by Tore Renberg
‘Over there, land of the brave, hom—’
‘Will he? A lucrative position, Pål, good money, a new life. He gets an offer, a time-honoured classic, if you think of life as simply time and this as a classic.’
‘Hah. You listening, Poffi?’
‘You follow me, Pål?’
Pål nods.
‘Simple as that. Dad went to Houston. Difficult for us as kids to understand back then. Easy to understand now. And you? Now you’re being made an offer. What do you say, Pål?’
Rudi can’t manage to keep still any longer. This is just too much. He lets go of the dog, who responds by following him. He stands in front of Pål, looks him in the eyes, grips his jaws in both hands and says: ‘Brilliant, Spoffi! This is going to work like a dream! Hallefuckingluja! Can I kiss you?’
Pål looks bewildered. Rudi gives him a friendly shove. Jan Inge takes out his inhaler, shakes it and sucks on it.
‘So. Now we can listen to what you have to say, Pål.’
‘I’m in. But…’ he pauses uncertainly.
‘What are you thinking about, brother?’
‘Well…’ He runs a hand through his hair. ‘No, it’s just – what were you thinking of doing to me?’
Rudi smiles. ‘Listen,’ he says, ‘it’ll be fine. We’re experienced. Don’t worry about it.’
‘Right … but … will it … hurt?’
‘Look, Joffi, there’s being hurt and there’s being hurt … you can take a little bit of pain.’
‘But … will I wind up in hospital? Will I be able to walk afterwards?’
‘Shit,’ Rudi says. ‘You’re a nice guy, Toffi. Don’t think about that. Think about the money! Ah. See this here, this is one of the best days of my life. When I die, I’ll remember four things: Chessi’s face, Jani’s face, Lemmy’s face and that beautiful face of yours, Schmoffi.
Zitha barks.
‘Yeah, yours too, fuckmutt,’ Rudi says and in his head Coldplay begin blaring at full volume: Du-du-du-du-du-du-du-du-du.
‘It’s so bloody good,’ he says ‘to feel that you’re alive. I can’t wait to tell Chessi.’
‘What?’ Jan Inge shoots him a dubious look. ‘No details, not before you’ve cleared it with me.’
‘No, no,’ laughs Rudi. ‘Jesus, I mean, I can’t wait to tell her that it’s time we started thinking seriously about things – kids, y’know, maybe getting a place of our own, taking the relationship a step further!’
A darkness brims in Jan Inge. It flows from his little blueberry eyes and washes down over him.
62. HONEY (Malene)
Malene walks out the front door and out into the street, heading in the direction of Folkeviseveien.
She went home when Thea and Tiril left for the rehearsal, the same time as Sandra disappeared into the darkness to meet Daniel. The wild sensations the day had thrown up vanished quite abruptly, the tingling of her skin, the heat of her body, which had made her feel strong and new. She couldn’t manage to take control of the situation. All of a sudden, Sandra didn’t need her any more; suddenly it was Tiril who had taken over everything, as though she were the big sister. Malene no longer felt at ease wearing the bright red lipstick.
‘Will I go with you?’ she’d asked. Sandra had shook her head. ‘No, no, course, you have to do this yourself.’ Malene had hastened to add, ‘Don’t let him ride roughshod over you, Sandra, okay?’
Dad wasn’t at home when she got in. The house looked like it was abandoned right in the middle of something. The living room door was wide open. One slipper at an angle to the other in the centre of the kitchen. A single saucer with a slice of bread on the kitchen table. A half-empty glass of juice. Zitha’s rubber bone on Dad’s pouf.
Malene cleaned up, but the sight of her hands annoyed her. She thought they looked like the hands of a forty-year-old as she loaded the dishwasher, as she hung up damp towels in the bathroom and as she placed Dad’s shoes beside one another.
Soon it was nine o’clock. She looked over her homework. She flicked through the channels on the TV. Clicked around on Facebook.
Now she’s outside. It’s daft. It’s idiotic. Out spying on Sandra and Daniel. But she can’t help herself. Sandra is having a torrid time and Veronika has it rough … is she jealous, is that it?
She walks quicker.
‘You’re such an idiot, Malene,’ she whispers.
She hurries along past the tower blocks in Jernalderveien and comes out on the plateau above the primary school, from where she’s afforded a view. There they are. Daniel and Sandra. In the middle of the football pitch, underneath the lights. She slackens her pace, lets her feet move slower across the tarmac. She knows she should turn around, but she’s can’t manage to.
Malene straightens up. Walks as naturally as she can out on to the gravel pitch. What will she say when they spot her? She doesn’t know Daniel. He hardly knows who she is. He’s a dangerous boy – who can tell what he’s capable of.
She draws closer. He’s so handsome. Everything about him is beautiful and strong. It’s hard to act naturally when people are so good-looking. How are you supposed to act, when the presence of another person is so overwhelming? She would never have dared go out with a boy like that. He gives a lot but he takes more. What he touches would always be left dazzled but also diminished. It’s not possible to come away from Daniel William Moi intact.
Malene scuffs her feet on the gravel so they’ll notice her. She’s only a few metres from them. What’s she going to say when they ask her why she’s here?
Sandra turns. So does Daniel. What eyes he has, what a mouth. If he opens it up the whole world will disappear down his throat
‘Malene?’
She raises her hand in a clumsy greeting and refrains from looking at Daniel.
‘Hello, fancy meeting you two,’ Malene says, trying to make her voice sound as unaffected as she can.
‘Hi…’ Sandra looks nervous. ‘This is Daniel…’
He gives her a quick look, a look that says she should get out of here as quick as she can.
‘Well,’ she hastens to say, ‘I’m heading to the school to listen to Tiril. Not too many people paying her much attention at the moment, so I figured I’d better be there for my little sister.’ Malene knows she’s speaking too fast, and she knows she’s a bad liar. ‘Yeah,’ she giggles nervously. ‘Y’know, Evanescence, heh heh, have to support little sis.’
You need to go, Malene.
It’s in their faces, it’s in their body language.
She sees two men come into view down by the substation. They’re coming out of the woods, they resemble characters in a computer game. One of them is ungainly and as tall as a tree, the other quite small and fat. They’re momentarily lit up by a streetlamp outside the kindergarten, before they disappear from under it, heading in the direction of the main road.
‘I see,’ Daniel says, ‘you’re one of the sisters. The gymnast? Heard about your tumble. Bummer. Ankle was it?’
One of the sisters? Has Sandra been talking about her?
‘Yeah…’ Malene nods.
She looks at Sandra with uncertainty, whom for her part, avoids Malene’s eyes.
‘Okay, but anyway, Malene,’ Sandra says, with an affected smile, ‘we’re just going to have a chat…’
Another figure appears beneath the light outside the kindergarten. And a dog. They look like they’re part of the same computer game. First the towering figure, then the little, fat round guy, and now a normal man with his head down, and finally a dog sniffing along. Malene juts her chin out and squints.
It’s Dad.
She feels something shoot through her stomach, a needle-thin pain.
She points at the substation, ‘I’m…’ she says to Daniel and Sandra, ‘I’m just … that’s my dad.’ The others turn to look. ‘He’s out walking Zitha, our dog, that is…’
Dad bends over. Picks something up. It’s a stick. He holds it up high in front of Zitha, who’s wagging her ta
il expectantly. Then he stops dead, his head turns in their direction, his hand suspended in the air.
He looks like he doesn’t want to be seen, Malene thinks. It’s completely obvious. Dad doesn’t want to be seen.
He relaxes his body, his face breaking into that nice smile of his, shouts ‘Come on, Zitha!’ and throws the stick toward the goalposts.
Zitha sets off in pursuit. Dad strolls towards them.
This is embarrassing.
‘Hi!’
Dad’s big, warm smile.
‘Malene, didn’t expect to see you.’
Dad’s big, false smile.
He puts his hand out as he reaches them. He whistles for Zitha. Daniel shakes his hand and introduces himself. ‘I’m going out with Sandra.’
Dad smiles. ‘I know Sandra all right. Nice evening, eh?’
Zitha comes running over with the stick in her mouth, drops it at Dad’s feet and he commends her.
‘Out walking the dog?’ Daniel asks, bending over and running two hands along Zitha’s snout.
‘Oh yes,’ Dad says, ‘every day. What are you lot up to?’
Daniel’s grins and he says: ‘Darkness imprisoning me, all that I see, absolute horror, I cannot live, I cannot die, trapped in myself.’
Dad gives a start, as though someone had hit him in the face.
‘Heh heh,’ laughs Daniel, ‘Metallica. Your T-shirt.’
Dad laughs and looks down at his chest, the old T-shirt barely visible under his jacket.
‘Best band in the world,’ says Daniel.
Dad smiles. ‘Well, I better be getting home,’ he says. ‘Enter Sandman, y’know. Heh heh. Are you heading home, Malene?’
She nods, knows she’s been given away, but it makes no difference.
She smiles at Sandra, gives her a hug.
‘See you around,’ says Daniel.
The windows of the tower blocks are lit up in the darkness. All those people crammed together. It looks cheery and sad at the same time. Malene is aware of her father’s heavy form beside her. He walks along, making small talk about something, but she’s not following what he’s saying. She’s just aware of him plodding along, aware of something being terribly wrong. She stops as they get to the last tower block. She stares at him for such a long time that he’s forced to make eye contact with her.
Malene puts her head to the side.
‘Honey,’ he says, ‘everything’s going to be fine.’
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)
She can feel his breath in the room. Soon he’ll steal around the corner, soon he’ll come and lick her face. Veronika straightens up on the sofa beside her mother. They’ve been lying beside each other for almost two hours. Neither of them have stirred, nor said much. Sweetheart, you must never do that again. No. Do you promise me? Yeah. You’ll tell me, won’t you, if anybody does something bad to you? Yes. You’ll let me know, won’t you, if Daniel seems dangerous?
Her mother has stroked her hair, taken her hand and entwined her fingers in her own. They’ve breathed in and out together. Watched an episode of CSI: Miami. And now the wolf is here. Veronika doesn’t know how this day was born or how it is going to die. She doesn’t know if it’s been a horrible day or a fantastic day. She’s proud and she’s embarrassed, she feels whittled, she feels sharp. But he’s here now.
Veronika runs a hand through her hair: here is Daniel. He’s been to see his slut of a girlfriend. Has he licked her face? She fixes him with her eyes.
Daniel smiles. Not so much self-assurance.
‘Do we have anything to eat?’
Her mother shakes her head, shrugs, takes a deep breath.
‘No, there’s not much, I’m afraid. Some bread, maybe. You’ll have to take a look.’
He nods, doesn’t meet her eyes and walks to the kitchen.
Are you scared, Daniel? You held me close, you caressed me and you put your arms around me. But you don’t want me. You’re letting me down, Daniel William Moi. Don’t you know who you want?
Veronika gets to her feet. She signs the word for ‘eat’ and makes her way towards the kitchen. On her way she tucks her T-shirt into the waistband of her trousers so the material is taut over her breasts.
There he is. Standing with the knife in one hand. His other hand on top of the bread. He’s slicing it. She opens the fridge, takes out the ham slices, as well as the butter, and places them on the worktop. Then she stands beside him. He smells of outdoors, he smells fresh, doesn’t smell of his slut girlfriend. The blade of the knife flashes in his sinewy hand and slices through the bread. Daniel cuts slowly. Veronika moves a tiny bit to the side, her body just barely making contact with his. Daniel doesn’t move.
Hm? Can you feel this?
He doesn’t move. A vein appears in his neck. He clenches his jaw, his teeth grind. Veronika reaches for the ham, allows her forearm to brush against his.
Daniel doesn’t move. She can hear his breath, she thinks she can see claws growing out of his paws. She can see his mouth opening, fat glistening on his lips, his tongue slipping out between his teeth. His head turns in the direction of the living room, she reads his lips: ‘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-ac-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.’
She catches his eye, mouths: ‘I-a-m-n-o-t-y-o-u-r-l-i-t-t-l-e-s-is-t-e-r.’
His ears stand on end, his snout narrows. He mouths: ‘W-h-a-t-a-r-e-y-o-u-t-h-e-n?’
She takes his hand and presses it against her crotch. She mouths: ‘I-a-m-w-h-a-t-y-o-u-n-e-e-d.’
His lips move towards her, kiss her.
That’s what I thought.
I see your yellow eyes.
Nothing is settled yet.
Veronika feels his hand, slipping around her pubic bone, and feels the fingers of his other hand gently stroking the cuts on her face. She gives him her tongue.
64. ME AND TOMMY POGO, MADLAVOLL SCHOOL 1983 (Rudi)
‘Jesus fucking Christ.’
‘Huh?’
‘Shitshitshit!’
‘What?’
‘Holy mother of God.’
‘Huh?’
‘Tampon!’
‘Huh?’
‘Tampon!’
‘Where?’
‘There!’
‘Where? I can’t—’
‘There!’
‘Huh, where?’
‘There, for fu—’
‘I’m telling you, I can’t see—’
‘By the shop!’
‘Oh.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Oh holy fuck.’
‘That’s right.’
Rudi and Jan Inge have stopped at the edge of the woods, Rudi feels his adrenalin pump as he points down towards the shop on the corner, at the man standing there.
‘Oh no,’ says Jan Inge in despair.
‘Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no.’
‘Has he seen us?’
‘Youcanfuckinbetyourasshehas,’ says Rudi. ‘I can feel his eagle eyes on us.’
Jan Inge wipes his forehead with a clammy hand.
‘Tampon.’
‘Tampon.’
‘Pogo.’
‘Tommy.’
Rudi spits and grates his canine teeth against one another. ‘That’s torn it, like my Dad, that badger used to say. And you know how seldom I mention him, or any of the other voles in my family. What the hell is Tampon doing here? Doesn’t he live on Mosterøy?’
‘He must be working so, you gobshite.’
‘Don’t call me things like that, Jani. It’s hurtful.’ A line forms between Rudi’s eyes. He doesn’t dare take his eyes from the man standing on the corner. ‘Working?’
‘How would I know,’ Jan Inge hisses, ‘what a guy from Mosterøy is doing in Madla. It’s a free country.’
‘Sure, all too free. Jesus!’
‘Keep it down, he’s looking at us,’ Ja
n Inge says. He’s speaking with the voice of a thinker now. The voice of a leader. Rudi finds that reassuring. ‘Look at him,’ Jani continues, ‘look at him standing there trying to psych us out.’
‘Pogo. Jesus fucking Christ.’
‘Please,’ says Jan Inge. ‘Not God and not His Son. You know I don’t like it when you’re profane.’
‘Sorry, it’s that foul mouth of mine. I’ll never get shut of it. You know as well as I do that if there’s one person who respects the Lord, it’s me.’ He shakes his head slightly. ‘Look at him. Standing there staring at us. That bloody beard and all. He was really young when he first got facial hair, did you know that?’
‘No?’
‘Oh yeah. Must have been in sixth class.’
‘That is young.’
‘Was a hard bastard, Pogo. None of us saw it coming.’
‘Jan Inge gives Rudi a quick glance, ‘The force?’
‘Rudi nods. ‘One day he’s laying into Ullandhaug-Remi with a nail-bat – you know Remi’s back was never the same? One day he’s laying into Remi with a nail-bat behind the greasy spoon, because he happened to glance in the direction of Elisabeth from Springarstien, and the next thing he’s applying for—’
Jan Inge nudges Rudi in the side. ‘He’s on the move.’
Rudi blinks rapidly. ‘Andwhatarewegoingtosaywearedoinghere? We’re screwed now, amigo.’
‘Not so fast,’ says Jani, irritably. ‘Smile.’
‘Hm?’
‘In the name of Saint Catherine of Siena – smile! And let me do the talking.’
‘Youcanbloodywellbetyourlifeonit. And I hope you have a good explanation as to why we’re here. Leadership – now.’
Rudi puts on his broadest smile, but he gets the feeling it’s no more convincing now than when people ask him to smile for a photograph. ‘Shit,’ he whispers as he watches Tommy Pogo approach. ‘He’s kept away for months – you’d almost think he’d been on paternity leave or quit the force, and then he shows up here.’
‘Shut it. Smile. And let me do the talking!’