When I came out into the playground, the whole class was standing there waiting at the tramlines. I turned on my heel and hurried over toward the other exit. And there was Mom standing there. As if things weren’t bad enough, Mom was standing there waving. I could hear the laughter already around every corner in town, along every street, over fences and doorways. I could hear the laughter in the gutters, the drains and the sewers. I went right past her. She came after me. “Hi, Barnum, its me!” Did I not know? Would the rest of the school not soon know that Barnum’s mom was waiting for Barnum and that Barnum was wearing her panties? Mom laughed. “We’re going to buy new shoes for you,” she said, and put her hand on my shoulder as we scuffed through the leaves at the back of the church. I crumpled. “Do we have to?” I whispered. “Of course we have to. You’re not planning on standing on the girls’ toes, are you?” Mom laughed again and was obviously in a good mood. And that was probably because Dad was standing at the Valkyrie waiting for us. He was wearing a long, light brown overcoat that he could just button at the middle. “Feel,” he said. I put my hand on his arm. “Further up,” he whispered. I moved my hand to his elbow. “Further in,” he whispered. I moved my fingers over to his elbow. “Further in,” he whispered. I moved my fingers over toward the top button, but couldn’t reach any further. “A bit down,” he whispered. I did as he told me and then I felt it bulging; the inner pocket bulged and Dad grinned. “Camel hair,” he said, and produced his fat wallet. “And now we’re going to buy dancing pumps!” And off we went, me in the middle, like a real family, to the Valkyrie shoe store. And I’ll be brief, as brief as I can. Buying shoes for me, not just any old shoes but shoes for dancing, wasn’t easy. The thing is that I was born feet first. They had to go inside Mom with great forceps and press my arms to my sides so my head would have sufficient room and not get caught in the umbilical cord. Hence my pes valgus. I might have ended up with pes varus and ought to be grateful as a consequence, but pes valgus is no laughing matter either. The soles of our feet are molded to each and every piece of ground we walk on. That’s why we can be heard when we walk. We can’t escape our feet. Dad led the way into the Valkyrie shoe store. “Shoes for this gentleman!” he shouted, so everyone in the store heard him. The assistant was there in an instant and had eyes only for Dad’s fat wallet, while I had to sit on a chair and take off my old shoes. Mom held her hand under her nose and kept shaking her head. My stocks were crumpled around my toes and the sweat steamed off them in a thick cloud. But Dad just laughed and slipped the assistant five kroner as an advance. I had to try on nineteen pairs of shoes. I had to walk nineteen times past a mirror standing at an angle on the floor. I had to take nineteen dance steps. But it was all to no avail. The shoes were either too tight, too big, too small or too wide. I thought of Andre who had fifty pounds of shoe polish in the balloon that came down just the same. Soon enough, everyone in the Valkyrie shoe store, both customers and employees, were caught up in my feet. Yes, there were even people outside watching flat-footed Barnum through the window — his feet were the focal point of the district. The assistant was sweating and breathing deeply. Dad slipped him another five kroner. Then he introduced himself, giving his full name and said: “It’s not the foot that has to fit the shoe. It’s the shoe that has to fit the foot. Here’s to the awkward foot!” Then we had to go with him to the storeroom behind the store. There were shoes stacked to the ceiling there. I’d never seen so many shoes. Regardless of how far you were to walk, you couldn’t have worn out all those pairs of shoes in one lifetime. The assistant climbed a ladder and came down with a pair of black shoes that he proceeded to put on my feet with the greatest ceremony and he didn’t even need to use a shoehorn — they slipped on like soft, spacious gloves. “This pair belonged to Oscar Mathisen,” he whispered. “He wore them at the banquet after becoming world champion in 1916. But cheap they most certainly aren’t.” Mom glanced at Dad. Dad glanced at me. “Do they fit you all right?” he asked. “Like a glove,” I told him. Dad smiled and went off with the assistant to a corner, where they agreed on a price, and when finally we stood outside the Valkyrie shoe store, in the rain that had stopped and that swam now in the tramlines, with Oscar Mathisen’s own shoes in a box and me thinking the worst was over apart from dancing school itself (and that was to be my crowning glory), Dad waved his arm in the air and shouted. “And now to Plesner’s!” We took a taxi there. I got to sit in the front, and while I sat there and heard Dad whispering to Mom, and heard too, the laughter that reverberated through him in waves when he was in that kind of mood, I fell to thinking of Tale. And I felt utterly hollow inside, and this emptiness, this inner hollowness, slowly but surely filled me with more and more worry. And sure enough, the same woman stood behind the counter at Plesner’s, and when she saw me she took hold of my hand. “And how is your brother?” she inquired. “Absolutely fine,” I told her quickly. “I’m so glad to hear it!” She straightened up and took hold of Mom’s hand instead. “What a nice boy,” she said. And I realized that sooner or later lies come back for you — both lies and dreams come back and meet you at the door disguised as care, comfort and truth — for the world isn’t big enough to hide a lie in. Lies go on stilts. Dreams go raging in sleep. Mom looked at me oddly. I looked oddly at Dad, and fortunately he’d already found the most expensive insoles (handmade, cut and polished, like gemstones for the feet), and we could go home. We took a taxi this time too, and I sat in the front as before. “Are you hungry?” Dad said. “No,” I answered. “Are you full then?” “No, I’m not full either.” He unbuttoned his coat. “Good,” he said. “Your weight should be perfectly balanced when you dance. Have I told you about Halvorsen from Halden?” “Yes. Der Rote Teufel.” “Precisely. He wasn’t perfectly balanced and fell and smashed himself to bits.” “Now you’re just scaring Barnum,” Mom told him. Dad only laughed. “Am I scaring you, Barnum?” “No,” I replied. Dad leaned forward between the front seats and all but distracted the driver’s attention. “Dancing’s like being on the trapeze, Barnum. You’re throwing yourself from embrace to embrace. And it’s not about falling down among beautiful ladies and breaking your neck.” Mom gave a sigh and Dad leaned back and put his arms around her. “Today you’re beginning at the second most important school in life,” he said. “What’s the most important one?” I asked. “That’s the school of life, Barnum. And ordinary schools come third. Struggle, dancing and math. That’s the right order for us humans.”
I got to shower till there was no more hot water, put the panties back in the closet, smeared deodorant over half my body, and when I stood in front of the hall mirror in Fred’s old pants and blazer, and Oscar Mathisen’s shoes (and really it was quite awesome that a world champion skater had worn such tiny shoes), Mom came and stood behind me and began combing my hair, slowly and almost lazily. We looked at each other in the mirror. I heard Dad, who was sleeping on the divan in the dining room, snoring like a wheel. Boletta had gone to the North Pole and drank to my health there with dark ale, and Fred was out wandering among the streetlights. Mom smiled in that worried way of hers. “You look good, Barnum.” “Do I?” “As fine as you could be.” “Yes, as fine as could be,” I repeated, and it struck me that it was a lonely-sounding sentence — as fine as could be. I couldn’t be any finer — I’d reached my full height and that was lower than most others. Mom popped the comb in my pocket and leaned close to my ear. “What did you say about Fred at Plesner’s, Barnum?” “Nothing.” “Yes, you did. The lady asked how he was.” I pondered. I thought about Fred’s command, that I convert, that I become a different person. I lied, but it could have been the truth. “I just said that he was born in a damn taxi. But that it’s nothing to go and feel sorry about.” Mom let go of me. Fred would have liked that. I’d soon be in fine form again. “What are you saying?” Mom whispered. “That he was baptized by a taxi driver. Don’t you think I know that? And that that’s why he’s so thick in the head.” Mom hit me, with the flat of her hand she slapped
my cheek, and just as quickly she stroked her fingers carefully along the edge of my collar. It was as though the two actions were one and the same — the blow and the sign of endearment, the latter a continuation of the former. And I saw that the clock behind her had stopped, for it was a long time since anyone had put money in the drawer and the hands hung at five-thirty, like two thin, dead wings. Dad got up slowly from the dining room divan; the fat poked out between his shirt buttons, and he only barely managed to sit, for his stomach was in the way whichever way he turned. He raised his arm and waved as if he were going on board ship in the Bergen Fjord to peel potatoes the whole way to America and would be gone there for good. If it had only been that way. “Good luck, Barnum,” he said. “Say hi to the girls from me.” No, damn it to hell, you fat ass, I shouted soundlessly. Then Mom kissed me on the cheek she had just slapped and sent me off. And as I was going down Church Road, I wondered just how slowly you could actually walk before stopping completely. When starlight that gave out about eight million years ago still hadn’t reached us, then surely I could take a few weeks to get to dancing classes. I thought I saw Fred in the shadows of the church steps, a glow between his lips and the shining darkness in his eyes. I stopped and raised my hand (didn’t know if he could see me or not), but perhaps he just sat there smiling, because it wasn’t impossible he’d already heard the rumors about all the things I’d done in the course of that day in my converted state. I’d even irritated God. I was so encouraged by this thinking that I actually ran so as not to arrive too late to be thrown out of dancing school. But as I was going to cross Riddevold Square, I was suddenly dragged into the bushes behind Welhaven and pressed down into the leaves — above me stood Preben, Aslak and Hamster. “Just wanted to see what you’ve got on under your pants, gnat!” I hit out in every direction, but to no avail. They just laughed all the more. “Shame your brother isn’t here now, eh?” “Not going to give your brother a shout, are you? Or has someone shut him up?” They pulled off Freds pants. They were disappointed all right. There were no frilly panties, just white briefs. “Been home to change your fanny pants, have you?” Hamster inquired. “I dunno what you’re talking about,” I said. They began to kick me a bit, but without any real enthusiasm, just a few taps in the tummy. And this was really the best thing that could have happened, because now I could say that everyone who thought I wore panties had been seeing things, bewitched by the Leech, the substitute teacher. Perhaps they’d beat me sufficiently senseless that I’d have to go to the doctor instead, unable to dance for the foreseeable future. “Many thanks, fanny faces,” I told them, and buttoned up my pants. Preben, Aslak and Hamster glanced at each other, shook their heads, buried me in leaves and disappeared over in the direction of Urra Park. I lay there thinking a while. The world was a strange place. One thing brought the next with it, but none of the events was connected. Explain the difference between a voluntary muscle and an involuntary muscle. Voluntary muscles: those connected to bones. Involuntary muscles: those that function beyond our control. So the heart had to be an involuntary muscle, while the hands and feet were voluntary, although they could do unplanned things too. I got up from my damp grave, emptied my pockets of leaves and creepy-crawlies, and went straight to Svae’s dancing school. The air in the elevator was so heavy with perfume and hair oil that it barely managed to rise from one floor to the next. I stood with my back to the mirror and held my breath. In the changing room there were duffel coats hanging left and right. Someone had even brought galoshes. I could hear a dry voice in another room but couldn’t make out the words. I changed and sneaked in. But no one can sneak in unobserved on the first evening of dancing school. Svae was standing beside a table with a gramophone on it, and stopped talking the moment she set eyes on me, and that was at once. It wasn’t a violin she looked like, but a flagpole with a black cloth around it. The boys were sitting on hard chairs along one wall like prisoners going to the gallows, and the girls sat along the other wall — lonely, made-up faces, like oil paintings reflected in the mirror behind them. And none of them looked at each other because everyone was looking at me. “Well, then,” Svae said. “Finally we have the tail-end Charlie. And what is your name?” There wasn’t one familiar face to be seen. I bowed. “Nilsen,” I said loudly. And a ripple of laughter spread from chair to chair but stopped just as quickly the moment Svae raised her arm. “Sit down,” she commanded. “And let that be the last time you come late, Nilsen.” I almost began to like her. She hadn’t asked what my Christian name was. She called me Nilsen. “Will do, Svae,” I said, and sat down on the unoccupied chair nearest the exit. Svae took a deep breath and stood at the center of the floor in our midst. It was clear that she was going to talk to us, and she was welcome to do so as long as she pleased. “In cultured society,” she began, “dance is an expression of celebration, an atmosphere of joyful-ness. It is a form of social interaction — one that youth in particular gathers to perform. Dance enlightens the soul, strengthens the body and gives the dancer good balance, magnificent posture and strong mastery of the limbs.” Svae slowly passed the girls as the boys sat with slumped heads; no one dared look up, because anyone who started laughing now would be history, that was crystal clear. I wondered if I should laugh out loud and get it over and done with once and for all, but before I got that far Svae spun around abruptly, her finger in the air like a bent hook from which she could hang our corpses, as if she’d already heard the laughter before it left its owner’s mouth. She spoke extremely loudly. “But in dancing’s alluring essence there also lie perils! Therefore you are to remember the following: a ball begins with tranquil forms of dance, and in the same way finishes with them. Always allow an hour to pass after the consumption of food before commencing to dance. In the wake of an exerting dance, one ought to walk about a little until the heart has calmed and the skin is restored to its normal state. And if one is warm after dancing, one should not stand by an open window or expose oneself otherwise to draft, but rather cover the shoulders, especially if the garment one is wearing is low-cut.” Now she turned to face the girls once more and measured up their dresses. Some tried to conceal their exposed shoulders, suddenly thin and transparent like small, sharp wings. I would never have believed that dancing was associated with such great dangers. Boletta had said nothing about all this. But Svae wasn’t done yet. “It’s best to wear dresses of a light material that are not too tight-fitting at the neck, but neither is it without risk — I repeat without risk — to wear dresses cut low to the degree that is now, sadly, all too common.” Svae said nothing for a few seconds and let the words sink in. They did sink in; the girls were shaking, and she took up position in the middle of the parquet floor. “Let me also say, and stress most particularly, that the longer one continues dancing into the night, the more the pleasure of it diminishes. There comes a point, a critical point, beyond which dance becomes its absolute opposite and may expose one to injury.” Most were on the verge of a nervous breakdown now. Svae clapped her hands. It was like two stone tablets being brought together. “But you know all this from before! Now the boys may, in an orderly and dignified fashion, find themselves partners and we can begin with simple positions and holds. Proceed!” Now battle was to commence. This was the moment of truth, and in that dreadful moment there was utter stillness. The girls stared at the floor; the boys sat on the edges of their seats, frozen solid in angst and sweat, in the sudden cold of dreams. The world waited. I gathered all my thoughts, all my strength, for the final, decisive, converted action. And then the boys got up and stormed over the floor. Some had picked out the same girls, and those ones — the prettiest and the finest — delighted in every second of the battle. They smiled when there were attempts at scuffling in front of their chairs, but Svae intervened mercilessly before it got too serious. There were more girls than boys, and those who were left sitting lonely and abandoned — the less attractive ones, the ugly, the fat, the chubby and the thick ones — they bowed their heads all the more, in shame and despa
ir, and pulled their dresses tighter around them. As if that could help — but no, nothing could help them now — they were open sores, they were dead wallflowers, the first to fall in the dancing schools bloody battle. And I recognized it all.
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