Encircling 2

by Carl Frode Tiller

  But that you should be suffering from anxiety, that was hard for Erik to take because he didn’t have much time for scaredy-cats. He had nothing against girls and women being frightened occasionally, of course, Paula says—far from it, because as everyone knows the more frightened a woman is, the tougher she makes a man look. But boys and men? No. And the idea that his own grandson in particular could be fearful and anxious and hence incapable of being the boy and man that he wanted him to be, which is to say a carbon copy of himself, that he found hard to swallow.

  Erik’s response to this whole business was to become even harder on you and expect even more of you, especially when you were going through one of your silent spells. He didn’t give a damn about the advice the psychologist had given, nor did he pay much mind to Berit’s opinions or her admonitions to do this or that. Partly because he did not understand the difference between anxiety and fear he insisted that the only way to cure you was to expose you to situations that required a certain amount of courage. For one thing this would get you used to dealing with challenges and situations that you perceived as dangerous, and for another you would gradually discover that these situations were not in fact dangerous at all. He duly proceeded to put this theory into practice. For example, Paula says that when the barn had to be painted he asked you to climb up to the top of a fifty-foot ladder. It didn’t seem to occur to him that there actually was some danger attached to climbing fifty feet up a wobbly ladder and when you stopped halfway and refused to go any further, his face took on the look of somebody who’s just drunk sour milk. “Aw, don’t give me that,” he said. “You’re not a goddamn girl.” And once you were safely down again he shook his head and told you to “go on inside along wi’ the other women.”

  But you were suffering from selective mutism, not fear of heights, so obviously this strategy did not work. On the contrary. If I understand Paula correctly, Erik’s reaction and the fact that the other kids in the neighborhood were avoiding you and excluding you more and more from their games actually seemed to exacerbate your condition. You responded by acting as if this was a fight between you on the one side and them on the other; a contest of sorts in which you had no intention of surrendering, quite the opposite: the more they rejected you the more silent and robotic you became.

  And the worse you grew the more frustrated Berit became, and the more frustrated she became the more fiercely and bitterly she hated Johanna until—according to Paula—it had grown out of all proportion. She could hardly open her mouth without criticizing Johanna and she no longer cared who heard her either: acquaintances of Johanna’s, friends, relatives, it made no difference, she was an endless fount of invective and derision and she didn’t give a damn what those who heard her might think.

  But one day when Paula and Berit were sitting in the yard sampling that year’s currant wine, Berit suddenly broke down and said that it was all her fault. She was so moody and unpredictable and this confused you and made you feel anxious and unsure. This, she was certain, was the cause of your anxiety, not Johanna Mørck’s stupid stories.

  And according to Paula there may have been some truth in this, because your mother’s mood did tend to fluctuate drastically. One day she could be bright and cheerful and outgoing, talking nonstop and clowning around, full of fun, and the next—or no, it didn’t even have to be a day later, it might only be hours, or even minutes—you would suddenly notice something different about the way she moved, her actions would become somehow sharper and jerkier than usual. And something happened to her eyes, they grew darker and began to burn. At the same time she almost stopped speaking. Usually, according to what she told Paula one day when they were discussing this side of her character, she would find herself looking for reasons to get angry. Or rather, the anger was already there but she would look for things in the people around her on which to hang her anger, so to speak. She didn’t mean to, but she did. She watched everything going on around her like a hawk and the minute someone said or did something that she could criticize or get worked up about, she would pounce. And if someone apologized or admitted that they had done or said something wrong, she didn’t relent. Far from it, because the person concerned had thus acknowledged that she had reason to be angry and then she was liable to let fly at them in earnest. She could tear people to shreds, hurting and humiliating them in the worst possible way and knowing full well, even as she was doing it, that she was being totally unreasonable, or so she told Paula. She knew her response was out of all proportion to what her victim had said or done, but she couldn’t stop herself, no matter who the poor object of her wrath might be, she just couldn’t, not even if it was Paula, or Erik; not even, sadly, if it was you.

  There seems little doubt that this would have made you feel frightened and insecure. To be four or five or six years old and never quite know how your mother will react to whatever you say or do, to know that you might be subjected to a storm of abuse just for taking too long to get dressed or forgetting to flush the toilet or spilling a little food at dinner. It can’t be easy, that sort of thing could make anyone nervous and fearful. Unfortunately, however, women do have a woeful tendency to consider themselves more at fault than they actually are, or so Paula maintains. Indeed it sometimes seems as if women have an urge or a need to make atonement, not only for things that are their fault, but also for things of which they know full well they are blameless. In fact they may even be more eager to take the blame for and atone for the latter, as if a person convicted of a crime of which she is innocent were somehow a cut above the rest, and if you look at it that way there might well be a certain pleasure and satisfaction to be had from atoning and suffering even though one has done nothing wrong. It makes you feel like a better person.

  I’m not entirely sure that I’m interpreting Paula correctly here. She talked a great deal about this, and at some length, and I didn’t catch it all. At any rate, her main point seems to be that Berit shouldered more than her fair share of the blame for the problems you were having. Paula says that she talked a lot to Berit about this. Johanna Mørck had spent several hours a day with you so she must have had some effect on you, or so Paula tried to tell your mother. And there was always the possibility that you had quite simply been born this way, that it was in your genes, a matter of instincts and impulses within you for which no one, not Johanna or Berit nor anyone else, was to blame. Or that the cause lay somewhere else again, in something that neither Berit nor Paula knew anything about, that too was a possibility.

  But it was no use. Berit persisted in believing that it was all her fault, she was a bad mother, she said, she wasn’t good enough and she never would be. She had always told herself that her mood swings, the abrupt shifts in temper and sudden outbursts were simply the result of low blood sugar and that all she had to do was eat something and it would pass, but that wasn’t it at all, she told Paula. And it wasn’t that she was tired, as she also told herself sometimes, it wasn’t because she had too much to do and wasn’t getting enough sleep, nor because she had pressing problems or serious worries of one sort or another, not at all. Blaming such things was just a way of kidding oneself. No, this went much, much deeper, deeper than she was capable of seeing within herself.

  As I touched on briefly at the beginning of this letter, this very aspect of your mother’s character was one of the reasons that she and Paula were such close friends. Because even though it could be unpleasant to be in the same room as Berit when her mood darkened, it was this same darkness in her that had led Paula to suspect that here was a person who knew and understood more than the other women in the sewing circle. The gaping void your mother had inside her, that was what Paula saw in her eyes, and that was what made her feel comfortable with her, she says. What scared off other people and made them feel nervous and uncertain, made her feel comfortable because, since Berit had this gaping void inside her, Paula took it for granted that she would understand and be less critical of her own gaping void.

  Otterøy care home,
July 4th, 2006. Johnny’s filled out

  ODD KÅRE and Johnny sit down across the table from me. Odd Kåre runs a hand through his hair as he sits down, it’s rather greasy, I notice, it glistens slightly in the light from the ceiling lamp, I see, and he looks at me and smiles. “Well,” he says, “how’re things here then?” “Oh, you know,” I say, dragging it out a little and wagging my head. “All right, I suppose.” There’s a second’s pause and then Odd Kåre nods. He doesn’t say anything, he just looks at me, and I look at him and smile, but he’s not smiling now, his smile is gone, maybe he thinks I mean to complain when all I’ll say is that things are all right instead of saying that everything’s just grand, maybe he thinks I mean to complain, maybe he even thinks I’m getting at him, maybe that’s it, maybe he thinks I’m trying to make him feel guilty for hardly ever coming to see me. But he mustn’t think that, although I’m not saying I wouldn’t like to see him and my grandchildren more often, but I’m so happy when they do come that I’m hardly going to waste what time we have together complaining, I’m hardly going to do that. If I did that they’d come to see me even less often than they do now, so no, he mustn’t think I’m going to moan and complain.

  “No, no, I can’t complain,” I say. “We couldn’t be any better off than we are here,” I say and I look at him and smile, and he looks at me and nods. “That’s good to hear,” he says, smiling again. He sits back in his chair, props one elbow on the back of the chair. “Well, have you polished your dancing shoes, Ma?” he asks, eyeing me mischievously and nodding. “I saw on the noticeboard in the corridor that there’s an accordionist coming to play for you this evening,” he says, and he looks at me and smiles, and I shake my head and give a little laugh. “Oh, no, Odd Kåre, I think my dancing days are over,” I say. “Ah, that I don’t believe,” Odd Kåre says. “Once Harald Hansen picks up that accordion I bet your toes’ll start tapping,” he says. “Aye, well that’s as may be,” I say, “but even so, I doubt I’ll be doing any dancing,” I say. “Oh, and why not?” he says. “What, with this?” I say, patting my thigh. “It’d have to be a pretty slow waltz in that case,” I say with a little laugh. “Ah, well there you are then,” Odd Kåre says, nodding at me again. “First a slow waltz, then back to your room for a little party, eh?” he says, and he gives a little laugh and I shake my head and laugh at how silly he’s being. “Eh?” he says. “You and your gentleman friend from the room next door—right?” he says. “My gentleman friend?” I say. “Yeah, you know, Odd Aunet,” he says, and he looks at me and laughs and I look at him and shake my head. “Well, for one thing, he’s not my gentleman friend, and for another I don’t think there’s much go in him either these days,” I say. “No,” Odd Kåre says, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he had to stand on his head to get it up,” he says, and then he roars with laughter, turning to glance around the dayroom as he laughs, checking to see whether the other people in here heard what he said, but everyone else is sitting quietly minding their own business, it doesn’t look as if anyone heard, which is just as well if you ask me, that was a little too close to the bone for my taste.

  I look at Odd Kåre and Odd Kåre looks at me and laughs, and I can’t help but laugh as well, nobody else heard it so I laugh and shake my head at how silly he’s being. After a moment I turn to Johnny. And I look at Johnny and shake my head at him too, shake my head at what an idiot his dad is, and Johnny looks at me and smiles back. Oh my, he looks so like his father so he does, with the lovely plump cheeks he’s got now, seventeen and the spitting image of his father.

  “It’s so nice to see you, Johnny,” I say. I stretch out my hand and give Johnny’s knee a little pat, look at him and smile. “And how are you getting on?” I ask. “Great,” he says, smiling back at me. “Well, you’re looking very well, anyway,” I say. “And you’ve got such lovely plump cheeks,” I say. He just sits there for a second and then his face goes all funny, he looks so embarrassed, his cheeks turn slightly pink and he sort of looks away. What’s he doing that for? Surely not because I said his cheeks were a bit plumper, I mean there’s nothing wrong with that, he looks fitter and healthier now, he used to be so thin, he looked quite ill. I look at him and smile and it’s on the tip of my tongue to say this to him but I don’t, we’re not to say any more about this, I realize.

  I turn to look at Odd Kåre. But he’s sitting there grinning and looking at Johnny, taunting Johnny with his eyes. And after a moment Johnny turns to Odd Kåre and glowers at him. “What’s up with you?” Johnny asks. “What’s up with me?” Odd Kåre says, eyeing Johnny scornfully and grinning. “Not a thing,” he says. “Oh, so what’re you grinning at?” Johnny asks. “What? Is there a law against smiling now?” Odd Kåre says. “Asshole,” Johnny says and the next moment I hear the talk on the other side of the room die away. I shoot a glance at Sylvia and her family, they’re all looking at Odd Kåre and Johnny. And Therese, she’s looking at Odd Kåre and Johnny as well, and everything goes very quiet for a second and now I have to say something, I have to get Odd Kåre and Johnny to talk about something else, I can’t have them arguing and falling out, not in here, not with people sitting here listening.

  “Well, well—and how’s school, Johnny?” I ask him with a wary smile, but he doesn’t seem to hear me, he just sits there staring at the floor with a face like thunder, and I turn to Odd Kåre, but he’s still grinning and eyeing Johnny. “Your gran’s right, you know, you’ve fairly filled out since you stopped playing football,” he says, and everything goes quiet and I see how angry Johnny is, angry and red in the face. “Why don’t you just shut your gob?” Johnny says, raising his voice a little and I give a little start when he says it, I turn and look at the other people in the room, they’re still staring at us, and I feel my face getting hot, I look at them and give a faint little smile, trying somehow to make light of this by smiling, but they don’t smile back, just gaze stonily at me for a moment or two, then they turn away, exchanging meaningful glances. And my face is growing hotter and hotter. It’s not nice, showing this side of ourselves, that this is what people see when Odd Kåre, Johnny and I finally get together, it’s not pleasant, but I keep smiling, try to make light of it all by smiling.

  It’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop and I turn back to Odd Kåre and Johnny. Odd Kåre is glaring at Johnny and Johnny is staring at the table with a face like thunder. “Behave yourself!” Odd Kåre hisses at Johnny. “I was only kidding,” he says. “Surely you can take a fucking joke,” he mutters, then he stops, gives a snort of annoyance and runs a hand through his greasy hair. Then he turns to me again, gives a little shake of his head and smiles apologetically at me, and I smile faintly back at him, then I look at the table, and after a moment or two the talk on the other side of the room starts up again.

  And now Odd Kåre’s talking about the house. The house needs doing up, he tells me. The bathroom is riddled with damp and will have to be completely renovated. “Pa didn’t do a proper job last time he fixed it up,” he says, and he looks at me and I look at him and this sounds a bit odd to me. Johan didn’t do a proper job? Johan, who was so thorough and so particular about everything, no, I’m not sure I believe this, it’s probably just something Odd Kåre’s saying to get a dig in at his father, he never misses a chance to criticize him, so I take this with a pinch of salt.

  “You should never tamper with a bathroom yourself,” Odd Kåre goes on. “The bathroom’s the trickiest room in the house and it ought to be left to the professionals,” he says. “Oh, yes?” I say. “And we need to put in new windows upstairs, the old frames are absolutely rotten.” “Is that so?” I say. “Yeah,” he says. “They haven’t been painted in God knows how long,” he says. “The bathroom alone’s going to cost about a hundred thousand kroner. And the windows could easily come to another forty or fifty thousand,” he says, and he’s about to go on, but he doesn’t get the chance because just then the new assistant comes over to us.

  “Can I get you some coffee?” the new assista
nt asks. Odd Kåre sits back in his chair and looks at her. “Get us coffee? Well, that’s what I call service,” he says. “Is this something new they’ve started?” and he gives that big, loud laugh of his, and the new assistant smiles awkwardly at him, smiling just to be polite, I can tell by her face, but Odd Kåre doesn’t notice, he doesn’t notice things like that, Odd Kåre doesn’t. “Yeah, a cup of coffee would be great,” he says and the new assistant nods. “Would you like milk or cream in your coffee?” she asks. “You don’t have anything stronger to put in it, do you?” Odd Kåre asks and he gives another big, loud laugh, laughing with his mouth wide open. He props his elbow on the back of the chair and turns to the others in the dayroom, to check whether they caught that remark, I suppose, and the others in the dayroom did catch it, I can tell. They don’t laugh back though and they don’t smile either, they just sit there stony-faced. But Odd Kåre is still laughing his head off. He turns back to the new assistant and she gives another strained, awkward smile. “No, I’m afraid not,” she says. “Damn—oh well, never mind,” Odd Kåre says, and he laughs yet again and the new assistant gives that awkward smile of hers, then she turns and walks away and Odd Kåre follows her with his eyes, and I turn to Johnny and I look at him and smile. Poor Johnny, that must have been a bit embarrassing for him, getting all upset and losing his temper like that, and having people turning to stare at him, that must have been a bit embarrassing for him.