The Morning Star

by Karl Ove Knausgaard

  “You’ve nothing to be sorry about,” I said.

  “Are you sure?” she said.

  “Tove,” I said. “Won’t you come inside with me?”

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “I think it’s best we go to the hospital.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I put my hand on her shoulder to stop her. She carried on.

  “Where are you going?” I said.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  I stopped. I wasn’t going to use force, at least not while the kids were there.

  She was already striding away.

  “Tove,” I said, raising my voice slightly. “Come with me now!”

  “Are you sure?” I heard her say again.

  I wasn’t comfortable about letting her go; she didn’t care about anything, she just kept walking all the time. But there was nothing else I could do.

  I ought to take her to the hospital straightaway.

  The question was, was she bad enough? What was I going to say? That she kept walking round the garden? That I couldn’t get through to her?

  She wasn’t a danger to anyone.

  But what about the cats?

  I went back inside and got my mobile from the bedroom, then stood in the garden and phoned my mother.

  “Hello, how are you?” I said when she answered.

  “Hello, Arne,” she said. “I’m fine. Ingvild and I had such a nice time together. What a good-looking girl she’s become.”

  “Yes, she has,” I said.

  “How are things with you, anyway? That’s far more interesting than how I am!”

  “That’s partly why I’m calling,” I said. “Tove’s having a down period, quite a bad one. I’m going to have to take her to the hospital, I think. I’m a bit hesitant, though. It’s rather a drastic step. And of course she might be better once she’s got some sleep.”

  “How’s she behaving?”

  “I can’t get through to her. She just keeps wandering about on her own.”

  “And the children are there with you?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Arne, you must get her away from there. For her own sake, but for the children’s too.”

  “Yes, you’re probably right,” I said. “I can’t leave them on their own again, though. Do you think you could come over and look after them?”

  “Of course. I’ll come right away. Is there anything I should bring?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Perhaps some plums for the kids?”

  “All right, will do. See you soon, then.”

  I hung up and looked up at the house. The two open windows in the kitchen looked like wings, I thought. As if the house had just landed and would soon take off and fly away again.

  Ingvild.

  I went inside and knocked on the door of her room.

  “Come in,” she said.

  She was lying on her stomach on the floor, legs bent at the knee, feet in the air, putting some makeup on with the mirror in front of her.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Mum’s not too good,” I said. “I’m going to have to take her to the hospital.”

  “I thought so,” she said, and I watched in the mirror how she blushed her cheeks with the brush while shaping her mouth into a little O.

  “Gran’s coming over to look after the twins.”

  “Good,” she said.

  “You’re not still angry with me, are you?” I said, smiling as our eyes met in the mirror.

  “Angry will do for the moment,” she said, peering into her makeup kit.

  “I see,” I said.

  “Only it’s Mum we’ve got to think about now, isn’t it?” she said.

  “Yes, you’re right about that,” I said. “I just thought I’d apologize for last night. For leaving you on your own.”

  She didn’t answer, but shaped her mouth into a slightly larger circle to put on her lipstick.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I said.

  “Are we still going home tomorrow if Mum’s in the hospital here?”

  “I haven’t thought about that yet,” I said. “We’ll have to go home at some point, though.”

  She raised herself onto her knees, retracted the lipstick and dropped it back in the box, got to her feet and went over to the bed.

  “Is everything else all right?” I said.

  “Yes, fine,” she said. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  She gave me a faux smile, picked up a book from the windowsill and began to read.

  I looked at her for a few seconds, but when she gave no sign that she intended to do anything else but carry on with her reading, I stepped out and closed the door behind me.

  I stood motionless for a moment in the corridor, not knowing what to do.

  I could go after Tove and bring her home. But she’d only go off again, and I couldn’t exactly lock her in.

  I needed to talk to the kids too, about the cats. We were meant to have taken the mother and kittens back home with us in the car, so I’d have to make sure they knew in good time before we left.

  But the last thing we needed now was more emotion.

  Maybe the best thing would be to start packing until Mum arrived. After that I could go and find Tove and take her to the hospital, then do the rest of the packing when I got back.

  I didn’t like Ingvild being angry with me, but it was no use talking to her, words were no help now. I’d have to give it time, and then it would pass on its own. I understood her reaction, what I’d done wasn’t good, but she could only see it from the outside and had no idea what it looked like from the inside, the reasons I’d had, how much of it had been bad luck, pure and simple, and bad timing.

  I went into the kitchen, tipped some Nescafé into a mug, filled it with hot water from the tap and took it with me into the garden, to the table that was now shaded by the willow.

  Had it been an ordinary day, I’d have taken them for a swim somewhere. Spent the whole day at the beach.

  It was such a waste, sitting inside on a day like this. The temperature was at least thirty degrees.

  Maybe I could put the badminton net up? They liked badminton, once they got started. And there wasn’t a breath of wind. I’d be able to pack while they were playing.

  Tove appeared between the house and the annex. Without looking at me or paying any attention to anything in her surroundings she went straight into the house. A moment later, she came back out, went past the annex and out through the gate on the other side.

  What could be going on inside her?

  I looked at the time. Mum would be here in forty minutes, if she’d done as she said and left right away.

  A scratching noise made me turn my head. It was the squirrel again, darting across the wall, this time followed by another. Over the fascia board they went and along the roof, their bushy tails waving in the wake of their supple little bodies.

  Suddenly, I remembered something I’d dreamed that night. How vivid it was now: I’d been lying in bed and heard a voice singing downstairs; I went down, opened the door into the kitchen, and there, in the middle of the floor, sat the cat, singing.

  Watch the sunrise, it sang.

  I smiled and got to my feet. Not only had it been singing in English, its head had been on too and it had seemed so very satisfied, happy even.

  I opened the shed door and stood for a moment while my eyes adjusted to the dark, then took the badminton net with its thin poles from the shelf. It was rolled up tight, almost like a fishing net, and I took it outside onto the lawn and began to untangle it. Planting one pole solidly in the grass, I unfurled the net and pulled it taut before thrusting the other pole likewise into the turf and going back for the rackets and shuttlecocks.r />
  “Asle and Heming!” I called into the house.

  “Yes?” said Asle from upstairs. “What?” said Heming from the living room.

  “That’s enough sitting inside!” I called out. “Come and play some badminton!”

  I could almost hear them sigh as they put their devices down. But I knew it would only take a few minutes for them to become completely immersed and forget about everything else.

  “Gran’s coming soon,” I said as they emerged into the passage. “But you’ve got a good half-hour until then, at least.”

  “Why is Gran coming?” said Asle.

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” said Heming.

  “She’s coming to look after you,” I said. “While I take Mum to the hospital. She needs to rest and get well again.”

  “Can’t she sleep here?” said Asle, sitting down on the step to put his trainers on.

  “No,” I said. “But she’ll be able to sleep at the hospital. It’s nothing serious.”

  “Is there anything fizzy to drink?” said Heming, who never undid his laces, but simply crammed his feet into his shoes and wriggled them into place. I kept telling him not to, it made him look lazy, and for a short time he’d listened and done as I said, but now he’d fallen back into the habit again.

  He cast a glance at me to check my reaction, so it wasn’t as if he’d forgotten.

  “Is there anything fizzy to drink, Dad?” said Asle, getting to his feet. “It’s so hot!”

  “You can have some when Gran gets here,” I said.

  “OK,” he said, and went out onto the lawn, closely followed by Heming.

  Once they’d begun playing, I went upstairs to start packing. For the third time, I remembered the kitten as soon as I saw the closed door of the bedroom. How on earth could I keep forgetting? It would be starving by now. I fetched some water and some liver paste from the kitchen, opened the door carefully, crouched down and pushed the two bowls as far under the bed as I could. The kitten had moved a bit and lay with its head to the floor, its paws stretched out in front of it as the bowls came sliding toward it.

  “Here you are, Mephisto,” I said softly. “Some food for you. I’m going to start the packing now, but there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  I dropped the piles of clothes from the shelves into the two big suitcases, cramming them full before taking them out into the passage, then filling the big sports holdall with the twins’ clothes and dumping it next to them. There wouldn’t be time for a proper clean before we went, but I could get a cleaning company in to do it for us and leave the key with Egil so he could let them in and lock up afterward.

  Through the open door, I heard one of the boys shout:

  “Hi, Mum!”

  I went outside. She was crossing the lawn, most likely heading for the path to the shore. The boys had stopped their game and stood watching her.

  “Where have you been?” said Asle.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “Where are you going?” said Heming.

  “I don’t know,” she said, turning and coming toward the house.

  I reached my arm out to her as she passed me, and touched her shoulder. She carried on, through the passage into the living room, then out again, following the line of the house in the direction of the road.

  The boys didn’t know quite how to react, standing with their rackets in their hands, their bodies signaling aversion.

  I went toward them.

  “What’s wrong with Mummy?” said Asle.

  “She’s not very well,” I said. “It’s nothing to worry about. She’ll soon be all right again.”

  “But she keeps walking all the time,” said Asle. “Can’t you stop her?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t,” I said.

  “Can’t you hold her tight?” said Heming. “Maybe she’ll stop then?”

  “I’m taking her to the hospital in a short while,” I said. “When Gran gets here. You carry on with your game. Who’s winning?”

  “No one. We’re not playing for points,” said Asle.

  “I hope they keep her in the hospital for a long time,” said Heming. “So that she’s completely well when she comes home again.”

  I nodded.

  “She will be, I’m sure,” I said. “When she comes home, she’ll be well.”

  She came back toward us, passing between the house and the annex.

  The boys stared at her.

  She turned left and was gone again.

  “Do you want that fizzy drink now?” I said. “You look like you’re thirsty, the way you’re sweating.”

  They did, and drank at the table in the shade. I left them to it. There was less than half an hour until Mum was due, and I’d plenty to do in the meantime.

  As I unloaded the dishwasher, it occurred to me that Ingvild might tell my mother about what had happened. That I’d been drunk driving and had crashed the car. Even if it hadn’t actually happened like that, it quite conceivably looked that way from her point of view.

  I filled the dishwasher again, switched it on and went and knocked on her door.

  She was sitting in her chair, scrolling on her phone.

  “What are you up to?” I said.

  “Looking at my phone?” she said.

  “I can see that,” I said. “What are you looking at?”

  “Insta.”

  “Mind if I have a look?”

  She looked up at me and snorted, turning the display facedown against her thigh as I stepped toward her.

  “You don’t keep secrets from me, do you?” I said.

  “Ha ha,” she said.

  “Gran’s on her way over,” I said. “I was thinking about what happened last night. It’s probably not a good idea for her to know everything. She worries, you know. She’s starting to get on.”

  Ingvild looked at me.

  “You’re so unreal,” she said, and jumped to her feet, barging past me through the door.

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

  The bathroom door slammed shut behind her.

  The look she’d given me, her voice, had been full of disdain.

  She was always so idealistic. Everything had to be so correct. But life wasn’t like that. She would understand soon enough.

  Yet something had sunk inside me. She was my daughter, and she despised me. Or at least despised what I’d done.

  As if I didn’t have enough to be getting on with.

  I went to the kitchen and cleared the things away, giving the surfaces a quick wipe with a cloth, continuing with the living room and dining room.

  On the other hand, I thought, she was a teenager, and what were teenagers known for if it wasn’t hating their parents?

  I’d been the same. Not hated them exactly, but disliking them intensely for a while, and feeling ashamed of them.

  She came into the kitchen as I put down the glasses and bowls I’d found left about the house.

  “Isn’t it about time you took care of Mum now?” she said. “She needs help. She’s completely out of it. You can see that, surely?”

  “Of course I can,” I said, opening the dishwasher. Steam billowed out, the water still sloshing and dripping inside. “I’m taking her to the hospital as soon as your gran gets here.”

  “Can’t you just go now? I can look after the twins.”

  I put the glasses and bowls inside and closed the door again.

  “I’m doing the best I can, Ingvild,” I said. “We’re going home in the morning, so I’ve got to start packing and tidying up before we can go to the hospital. Besides, there’s nothing I can do for her when she’s like this.”

  “But what about her?” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are we going home without her?”

>   “It looks like we’ll have to,” I said. “School’s starting, and I’ve got to go back and plan for the new term.”

  “We can’t put her in the hospital here,” she said. “How are we supposed to come and visit her?”

  I sighed.

  “No, it’s not ideal,” I said. “But there’s not much else we can do. Maybe she can be transferred to a hospital back home. I’ll have to ask them about it.”

  “You’re just glad to get rid of her, aren’t you?” she said, wheeling round and marching off to her room again.

  I was angry now, but resisted the urge to go after her, closing the windows instead, the ceiling and work surface already crawling with flies. I took the fly swatter from the bottom drawer. My first swipe took three out at once, one splatting against the beam, the other two dropping motionless to the floor. I picked them up by the wings and flicked them into the sink. My next foray resulted in another two, but then they started getting cautious, either taking to the wing and buzzing about in the air, where they seemed to know I couldn’t harm them, or else settling on the dark surfaces where they were hard to see, or in places other than where they normally could be found and where consequently I didn’t look.

  There was an intelligence there that had now kicked in, that much was obvious. But it only made it all the more satisfying when my swipes occasionally hit home and in a split second delivered one of them from life.

  Not all died, however. Some were merely stunned, unmoving for a few seconds before finding their legs and attempting to stagger off. These ones too I picked up by the wings and dropped into the sink, and when eventually they’d accumulated into a little pile, I turned the tap on and swilled them away down the drain.

  I looked out at the boys in the garden. They’d become good at badminton during the summer, arcing the shuttlecock high into the air, backward and forward between them.

  I’d forgotten the breakfast.

  Christ.

  At the same moment, a car came up the road, and as it passed by the window I saw it was Mum’s blue Fiat.

  She could make them some brunch instead, I thought, and went out to meet her. She reversed slowly into the drive and parked next to my car. I watched her as she took off her sunglasses and put them in her bag on the passenger seat, then opened the door and got out. Behind me, Heming and Asle came running.