But by paying up to avoid being reported for an alleged rape Arvid was as good as admitting to having committed said rape, and since he was terrified that Berit would get to hear of it, and of how he’d been going around slavering over every unattached woman in Namsos, he wouldn’t allow me to set foot inside your house after we became friends. He told you and Berit it was because I was a thieving rascal who would make off with the silver first chance I got. But if that really was the reason then how the fuck was Bendik allowed in? Because everybody knew he was an even bigger rogue than me. But more about that later because, like I said, it would be some time yet before we became friends.
Namsos, July 4th, 2006. Grandpa don’t eat prawns
SITTING IN THE GARDEN at Ma’s and Grandpa’s. Me and Mona, Grandpa and Ma. Smoking and drinking beer. Ice-cold beer can in my hand. Green beer can beaded with glittering drops of condensation. Straight out of Ma’s cooler bag. I take a little sip and sit there gazing at the garden, running my eye over the long green grass, dandelions sticking up all over the place and Grandpa’s old Chrysler parked alongside the shed. It’s crazy, really, what a great car, and it’s just sitting there rusting away. I should really do it up. Some day when the mood takes me I should maybe suggest that to Grandpa, it would cost a fair bit and it’s a lot of work, but it would look fucking brilliant, I’m sure it would. Ah well, we’ll see. I rest the beer can on my stomach, shut my eyes and lay my head back. Feel the sun warm on my face. Burning my forehead.
“You got to hand it to them, though, them coloreds,” Grandpa says,
Carrying on with what he was saying. Talking about all the coloreds that have been coming to the town lately. I open my eyes and look at him. At his tanned, wrinkled face. Lean face. Shiny with sweat. He rearranges the hankie on his head, a white checked hankie that’s supposed to protect his scalp from the sun.
“They’ve got respect for their old folk,” he says.
“Yeah, that’s true,” I say.
“They don’t leave their parents to rot in an old folks’ home.”
“Nope,” I say.
Short pause.
“To think that’s what this society’s come to,” he goes on.
“Hmm,” I say.
“I’d never have had the conscience to pack my parents off to such a place when they were alive. They took care of me when I was young, and when they got old it went without fucking saying that I’d take care of them.”
I nod. Take another sip of my beer.
“Aye, that’s life for you,” Grandpa says.
“Would you stop your goddamned bellyaching,” Ma suddenly bursts out, narrowing her eyes and shaking her head. “I’ve got no plans to pack you off to the old folks’ home just yet, so you can relax,” she adds, running a hand through her blue-black hair. She sits back in her camping chair, shutting her eyes and looking exasperated, then she opens her eyes and snorts, shooting another glance at Grandpa.
It takes me a moment to catch on, but then I realize what she’s talking about. Because that rant of Grandpa’s was obviously aimed at Ma. He’s scared he’s going to wind up in the old folks’ home and he’s trying to tell her that he wants, and expects, her to carry on looking after him. That’s why he’s going on like this. He sits there gawking at Ma, trying to look baffled. His nearly toothless mouth hanging open. Like a little black hole in his lean face.
“What the fuck are you jabbering about,” he says.
He stops. Turns to me, looks at Mona. Flings out a hand and gives us a look, as if to say, “Did you ever hear anything like it?” I look at him and give a little shrug. Look at Mona. She’s feeling a bit uncomfortable. I can tell by her face. She avoids my eye, pretends to be interested in something under the table, like she’s trying to flick off an insect or something. She doesn’t like it when they fight.
“Aw, don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” Ma says, waving her hand at Grandpa, and I see the flab on her upper arm wobble, bingo wings flapping from side to side.
Grandpa stares at her. The baffled look seems to fade from his face. He looks angry now, offended.
“And don’t you sit there harping on about what you’ve got or haven’t got the conscience for either,” Ma goes on, looking straight at Grandpa. “You weren’t the fuckin’ one that wore yourself out tending to your own parents at the end, were you? Oh, no, because you left that job to my ma,” she says. “You had the conscience to do that, all right.”
Silence.
No sound except the low drone of a lawnmower a few yards away.
“Somebody had to work and bring in some money,” Grandpa mutters.
I see Ma’s mouth drop open as he says it. Then she turns to me, looks at me like she can’t believe her ears. A look of astonishment. Then amusement. I eye her, just for a second, and then I burst out laughing. I can’t help it. One thing Grandpa could never be accused of is hard work. I don’t think he’s ever had a proper job in his life, so he laid himself wide open there. It looks like he’s realized that himself now. And he starts to chuckle too. Laughs his creaky laugh as he picks up his beer can, takes a swig.
Laughter for a few seconds.
Then Mona dares to raise her eyes again. She doesn’t look uncomfortable anymore, not now that we’re all laughing. She smiles and looks almost happy. Relieved.
“What are you laughing at?”
Mom looks at her, nods at Grandpa.
“Him. He wouldn’t have dragged himself out of his fuckin’ easy chair if the goddamned house’d been on fire,” she says. “So it’s a bit rich him making himself out to be this great old worker.”
And we crack up again. Nice one, Ma, and we roar with laughter.
“I don’t know—what I’ve got to fuckin’ put up with,” Grandpa sighs.
But he laughs as well. He likes these stories about himself and he chuckles as he lifts his beer again. He takes another swig then rests the can on his pot belly. I study him as I sit there: funny-looking body he has, when you think about it, with his stick-thin arms and legs and a stomach like a football.
Couple of seconds.
Then a voice shouts: “Excuse me.”
The laughter kind of peters out. I look behind me and there’s Ma’s and Grandpa’s neighbor. Over by the trash bins, looking at us.
“Can I have a word with you?” he says, nodding at Ma.
“Talk away,” Ma says.
“If you could maybe come over here for a moment.”
“I can hear you perfectly well from here,” Ma says.
Silence for a second, then:
“You can’t keep dumping so much in the bins that the lids won’t shut,” he says. He motions with his head towards the bins without taking his eyes off Mom.
“Yeah, I can, as you can fuckin’ well see.”
The neighbor looks at the grass. Shuts his eyes and sighs. Opens his eyes again.
“The crows are pecking holes in the bags,” he says. “And they’re dragging the trash into my garden.”
“Ah, so they must know where it belongs, then,” Ma says.
And then she turns to us, laughs that rough smoker’s laugh of hers. A hoarse cackle. Sidelong glance turning her eyes into two black slits in her plump face. I look across at the neighbor and grin. And Grandpa’s laughing creakily on the other side of the table. The neighbor doesn’t say anything, he eyes us for a moment or two then he just shakes his head and walks away. As if to say there’s no point in talking to us right now. As if to say how hopeless we are.
“Fuckin’ clown,” Ma says. Says it loud enough for the neighbour to hear. Sits and stares at him for a couple of seconds and then she turns to us. “Maybe he should have thought about it before he blocked our view with that eyesore of a garage of his,” she says.
“Nine hundred thousand kroner that garage cost,” Grandpa says. “Remote controlled door and Christ knows what all.”
“Oh aye, nothin’ but the best,” Ma says. “But he got the babysitter pregnant, so
life’s not all roses over there either, I don’t think.”
She looks at me and grins. And I grin back. Look across at Mona as I raise my beer can to my lips and swallow the last drops. She tucks her fine, fair hair behind her ear and gives me a faint smile. Feeling uncomfortable again. She doesn’t like it when there’s fighting and arguing. Never has done. And anyway, she understands why the neighbor is pissed off about the bins. She feels obliged to take Ma’s side, but she probably feels some sympathy for the guy. That’s maybe why she’s smiling that faint smile of hers. She’s trying to grin and be like us, but she can’t quite manage it.
I set the empty can on the table, flip open the lid of the cooler bag and take out another beer.
“Well, well, look who it is!” Ma cries suddenly.
I look up as I flip the lid closed again. It’s Jørgen and Sara. Jørgen raises a hand in silent greeting. Sara eyes us, smiling a little uncertainly, she probably feels a bit daunted, seeing all Jørgen’s family gathered together like this. She doesn’t really look straight at us either. A bit shy.
“Are you still wearin’ that hat?” Grandpa says. “It’s thirty degrees out here.”
Jørgen just grins, says nothing.
“Ach, that’s just the style wi’ the kids now,” Ma says.
Grandpa shakes his head sadly. Tips his head back, takes a swig from his beer can and sets it back on his potbelly.
“What on earth have you done to yourself, Jørgen?” Mona asks suddenly.
And only now do I notice that he’s got a shiner, one brow purple and swollen and the eye half-closed. It’s a wonder he can see out of it at all.
“Fell off my skateboard,” he says.
He plants his hands on the arms of the one free camping chair and eases himself down into it, looks at us and smirks as he pulls his snus tin out of his jeans pocket, a smirk designed to let us know that he didn’t take a tumble on his skateboard at all. He’s just saying that, and now he wants us to ask how he really got his black eye. I look at him and grin.
“Yeah, right, and the band played believe it if you like,” I say.
I say what he wants me to say. Give him the chance to tell us what’s he’s dying to tell us. Because I know something’s happened that he’s proud of. That much I get.
Jørgen grins, waggles his head as he slips a snus sachet under his lip.
“Well, come on, tell us,” I say.
“There’s not much to tell,” Jørgen says, putting the lid on the snus tin and slipping it back into his pocket. “I just got into a bit of a discussion with a guy in a taxi line last night.”
“And he won the discussion, I see,” Ma says, nodding at Jørgen’s black eye.
“Ahhh,” Jørgen says, “Well, maybe you should see the other guy before you say that.”
I give a little laugh. And Jørgen looks at me and smiles, tobacco sachet glistening at me. It’s like I thought. He looks proud. Proud and happy. Ma gives a little laugh as well.
“Too right,” she says.
She exhales through her nose as she leans over the camping table. Drops her cigarette butt into my empty beer can. I hear the quick hiss as the glowing tip hits the dregs at the bottom.
“But don’t you go getting into any trouble, Jørgen,” Grandpa says sternly. “No shenanigans.”
I turn to him. And Ma turns to him. We both stare at him in amazement. He’s a fine one to go playing the man of peace, and I don’t think. There’s damn fucking few that’ve been in as much trouble over the years as he has. He looks at me, then at Ma. And then he bursts out laughing. It was just a joke and he gives that dry, creaky laugh of his. Acting all holier-than-thou again, like he did a minute ago. He tricked us again, the old rogue. And me and Ma and Jørgen, we laugh as well. And Mona laughs. I don’t think she has any idea what Grandpa was like in his younger days, but I think she realizes that we’re laughing for much the same reason as when Grandpa was making himself out be to this great old worker, so she laughs along with us. She even gives her head a little shake, as if the idea of Grandpa playing the man of peace is just too ridiculous for words. It’s a way of trying to seem like one of the family. I realize that. I look at her and smile. I like the fact that she’s making an effort to be one of us, part of the family. It makes me happy.
“Jørgen, for fuck’s sake,” Ma suddenly cries. “What are you doing—taking the last free chair and letting your girlfriend stand!”
“Yeah, well … I was here first,” Jørgen says, flinging out his arms, acting all innocent.
“Heh-heh,” I laugh, tipping my head back. “A fine fuckin’ gentleman you are.”
I eye him for a second, then I turn to Sara. Smile and shake my head, looking like I despair of him and sympathize with her. I always do this, it’s a way of showing her that I like her and approve of her, that I like her so much I’ll side with her rather than with my own son, or something like that.
“Is he always like this?” I say.
“Yes, actually,” she says softly, smiling.
“Oy!” Jørgen cries, looking up at her like he’s offended.
“Aw, come on, Jørgen,” Ma says. “Give the girl the chair and get yourself another one out of the shed. You’ll never get anywhere if you treat the ladies like that, you know.”
“Christ—nag, nag, nag,” Jørgen sighs, grinning as he gets up.
Ma glances across at Sara, nods to her.
“Aha, that got him moving” she says. “As soon as he thinks he might not get into your pants. Christ all-fucking-mighty, typical man, eh?”
She lets out a hoarse cackle, looks at Sara. The girl doesn’t say anything, just tries to give a little laugh but it doesn’t quite work, comes out as a strained giggle. It embarrasses her a bit when Ma talks like this. I’ve noticed it before, and it shows now too. She’s probably not used to grown-ups talking to her like this, she’s only fifteen so it’s maybe not so surprising, she’s just a girl.
“Yeah, like father, like son,” Mona says.
She looks at Ma and laughs. Shoots a cheeky glance at me then looks at Ma again. And Ma laughs back.
“Yeah, do most of their thinking with that other head, both of them,” she says. “Isn’t that right, Sara?”
Sara doesn’t say anything. She smiles faintly, doesn’t quite know where to look. Going a bit pink now, too. I look at her and smile. Maybe I should change the subject before Ma follows this up with more sex talk. She’s sitting there squirming, poor thing.
“Want a beer, Sara?” I say, looking across at her as I bend down, flip up the lid of the cool bag and take out a can.
“No thanks,” Sara says.
“You don’t want a beer?” Ma says. “Christ, you’ve got yourself a sensible girl there, Jørgen,” she goes on, turning to Jørgen as he comes back carrying another camping chair. He doesn’t answer right away, he’s tripped over some bit of trash that’s lying hidden in the long grass. He stumbles forward a couple of steps but manages to stay on his feet, curses under his breath as he looks back to see what it was, then turns around again and carries on over to us.
“Yeah, well, I don’t know if she’s as sensible as all that,” he says. He puts down the chair, looks at Sara and gives a sly grin. A grin that hints at something that Sara has done, a grin that’s meant to let us know there’s more to Sara than meets the eye, that she’s not as innocent as she seems or as we might think. And Sara plays along. Smiling, giving him a kind of stern look, like she’s warning him not to say any more.
“What? What’re you looking at me like that for?” Jørgen cries, raising his eyebrows and acting flabbergasted as he sets the chair down. “I’ve never said a word about how you’ve been feeding the fish for three days in a row,” he says, and then he claps a hand to his mouth and goggles his eyes, acting as if it just slipped out. “Oops,” he says, laughing.
“Shut up, you,” Sara says, making a show of being annoyed and giving Jørgen a dig with her elbow, but she likes him talking about her like this, I ca
n tell. She’s sitting there smiling. And the rest of us chuckle. It wasn’t all that funny, but we chuckle anyway, because Jørgen and Sara are inviting us to. This is something they’re doing to make Sara seem more like one of us, I realize that. They’re trying to show us that Sara’s a grown-up too, that she’s not a kid; that that’s not why she refused a beer when I offered her one, and it’s not because, doctor’s daughter that she is, she thinks we’re too common for her to drink beer with either, it’s purely because she’s been drunk three days in a row.
“Yeah, well the fish need to eat too, you know,” I say, and I look at Jørgen and smile. And he smiles back. Christ he’s got so big lately, Jørgen. I don’t quite know what it is about him, but he seems to have become so grown-up in such a short time. Maybe it’s his voice, the fact that his voice has got deeper. Or his eyebrows maybe, they’ve got darker and thicker. His hair is as fair as it’s always been, but his eyebrows are almost black now and that makes him look a bit more grown-up somehow.
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