yellow rubber gloves, a spray bottle of detergent and a cloth from the kitchen, filled a bucket with hot water and went back. She was fast asleep, lost to the world, but still I shut the door behind me before putting the gloves on and gingerly picking up the head with both hands while trying to push every thought from my mind. Yet even the gentle pressure I exerted flattened the fur to the skull in such a way that I couldn’t help but think how much smaller it looked as I dropped it into the bin liner. The dead yellow eyes, the vicious wound that had matted the black fur with blood, the little thud as the head hit the floor.

  I washed the blood away as quickly as I could, emptying the bucket onto the lawn before fetching the spade and going over to the redcurrant bushes with the bin liner, the house still quiet.

  I put the bin liner down and thrust the spade into the ground where I’d buried the kitten. They were mother and baby, so I thought they could share the same grave. It was a stupid, sentimental thought, but there was no reason not to pursue it.

  I was the only person there.

  And yet, in the same instant, it felt like I wasn’t alone.

  The feeling was compelling, and I straightened up.

  It wasn’t like someone was standing watching me in the darkness. It was more like someone was inside me.

  That I was being watched from within.

  “Have you lost your mind now?” I said softly to myself, stamping the spade through the layer of bark chips, deeper into the firmer soil, which I dumped in a pile at the side. After a few minutes, the hole was perhaps half a meter deep.

  The kitten wasn’t there. I must have been in the wrong place, the grave from earlier had to be farther along. I picked up the bin liner and was about to tip the head out into the hole when something stopped me and I took it out carefully with my hands instead. No reason not to be dignified about it.

  Or maybe the kitten had been alive after all and somehow managed to escape?

  But even if it hadn’t been dead, it surely couldn’t have scrabbled its way out? I put the head in the hole, then went back and got the rest of the body from the bushes next to the house, placing it in as natural a position as possible, before filling the hole and patting down the soil.

  After cleaning up, I washed my hands thoroughly in the bathroom sink. I went into the kitchen and took some slices of salami from the fridge, rolled them together and put them in my mouth.

  The feeling that someone was watching everything I did, knowing my every thought, was still there.

  If it was all an exam, I’d have failed, I thought with a smile.

  Had we got any chocolate or something?

  I opened the cupboard next to me. The kids still had some sweets left in a bowl at the back, which I’d put away behind a bag of flour where they wouldn’t be able to find them, and there was half a packet of Krokanrull milk chocolates there too, which I devoured on my way back to bed.

  And then I remembered the other kitten.

  Luckily, I’d closed the door, so it was still there.

  I got down on my knees and looked under the bed. There it was, curled up in the corner, though not asleep, two shiny little eyes peering back at me from a furry ball.

  “Pss, pss, pss,” I said.

  It didn’t move.

  “We’ll have to give you a name,” I said. “You’re the oldest cat here now. How does that feel?”

  I stood up again and got into bed, folding my hands on top of my chest.

  “Are you wondering what you’re called down there?” I said. “Mephisto, was that it? Black as you are?”

  I closed my eyes and must have fallen asleep immediately, because the next thing I knew the room was filled with light and loud voices were coming from the living room downstairs.

  The twins were arguing.

  I got up and pulled the curtains aside. The sun shone from a completely blue sky, and not a breath of wind disturbed the leaves on the trees.

  I got a pair of shorts and a short-sleeved shirt out of the wardrobe, dressed and went downstairs.

  Heming was sitting in the wicker chair in a sulk, while Asle was on the sofa gaming with the iPad on his lap.

  “How are we, people?” I said.

  “Good!” said Asle, looking up to send Heming a glare.

  “What about you, Heming?” I said, ruffling his hair.

  “Asle took the charger, but I was using it!” he said.

  “How much battery have you got left?” I said.

  “Three percent.”

  “And how much have you got, Asle?”

  He shrugged.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, have a look,” I said.

  “Fourteen,” he said.

  “OK, then let Heming have the charger. When he’s got fourteen percent, he can give it back to you.”

  “But, Dad, it’s my charger,” he said. “His charger doesn’t work. Why should I have to suffer?”

  “You’re not exactly suffering,” I said. “Anyway, I’m the one who decides here, so you’ll do as you’re told. All right?”

  “All right, then!” he said, and yanked the cord so hard that the charger shot out of the wall.

  “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” I said. “Treat things properly!”

  He jumped to his feet demonstratively and stormed out of the room with the iPad in his hands, leaving the charger behind on the floor.

  “Have you had any breakfast?” I said to Heming, who had already taken his brother’s place on the sofa.

  He shook his head.

  “What about Asle?”

  “No,” he said.

  “I’ll make some now, then,” I said.

  “OK,” he said, without moving his eyes from the screen.

  Someone came walking along the road, and I bent forward to see who it was.

  Kristen, who else? In the blue overalls he always wore. A regular pair in summer, thermal in winter. He had a full carrier bag in each hand. Amazing how sprightly he still was, I thought. He’d be eighty by now?

  I turned toward Heming again.

  “Heming?” I said.

  “Mhm?” he said.

  “How were things here yesterday when I was out?”

  “Not very nice,” he said as a volley of beeping battle sounds came from his iPad.

  “How do you mean, not very nice?” I said.

  “You know,” he said.

  “No, I don’t,” I said. “I wasn’t here, remember?”

  “Mum was acting strange,” he said. “She kept saying the same things all the time.”

  “Mum’s not very well at the moment,” I said. “She gets like that when she can’t sleep. In fact, it’s a bit like she’s sleepwalking, don’t you think?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “It’s nothing to be frightened about,” I said.

>   “I know,” he said.

  “And Ingvild was here,” I said. “That helped, didn’t it?”

  “A bit,” he said.

  “OK,” I said. “Breakfast in fifteen minutes!”

  I should have gone upstairs and spoken to Asle about his behavior, but it would have to wait. It was more important to find out how Tove was doing.

  I drank a glass of water in the kitchen, opened the two windows wide to let the summer in, and went over to the annex, only to find it empty.

  She must have gone for a walk, I thought, sitting down at the table in the garden. I wanted the summer to fill me too. So fresh air could banish all that had happened the night before.

  If we were going home in the morning, I’d have to start packing soon, and then there was the tidying up and cleaning to be done on top of that.

  I gazed at the summer houses across the bay, where a car came gleaming along the road toward the blue, glittering sea beyond.

  Damn it, the kitten!

  I’d forgotten all about it.

  I only hoped the door up there was closed.

  How was I going to tell the kids that not only was one of the kittens dead, the mother, Sophi, was too?

  The badger story was perhaps too brutal for them. Especially if it was supposed to have happened so close to the house.

  I didn’t want to lie to them anymore.

  Tove came walking along the shore. In the five minutes it took before she came into the garden, a whole range of different feelings for her passed through me.

  She went by the table where I was sitting without acknowledging me, as if she couldn’t see me at all, and disappeared into her studio. She had on a white shirt, beige-colored shorts and a pair of clogs. I got to my feet and went after her. She was wandering about in there, in a world of her own. Her clogs clacked against the floor.

  “Tove,” I said. “We need to talk.”

  Fleetingly, she looked at me.

  “Are you sure?” she said, and went outside again.

  I went after her, catching up with her on the lawn.

  “We’re going home tomorrow,” I said.

  “Are you sure?” she said.

  “Yes, I’m sure,” I said.

  She went down the drive onto the road.

  “Sorry,” she said.