After that Berit was quite simply banned from the sewing circle and the other women would have nothing to do with her, so Paula says. Although it wasn’t something they discussed, one sewing circle meeting after another was ostensibly canceled and they started getting together without inviting Berit. Pauls feels a bit bad talking about this, she says. Well, she was Berit’s best friend and she didn’t like going behind her back, but she enjoyed the evenings with her other women friends so much that she couldn’t bring herself to refuse. “But at least I did try to stand up for Berit when I was there and get them to see it from her side,” she told me, as if trying to excuse herself. Not that it did any good. Berit was and remained persona non grata, and it’s no secret that she was the subject of a lot of talk and much malicious gossip back then. She was pretty much a regular topic of conversation at sewing circle meetings, Paula says, to the point where they had what they called “the Berit story of the day.”
Naturally the gossip spread to everyone else on Otterøya. And people lapped up what they heard, then revised it and added a little bit here and there depending on who they happened to be speaking to and what impression they wanted to make, until it got to the stage where your mother was, by all accounts, the most despicable creature on God’s earth. And it has to be said that Johanna Mørck played no small part in all of this. Johanna bore a grudge against Berit for firing her from her job as babysitter, so now she made full use of her storytelling skills to blacken your mother’s name. There was no end, it seemed, to what she had seen, heard and had to put up with while she was minding you, each thing worse than the one before, but worst of all, according to Johanna herself, was the story of your father’s identity. Oh yes, she said, she had heard it from Berit herself so she knew it was true.
When she told this story she always started by piquing the curiosity of her audience. This I know because she also told it to me. “No, no, I can’t say, I really can’t,” she muttered, closing her eyes, shaking her head and trying to look as if it were simply too painful for her to reveal what she knew. But then, when I started to press her, insisting that if she started then she had to finish, she made a show of giving in, as if to say that whatever came out now it would be as much on my head as on hers. She began by telling me how everyone knew that when it came to money and property your mother would trample over anybody to get what she wanted. And then—after keeping me in suspense with a long digression on how she was never paid for minding you, she got her meals and that was that—at long last she revealed what she claimed to know for a fact, but which Paula says is absolute garbage, namely, that your father was none other than Albert from up the hill, Erik’s brother and Berit’s own uncle. Berit had quite simply sold her body to her own uncle for two thousand kroner, Johanna said, and it had come as a shock to them both when she became pregnant with you. It was a dreadful thing, but it was true enough. Well, why else did I think it was so frightfully important for Berit to keep your father’s identity a secret? Had it been anyone else she would certainly have told you, she said.
How many people actually believed this rumor I don’t know, probably not many, because Johanna changed the story and made it a little bit more dramatic every time she told it, which didn’t exactly do much for her credibility. But no matter how untrue it was, those were terrible times for Berit, and for you too of course. Not only did you get called a bastard, it was also suggested that your mutism was a result of inbreeding. “Ah, now it’s all starting to make sense,” people said. “Now I understand why that boy’s a bit touched and thinks he’s a robot.”
Obviously the grown-ups on the island didn’t say such things when you were within earshot, but everything that was said around the dinner and coffee tables of Otterøya was picked up by the children and teenagers and they weren’t necessarily as considerate. One of the biggest sinners in this respect was Grim Albrigtsen, a half-grown lout who was always eager to repair his battered self-esteem by hurting and doing down other people. According to Paula, many’s the time you came home in a terrible state because Grim had sneered at you and called you a freak or told you you were lucky you hadn’t been born with one eye and twelve fingers or something like that. On one occasion he sneaked into the announcer’s box at the football pitch on Otterøya and announced over the loudspeaker that David was asked to go immediately to the car park where “his father, Albert, is waiting for him.” You ran home in tears and it was several days before your mother could persuade you to leave the house again.
Deep down you knew, of course, that Berit could not help what went on, or so Paula says, but since everything you had to put up with could be traced back to her, so to speak, she was the one who had to bear the main brunt of your tremendous and ever-growing anger. It was painful to watch, Paula said. To see and hear you snarling and roaring and saying the most awful things to your own mother, repeating the rumor put out by Johanna Mørck and accusing her of the same thing. Oh yes, because that’s what you did. You knew it was only a rumor, a piece of malicious gossip, but you were so distraught and so furious that you did it anyway, you accused your mother of having slept with her own uncle; you lashed out at her, screaming at her to admit it. “Albert’s my father,” you yelled at her, “he is, I know he is.” Perhaps you did this in the hope that your mother would break down and tell you who your real father was, thus putting an end to the awful way the two of you were treated. It’s hard to say, but it was certainly painful to watch.
And it was worse for you, Paula says. Berit could put two and two together, she understood why you were reacting as you did, so she didn’t let it get to her and she never blamed you. You, on the other hand, were wracked by guilt afterwards, Paula says. Indeed, the way she sees it, this feeling of guilt led you to enter into what was to be your longest bout of silence so far. You went for almost a whole month without saying a single word. According to Paula it was as if you did this because you were scared that you would lash out at your mother again. So the psychologist was right, she says, your mutism was a kind of anxiety disorder.
And then, as if things weren’t bad enough already, Berit tried to kill herself. Whether it was all the rumors and muckraking and being ostracized by her women friends that drove her to it is hard to say, but it was probably a combination of a lot of things. Like her unpredictable moods, for example. She was never diagnosed as suffering from any particular condition, but her mood swings became worse and worse around that time, and there were those, including Paula, who began to wonder whether she might be manic depressive—that is, after all, an illness that has driven many individuals to commit suicide. And that she had left Steinar some time before the worst rumors began to circulate and had, therefore, one less person to help her through that dreadful time, obviously did not help matters.
Here is what Paula wrote in her diary about this incident:
Otterøya, January 11th, 1982
A week ago Berit tried to kill herself. Erik had given me a lift home from the Co-op. We were just driving into their yard when we caught sight of Berit out on the ice. As soon as we saw her we knew what she was doing and we both started to run. If she hadn’t slipped and fallen as she tried to get away from us, she would have managed it too, because the ice just ahead of her was paper-thin. She came back with us without protest. She said not a word on the walk home, she didn’t cry either. The first thing she did when she got to the house was to go to the bathroom, brush her teeth and gargle with mouthwash. As if it was just any ordinary evening. Oddly enough, that was what really struck me about it, that she did exactly the same as she did every other night in the year. Somehow this seems like proof that she really meant to do it. It wasn’t just a cry for help. If it had been, she would most probably have taken this opportunity to talk about what was troubling her, she would have wanted to be soothed and comforted, she would have wanted sympathy. But only someone who wants to go on living needs all that. A person who has made up their mind to die as soon as they have the chance doesn’t need to waste time an
d energy on talking about what’s troubling them. All the pain and the problems will soon be gone anyway, death will see to that, so the person who’s about to die can just relax while they’re waiting.
But Berit won’t be allowed to die. I won’t give up on her. I’ve been staying at her house for a week now and I’m not leaving until I’m sure it’s safe to do so. I don’t trust the psychologists. I know she’s serious about it and I think it’s crazy that they won’t admit her to hospital. Luckily Erik agrees with me. We take it in turns to keep an eye on her. We never leave her alone and we’ve removed all the keys from the inside doors so she can’t lock herself in any of the rooms. We’ve also hidden her sleeping pills. And the razor blades from the bathroom, of course. And the biggest, sharpest kitchen knives.
She’s not happy about this, obviously. Sometimes she pretends to be sweeter and nicer and more docile. Probably so we’ll think the danger is over and stop keeping an eye on her. Other times she tries to make us give up by being mean and nasty. Yesterday she laughed in my face and told me I was only trying to compensate for not being able to save my own family. That being here for her and David was my way of redeeming myself. It hurt to hear her say that, but I can take it. I won’t give up on her. And I won’t give up on David either. He must be feeling so bad right now. The worst of it is that she left a note, and it was him who found it. He refuses to talk about it, but he must have been terrified, poor little soul. And he’s still terrified. He’s trying to block it out. He does his best to talk and act as if nothing has changed, but it’s no use. It’s almost painful to watch him playing with his friends. He tries too hard, throwing himself into their games in a way that isn’t normal. It’s like he’s trying to escape into the game, lose himself in make believe. And he’s obviously even worse when there are no adults around. Yesterday Per’s father came to the door. The boys had been playing Indians up in the forest and David and a couple of others had taken Per prisoner and tied him to a stake. They said they were going to torture him. The other boys had only said it for fun, but not David. It was all they could do to stop him lighting a fire around Per’s feet, it could have gone terribly wrong.
As usual Erik is trying to make light of the whole thing. Boys will be boys, is all he says, but to me it seems quite clear that David is trying to escape from what has happened. And not only escape. This is a way of giving vent to all his feelings. All the distress and anger and resentment he feels over Berit’s attempted suicide, he’s trying to burn off in their games. I’m sure that’s the the explanation.
But I won’t give up. I have to make Berit see that David needs her and that she has to go on living, for his sake if nothing else. And then I have to convince David that she’s not going to leave us. He must have seen her suicide attempt as a betrayal and yet another rejection, and if she were to try it again I think he might have some sort of breakdown. But if I can just make him feel that it’s the thought of him that has kept Berit alive and helped her to get through this difficult time then I think he’ll be all right, then he’ll feel every bit as loved as a child ought to feel.
Otterøy care home, July 4th, 2006. A lump in the throat
“NO, NO, they can keep their vacation in the sun as far as I’m concerned,” I say, shaking my head and laughing. “Well, you can always think about it, Paula,” the new assistant says. She lays a hand on my shoulder and leans down to me. “Although there’s no point in going off to Gran Canaria or wherever when it’s so lovely and warm here, I’m with you on that,” she says. “Now, now, that’ll do,” Odd Kåre says. “I thought you were on my side,” he says, and he looks at the new assistant and shakes his head, gives her that sly grin of his, and the new assistant looks at him and smiles back at him, a perfectly normal smile this time, not awkward or forbearing, and I look at them both and smile, because it’s good that we can joke about things like this, that we can talk like this and that people here can see this side of us as well. It’s so good.
“Who the hell put my walker in that cabinet?” Therese barks all of a sudden. “Was it you?” she barks, staring at the new assistant and jerking her head in the direction of the glass cabinet. “Oh, Therese, no,” the new assistant says, trying not to laugh. “That’s just a reflection. Your walker’s over there, just where you left it,” she says, with a nod towards it. She struggles for a moment, but she can’t hold back the laughter any longer. She turns away, claps her hand to her mouth and hurries out into the corridor, bent double and shaking with laughter. I put my hand over my mouth and laugh too, and Odd Kåre bursts out laughing as well, we all burst out laughing, oh, dear, did you ever hear anything so ridiculous, a walker in that little glass cabinet, as if that were possible, how would that walker ever have fit into that little cabinet.
“What you are sniggering about,” Therese asks me. But I can’t do anything but laugh, and Odd Kåre can’t do anything but laugh, and I look at Odd Kåre and Odd Kåre looks at me and we both shake our heads and laugh, and it feels so good to sit here like this, laughing together. It’s maybe not very fair to Therese, but I can’t help it and anyway she doesn’t seem too bothered by it, she’s already picked up the paper, I see. She’s sitting hunched over it, fumbling with a bag of mints.
“Oh, my,” I say, still chuckling, and Odd Kåre’s still chuckling too. “Oh aye, it takes all sorts,” I say, picking up my coffee cup. I take a little sip of my coffee. “Yeah, you can say that again,” Odd Kåre says. We look at one another and chuckle and I put down my cup. I sit for a moment or two and I’m just about to ask Odd Kåre when he starts his vacation, but I don’t have the chance because Odd Kåre has turned to Johnny, he’s staring at Johnny and suddenly he looks annoyed again. Johnny has taken out this thing for listening to music on, he’s got wires hanging down on either side of his face, he’s stuck these earphones in his ears and he’s fiddling with something on his lap. The muffled blare of music comes from the earphones. Odd Kåre is glaring at Johnny, but Johnny doesn’t notice, he has turned away and he’s gazing out of the window. I look at the two of them. Oh, please don’t let them start arguing again, please don’t let them fall out again, not when we’re having such a nice time.
But Odd Kåre’s looking more and more annoyed. All at once he reaches out a hand, grabs hold of one of the wires, gives it a tug and yanks the earphones out of Johnny’s ears. Johnny just about jumps out of his skin. “What the fuck?” he yells, and I flinch when he says this and Odd Kåre flinches as well. Everything goes very quiet in the dayroom, everybody turns to look at us, they stare at us in horror and I turn quickly to Odd Kåre. He really ought to just leave it at that now, he and Johnny ought to make friends now. But they don’t.
“Hey, just you fucking behave yourself,” Odd Kåre says in a low, angry hiss, nodding sharply at Johnny. And Johnny stares angrily at Odd Kåre and everybody else in the dayroom is staring at us in horror and I feel my face starting to burn again. “Yeah, but I got a shock, for Christ’s sake,” Johnny cries. “Once in a blue moon I manage to drag you along to see your gran and then you sit there listening to your fucking iPod,” Odd Kåre hisses, and for a moment they sit there eye to eye, and everybody else in the room is staring at us in alarm, and there’s dead silence. Oh, dear, I don’t like this, this isn’t nice, this is so embarrassing. I just have to hope that Odd Kåre and Johnny will stop this, that they’ll stop fighting and make friends.
“Now, now, you two, don’t go falling out,” I say, smiling, and I look at them and swallow, and they stare at one another, just sit there for a second staring at one another and then they both look away. Johnny crosses his arms and curls his lip, then he turns and gazes out of the window again. And Odd Kåre runs his hand through his greasy hair, turns back to me and shakes his head. “Jesus Christ,” he says, “talk about manners, eh?” And he looks at me, and I look at him and smile. After a moment or two the talk starts up again in Sylvia’s corner. I lift my coffee cup and take a little sip, and Odd Kåre lifts his coffee cup and takes a little sip.
“Well, anyway, about the house,” Odd Kåre says. “I just don’t know how we’re going to manage, I really don’t,” he says. “We can’t take out any more loans than we already have. And Margareth and I are both working so much overtime already there’s no more to be had that way, either,” he says. He blows on his coffee and takes another sip. I sit for a moment looking at him. It can’t be my money he’s angling for here, surely. Surely that can’t be why he’s telling me what a terrible state the house is in and how much it’s going to cost to do it up? Surely he’s not angling for another advance on what’s coming to him once I’m gone? He wouldn’t have the nerve, surely?
“I just don’t know how we’re going to manage,” he says again. “No, it’s a lot of money,” I say. “I know, it’s fucking terrible the way it all mounts up,” he says and he shakes his head sadly. “And it’s not like I can put it off, you know?” he says. “I mean if I put it off and let it get even more run-down it’ll cost even more to fix it up,” and he shakes his head sadly again, gazing at the table. Then he looks straight at me and there’s silence for a moment, then another moment. He’s hoping I’ll offer to help, that’s what he’s waiting for, I know it is. As if it wasn’t enough that he got the house and the land for nothing, as if it wasn’t enough that I gave him a hundred thousand kroner that he then went and threw away on a motorbike, now he wants me to pay for fixing the place up as well. That’s probably why he’s here, that’s probably the only reason. He hardly ever comes to see me, and then when he does come it’s to beg for money. He didn’t come to see me, he can’t even be bothered pretending he’s glad to see me, neither him nor Johnny even bothers to try, they act like I’m not even here, sitting there arguing and arguing.
“I just hope we won’t have to sell the place,” Odd Kåre goes on. He’s not about to give up, he’s doing all he can to get his hands on my money. “It’d be too bad if the house had to go to somebody outside the family,” he says, trying to make me feel guilty. He assumes it’s important to me that the house stays in the family and he’s hoping that this will persuade me to pay for the renovations. “Well, you know how it is,” he says. “I mean, it’s my childhood home,” he says, not giving up, still trying to make me feel guilty, he’ll do anything to get his hands on my money. Oh, it’s all been planned and calculated from beginning to end. All that talk of a vacation in the sun, I suppose that was part of the plan too, his way of trying to seem less greedy and grasping than he actually is. “You spend your money, Ma,” he said. “You haven’t exactly spoiled yourself,” he said, and I felt so happy when he said that, I thought he wanted to show me that he loved me, but he only said it so he’d seem less greedy when he started pestering me for money.
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