See You Tomorrow
Page 1
‘See You Tomorrow is an exceptional novel, as incredible as it is realistic, written with an explosive force and a pulsating passion for Balzac. A majestic page-turner!’ Karl Ove Knausgård
‘Tore Renberg is one of Norway’s finest young writers’ Jo Nesbø
‘See You Tomorrow is an intense, riotous, funny, sexy and thrilling book, full of grit and truth. There is not a single boring sentence. This is a full voltage blast of a novel and Tore Renberg is a great writer’ Matt Haig
‘The greatest storyteller of his generation’ Aftenposten
‘A knockout story … in 600 pages, Renberg unveils a story that drives the reader to surrender’ Fædrelandsvennen
‘See you Tomorrow makes most Norwegian contemporary literature taste like watery tea, and Norwegian crime authors’ prose about as elegant and smooth as the Norwegian football team playing against Argentina’ Aftenposten
‘Renberg is one of the most significant epic poets of Norwegian contemporary literature. His ability to read the pulse of a social set, the spirit of an age and an absolutely credible cast of characters is first grade’ Tønsberg Blad
‘600 pages of pure energy … a charming cock-and-bull story filled with love for twisted criminals, hormonal teenagers and the oil city Stavanger … this is a novel with momentum. It’s entertaining, alternately funny and thrilling’ Dagsavisen
‘A strikingly accurate portrayal of Stavanger’s underside … a collective novel where all participants are portrayed equally clearly, equally credibly and with equal care. See You Tomorrow is impressive in every aspect – from its composition, language and credibility to its wit, palette, multiple crescendos. The research for this book must have taken a year of his life’ Adresseavisen
‘Rare linguistic energy, powerful progress and a delightful combination of humour and rawness … a highlight in Renberg’s authorship … a juicy linguistic orgy fit to be consumed in large quantities’ Hamar Arbeiderblad
‘An author with a literary expression, a human colorfulness, a life-giving love for speed and pace and a completely outrageous devotion to the characters described. One surfs incomprehensibly easily and effortlessly from one situation to another. Not least because the language is so unique and rude, with slang in the most surprising combinations. It is a magnificent book’ Kristeligt Dagblad
See You Tomorrow is an achievement in technical power. In vital, maximalist prose, the characters’ perspectives change in a weaving movement, slowly taking us to an amazing crescendo … new, fresh and heartfelt’ Expressen
‘A criminal power performance. See You Tomorrow is 600 pages of maximalism, not to mention a virtualistic tour de force, which at its best is crushing proof of how productively far you can reach beyond grey standard prose’ Aftenposten
‘An action-packed cross between youth novel and thriller … an arresting novel where Renberg shows off his best side … suspenseful from the first till last page’ Bergens Tidende
‘Wow, what a novel! … Renberg’s pitch-black novel from Stavanger is filled with momentum, brutality, humour, poetry and musicality. Renberg possesses a formidable talent for storytelling – a novel of remarkable tempo and drive, and a horror-like ending, grotesque to the point where it becomes comic’ Dagbladet
‘A knockout story … In 600 pages, Renberg unveils a story that drives the reader to surrender’ Fædrelandsvennen
See You Tomorrow
Tore Renberg
Translated from the Norwegian by Seán Kinsella
Contents
Maps
Title Page
TUESDAY 25 SEPTEMBER
1. 666 (Pål)
2. DO YOU WANT ME? (Sandra)
3. VIVA LA VIDA (Rudi)
4. THEY’RE SO BLOODY GORGEOUS (Daniel William)
5. AMY LEE (Tiril)
6. YOU CAN HAVE ME (Sandra)
7. LOVE (Rudi)
8. DEVIL’S TREASURES (Daniel William)
9. MY SNATCHPUSS 4 EVER (Cecilie)
10. HE WALKS INTO THE PITCH DARKNESS (Pål)
11. O LORD (Daniel William)
12. THAT WAS KIND OF WEIRD (Malene)
13. I’M COMING NOW (SANDRA)
14. FOG (Rudi)
15. A WOMAN DRESSED IN JEANS AND A LONG-SLEEVED SWEATER WALKS ACROSS A YARD (Jan Inge)
16. INDEPENDENT THOUGHTS (Tiril)
17. IT’S A SUN BULLET (Daniel William)
18. HOLY DIVER (Pål)
19. IF IT WAS A KITTEN (Cecilie)
20. IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT? (Sandra)
21. GET THEE BEHIND ME, SATAN (Rudi)
22. DAD’S SHOES (Malene)
23. LIKE THIS? LIKE THIS? LIKE THIS? (Daniel William)
24. SAY GOOD NIGHT TO THE GIRLS (Pål)
25. A LOW FRIGGING GIRLY THING TO PULL (Tiril)
26. SHE BRUSHES OFF LEAVES, GRASS AND MOULD (Sandra)
27. VOLVO (Jan Inge)
28. TITANIUM (Malene)
29. HERE’S TO YOU MR HEDGEHOG (Cecilie)
30. THEY’RE TAKING OVER THE WHOLE WORLD (Daniel William)
31. § 196 (Tong)
WEDNESDAY 26 OCTOBER
32. Morning at the Home of the Criminals (Jan Inge)
33. SOCKS ON TOP OF THE STOVE (Pål)
34. CAN YOU KEEP A SECRET? (Sandra)
35. A TIME-HONOURED CLASSIC IN THE BUSINESS (Rudi)
36. HIT HARD (Daniel William)
37. GO NEAR THE DEVIL (Malene)
38. I’D DO FUCKING ANYTHING FOR YOU (Cecilie)
39. I’VE GONE AND DONE SOMETHING REALLY STUPID (Sandra)
40. BEVERLY HINNA (Jan Inge)
41. AND THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE A RECORD SHOP?! (Rudi)
42. I’VE GOT YOU NOW (Veronika)
43. A RAGING TORRENT IN THE HEAD (Daniel William)
44. BUNNY’S LITTLE BROTHER (Tiril)
45. MARIERO BEAUTY (Cecilie)
46. RAINING BLOOD (Daniel William)
47. PAIN (Sandra)
48. A FRIEND WITH A VAN (Jan Inge)
49. ADD TO CART (Pål)
50. LUDVIG NILSEN AND ALBERT JENSEN (Rudi)
51. MALENE UNDRESSES (Malene)
52. BUNNY’S BIG BROTHER (Tiril)
53. THE TRANQUILITY OF MOTÖRHEAD (Cecilie)
54. YOU NEED TO BREATHE EASY (Sandra)
55. GIRLS’ MEETING (Tiril)
56. SNIFFED LIGHTER FUEL AND LISTENED TO LATE-NIGHT RADIO (Jan Inge)
57. WENDY, DARLING, LIGHT OF MY LIFE (Cecilie)
58. ALTERED STATE (Pål)
59. DO YOU WANT TO KNOW WHO I AM? HM? DO YOU? (Daniel William)
60. INTERNATIONAL EMOTION (Tiril)
61. BRILLIANT, SPOFFI! THIS IS GOING TO WORK LIKE A DREAM! (Rudi)
62. HONEY (Malene)
63. Y-E-A-H-W-E-A-R-E-J-U-S-T-F-I-X-I-N-G-O-U-R-S-E-L-V-E-S-A-C-O-U-P-L-E-O-F-S-A-N-D-W-I-C-H-E-S-H-E-R-E-T-H-A-T-S-F-I-N-E (Veronika)
64. ME AND TOMMY POGO, MADLAVOLL SCHOOL 1983 (Rudi)
65. PRAYER (Sandra)
66. 0162 (Tong)
THURSDAY 27 SEPTEMBER
67. SHELLEY WAS RIGHT (Sandra)
68. MUMMY’S JUST TALKING RUBBISH (Cecilie)
69. MORNING IN THE HOME OF A FATHER OF TWO TEENAGERS (Pål)
70. THAT’S THE WHOLE POINT (Veronika)
71. MOON AND SUN, WIND AND CLOUDS, SISTER AND BROTHER, DEATH ENSHROUDS (Jan Inge)
72. THEY’RE SO PERFECT, THOSE TITS OF YOURS (Daniel William)
73. TOUGH JESUS (Sandra)
74. KEIN PROBLEM, MEIN SOHN (Rudi)
75. I SPIT-ROAST MY OWN SQUIRRELS HERE (Tiril)
76. SAME OLD SAME OLD (Cecilie)
77. YOUR OWN FIRE (Veronika)
78. DAD ALWAYS SAYS IT WHEN HE SMACKS US AROUND (Tiril)
79. BUNNY (Jan Inge)
80. GREEN LIGHT (Tong)
81. IT FEELS AS THOUGH HIS FEET ARE LEAVING THE GROUND (Pål)
82. FINE YOUNG PEOPLE (Malene)
83. THE BOTNEVASS GANG (Jan Inge)
84. THEY CAME FROM THE FOREST (Sandra)
85. WHENEVER WE VISIT GRANNY ON FURRAS GATE SHE ALWAYS GIVES US ELDERFLOWER CORDIAL AND IT’S THE BEST IN THE WORLD (Rudi)
86. HE DEALS WITH IT (Daniel William)
87. SCRAT (Tiril)
88. RUDI HOLDS A SPEECH ON THE EAST SIDE OF STOKKAVANN LAKE (Cecilie)
89. IT’LL BE A REAL BLAST (Pål)
90. WE SEND HELENE CHRISTMAS GREETINGS EVERY YEAR IN CONTEMPT of THAT MANGY MONGEREL OF A FATHER SHE HAD (Jan Inge)
91. KINDA LOOKS LIKE A WAY OUT (Shaun)
92. ONCE IT WAS YOU AND ME (Pål)
93. NANCY ROSE BOTNEVASS (Rudi)
94. THAT’S NOT GOING TO BRING YOU AROUND (Tiril)
95. ELECTRA (Tong)
96. DANIEL’S WISH (Daniel William)
97. SHALL WE MAKE A START? (Jan Inge)
98. SHE CARRIES HER OWN WEIGHT (Malene)
99. STRAIGHT TO VIDEO (Jan Inge)
100. SIBLING LOVE (Cecilie)
101. PURE METAL (Daniel William)
102. SING SONGS OF PRAISE (Sandra)
103. SOIL WITH LEAVES ON (Veronika)
104. SILLY DADDY (Pål)
105. LURA TURISTHEIM? DOLLY’S PIZZA? HINNA BISTRO? (Rudi)
SUNDAY 30 SEPTEMBER
106. CHANGE
Acknowledgements
About the Author
About the Translator
Copyright
TUESDAY 25 SEPTEMBER
Calling every boy and girl
Calling all around the world
Get ready for love!
Nick Cave
1. 666 (Pål)
His eyes, they feel as if there’s sand in them.
As if there’s a fine layer of tiny grains on the membrane. It’s been like that for weeks now. Nothing helps: not eye drops, not eye ointment, it won’t go away. The grains scrape against the membrane. If it keeps up, the particles will perforate the cornea and one day he’ll wake up unable to see the world.
Maybe it’s just as well.
Getting so sick of this.
It’s never going to work out, is it?
Pål wipes the mixer with the cloth, then folds it and hangs it over the tap. He leans on the worktop and fills his lungs with air, as though that would help. He hears the gush of the cistern from the first floor and he exhales, glances at the dog. The border collie is lying on a blanket next to the fireplace.
‘Eh, Zitha? Just as well, eh?’
The sound of the cistern subsides and it’s peaceful in the house. As peaceful as outside, where not even the lightest leaves on the trees stir beneath the yellow glow of the street lights. Not even the string hanging from the spruce tree moves; the string the girls used to hang milk cartons from, that they had cut holes in and stuck twigs through, so that the great tits could sit there and eat.
Dad? Can we have some raisins? Do birds eat raisins?
The milk carton’s gone, his wife’s gone, the girls are still here, and so is the string.
Pål squeezes his right eye shut and presses his forefinger against his eyelid in irritation. He turns on the radio. P4. Coldplay. A hit from a few years back. What’s it called again? Always so annoying when they don’t sing the title. Now in the morning I sleep alone. He switches off the radio. Everything is a reference to him, and he’s not able to take it in any more. He’s not able to watch TV, he’s not able to read the papers, he can sit with a book in his hand reading the same page sixteen times over without grasping what’s written.
All he can stand is silence, no matter how it might eat away at him.
Autumn came early this year, the first weeks in September were spattered with rain and chased by wind, but the days have suddenly brightened up. It’s as though summer wants to bid a final farewell. A glaring white sun sits low in the vast sky. From early morning it casts long shadows along the streets. It’s so strong it gives the impression it’s going to burn up the sky, and then itself.
Well, Zitha? You think Daddy’ll cope?
The dog has one paw curled up under her chest, the other alongside her lupine snout, idle and limp. Zitha takes on a slightly comical expression when she lies down flat on the blanket. Her ears are recumbent on her head, dainty and elegant.
She’s a reliable dog, a beautiful dog, and she has no idea about what’s going on with her master. Zitha just is. She sleeps. Plays. Runs. Eats. She stands in front of Pål with the same devotion, day in day out, tail wagging, bottom waggling, tongue hanging out.
He looks out of the windows facing the garden. It gets dark earlier now. The street lights are on by half past seven, it’s already dusk by then, and within half an hour it’s pitch black.
Summer began to ebb a month ago. People were still in T-shirts and shorts then. But soon it was over for the year. The leaves on the birch turned yellow, the rhododendron red, and deciduous trees began to fade. Women had to root out three-quarter length coats, the colours shifted to grey, brown and ochre and there were more and more hats to be seen. People started wearing shawls and scarves, they put away their trainers, and the kids were knocking about in fleece jackets and raingear.
Yeah, birds can eat raisins, they like them.
Is Mum coming back, Dad?
No, I don’t think she is.
Good while ago now.
The temperature dropped; the nights got colder. He saw the neighbour scraping ice off his car windscreen one morning; good thing he’s got a garage.
These unnaturally bright days are merely on loan. It’s summer’s last sigh and not something that will last. His body needs to adjust now, adapt to the new season, to the prolonged gloom that is on its way, to months of cold and darkness. The joints get stiff, the body gets heavy and sleep takes up more room.
Pål rubs his seasonally dry hands together and looks at Zitha. Her breathing is slow and heavy. Who knows if she’s dreaming, and who knows what she’s dreaming of behind that elegant brow of hers.
Getting incredibly sick of this.
‘Zitha!’
He smacks his lips and goes closer to the sleeping dog. She twitches, rises up on her front paws, yawns and stretches. Her tail starts whacking against the floor straight away, her tongue rolls out of her already salivating mouth.
‘Yeaah. Come on, Zitha. Yeaah.’
He walks towards the hall, Zitha scampering around his legs. He clears his throat, demonstrably. He says ‘Yeah, yeah!’ extra loudly as he takes the leash from the top drawer and sees the twinkle in her eyes.
This isn’t going to work. Is it?
The girls.
The dog’s tail is going like a wind-up toy, she scurries about happily in front of him. Pål rubs his eyes before bending over and feeling the blood tip in his head, as if his skull were a lab flask and everything was following gravity. He rubs Zitha under the chin, looks her in the eyes and meets the same boundless trust she’s always prepared to show.
Pål hears a door open upstairs. He puts on his coat, slips his feet into his shoes. He pats his inner pocket to see if the envelope is still there. It is.
They’re sharp, collies. Intelligent. When his wife left him and heard he was getting a dog, she said he should get a setter; go hunting like other men. Yeah, you would think that, said Pål. Setters, said Christine, her voice full of admiration, they run themselves into the ground given the chance. Collies, said Pål, they’re beautiful and they guard the house, that’s the kind of dog I want.
Just to run. To explode, to disappear.
That’s what he would like to do. That’s what he’s felt like doing of late. Run, explode, ready to disappear. In addition to numbness, anxiety, and shame; no one knows what I’m up to.
‘Shall I go with you, Dad?’
Footsteps on the carpet above.
The kids ar
e the worst. It feels like Tiril and Malene are all that stand between him and what he is going to do. Malene is the worst. A daddy’s girl. She comes down the stairs, he knows her footsteps like he knows his own musty heart.
‘Hm? Shall I go with you?’
‘No, no.’ He can’t manage to meet her gaze. ‘Get on with your homework.’
‘I’ve finished.’
Pål sends her a puzzled smile. ‘I must be mixing you up with someone who doesn’t always do their homework. Where’s Tiril?’
‘At work, I guess.’
‘Yeah, of course.’
Malene frowns. She gets that strange grimace around her mouth, the one she has had since she was a baby, the one that makes her look like E.T. He’s almost on the verge of tears.
His daughter bends down to Zitha, strokes her snout affectionately, making her eyes narrow and slanted. She puts her face close to the dog’s, the dog licks her nose. ‘There, there, nice Zitha, nice Zitha, going for a walk with Dad.’
Pål studies her. The strong cheekbones that seem to force her face upwards. Her gymnast’s body, strong, supple and erect. Never any nonsense with Malene. Such a pity about that injury. It’ll heal soon enough. He smiles, and for a moment he forgets who he is and what it is he has done.
‘Can’t I come along?’
A daughter standing there asking to go with him. He hopes it will always be like that.
‘No,’ he says, ‘it’s late. You’ve got homework.’
‘Dad, I told you, I’ve finished it.’
‘Good,’ he says. ‘But, it’d be nice if you were here when Tiril gets in.’
‘Aww.’ She pouts and pulls Zitha close: ‘Don’t you want to stay here with Malene, eh?’
The dog licks her across the face, the tongue pink, wet, the tail beating the floor.
Next to the hall mirror hangs the old photo of his wife. It has started to fade. The kids wanted it put up after she left. A photo of Mum for the sake of the kids. Funny that. One year you want to tear her eyes out and the next it’s like you miss her.
‘Someone rang, by the way.’
He’s startled out of his musings. ‘Hm?’
‘On the landline,’ says Malene. ‘Someone rang. They asked after you.’
‘Did they give a name?’ He tries to sound as nonchalant as possible.