The Blue Room (Coming of Age Series)

by Hanne Ørstavik

  I went out into the lounge and found my clothes. Ivar lay on the mattress and watched me as I dressed. Neither of us said anything, which was good. I wanted to get home as quickly as possible. Fortunately everything had gone well, but the remains of my future had to be rescued. We had been running and playing on a high plateau, and only now had we reached the edge and become aware of the abyss. He followed me to the door. He was naked. I knelt down and gave his soft penis a parting kiss. I got up and put my hand on the door handle; he held me under the chin and looked at me very seriously. My back seemed to stiffen again as we stood looking at each other.

  I had turned off the alarm and now I switched it back on from inside. The little light on the control panel came on. I stood in the dark hall. It smelt of home. I was aware that my body was still somehow permeated with what had just happened. I had to be quiet so as not to wake Mum up. I went into the bathroom, looked at myself in the mirror. My hands shook as I lifted a cotton-wool ball with make-up remover on it. I heard a floorboard creek in the lounge. I’d woken her up after all. I remembered a ghost story – when you looked at a person behind you in the mirror, they were revealed in their true form, as a good spirit or a devil. The door handle turned, I closed my eyes and swung round, holding the cotton wool over my left eye. I opened my eyes. She was wearing a skimpy, see-through negligee. She said nothing. She looked in the mirror, as though she’d been lying in bed thinking about her appearance and had had to rush to the bathroom to check it out. Then she looked at me. I felt sure everything was visible, everything I’d done, and that I’d wanted it, all of it, and that I’d had fun. I thought you were asleep, I said. She looked at me sadly, as though I was a disappointment. I stared down at the floor and went on wiping off my make-up. Johanne, she said, in a wafer-thin voice. I knew I’d done something wrong, or forgotten something terribly important. I looked at her legs and remembered that I’d promised to wax them, she doesn’t know how to do it, and it was several days since we had talked about it. I can do them for you now, I said. What are you talking about? she said. Your leg wax, I said. She said nothing, just sat down on the toilet seat while I fetched her cigarettes and lighter, a clean towel and a stool for her to put her feet up on. As I prepared the wax, I thought about the massive benefits I had living here, not having to rent a place, and all the money I saved, and how lucky I was.

  How did it go at Granny’s? Mum asked. You haven’t told me yet. It was fine, I said. She refused to talk about the alarm, but she was glad to see me. What should I do, Johanne? Why is she so angry with me? Mum asked. I knelt on the floor and spread the wax as carefully as I could, trying to console her with the gentleness of my touch. My mind was drifting, I couldn’t answer her, couldn’t focus on what she said, it all felt so infinitely boring. She’s not senile, I said. She has to be allowed to make her own decisions. She’s doing it to punish me, said Mum, she doesn’t want to make me happy.

  The idea of making someone happy always makes me think of altruism. There’s an entire chapter devoted to it in my social psychology textbook. Discussing the extent to which we do things for others, without any thought of personal advantage. Even fascists, a few at least, are known to have rescued Jews during the war. They usually made the decision to help on impulse, in situations of extreme pressure. The key unifying factor among these people seems to be that they themselves had been shown compassion at some time; the urge to be protective had been learnt through experience and become a spontaneous, natural reaction.

  Is the latch stiffer than usual? I’ve decided to open the window. But now it’s jammed and I can’t. Fucking stupid window. Language, Johanne, watch yourself. I’ve got the sheet wrapped round me, so it probably looks like a towel from a distance, completely normal. There now, it’s open. I had to give it a thump in the bottom corner. The air is cool, colder than it looks. A blast of wind fills the room. I lean forward and look down at the asphalt.

  Ivar’s invited me on a trip to the US, I said. I was sitting there on the bathroom floor and it just came out. I hadn’t planned to say it. I hadn’t actually given it any proper thought yet, this extraordinary offer from Ivar. It wasn’t something I could rely on and trust, it was too fragile. And yet I said it. Mum didn’t reply. She just looked at me and took a drag on her cigarette, held it hard against her lips, then took another deep drag. I’d pressed a clean strip of muslin onto her leg, and we were waiting for the wax to grip properly. A trip. For how long? she asked. Six weeks, I said. Ivar had given me the impression that it might be longer, but I didn’t mention that. I see, she said eventually. And where exactly are you going in the US? she asked. I’m going to Pennsylvania, I said, somewhere near Pittsburgh. I regretted saying it. I should have waited until I was more sure. Putting words to it seemed to push me so much closer to my departure, made me feel somehow more obliged to go, and at the same time wiped out my desire. It suddenly just seemed odd. Travelling in the middle of term, with a man I’d only just met? Putting my whole future in jeopardy, when I’d just started out on a six-and-a-half-year study programme? I could hear how daft it sounded. I wanted to tell her I was joking, but Mum seemed so fragile. If I stirred things up more now, she’d just get angry. We leave on Thursday, in two weeks, I said, trying to sound confident.

  That night I awoke from a dream that I still remember with absolute clarity. It began in a school playground. I was sitting with two other kids at a table by the wall of the school building. It must have been break time, we were playing cards. My family were living on the first floor. It was a hot, sunny day and the windows of the apartment were open above us. Suddenly we heard groaning from the bedroom window. I recognized the sound of my mother’s intense pleasure, it was already loud and I knew it would even get louder. I had to persuade them to close the window. I put my cards down on the table and made a joke about having to protect my family honour. The other two kids looked at me and smiled wryly. I walked round the building, went in and up the stairs. As I approached the bedroom I saw that it didn’t have its usual veneer door, but an old blue-painted door with a large glass panel in the middle. I couldn’t avoid seeing in. I saw Mum lying on her back across the bed with a duvet over her. Her ankles were tied to the crossbars of the window. Standing next to her was a man. I could see him clearly. Mum was completely covered by the duvet, her eyes included, but somehow I could still see her mouth. I hadn’t known this was what they were doing. Bondage. From outside it had sounded as though she’d been enjoying it. Now I saw her lips moving. Saying that she wasn’t used to being treated like a child, that she wanted him to treat her like an adult. All I wanted was for them to shut the window. Then I’d leave as fast possible. I had to knock for ages before they heard me. Suddenly Mum flung the duvet away from her eyes, and looking at me, upside down, through the glass, she realized it was me. Then weeping, she said, Just let her come in, so she can see what her father does to me.

  It all seemed incredibly simple the next morning. Everything was possible, even America, everything was open and light and far in the future. It was easy to get out of bed and to get going. My body felt strong. Coming out of the shower, I looked at my arms in the mirror. My muscles suddenly had more definition, seemed more prominent. Despite going to bed late the night before, I wasn’t at all tired. I remember thinking I’d needed less sleep and that it maybe had something to do with sex. I smiled all the way to Blindern. I can see myself now on my yellow bicycle. Yes, I was happy. I almost crashed into Terje at the corner, near the Theology block, as he came down from Sogn. We laughed and waved and cycled on in our separate ways. Riding past the Portakabins at the broadcasting building, I suddenly felt a strange longing to kiss Terje. I wanted to kiss everyone I liked, every man – thin, fat, young or old – they had all grown beautiful and I desired each and every one of them.

  I locked my bike up on the rack, climbed the stairs to the reading room and waited with everyone else. Could they see what had happened to me? I went in. My mouth refused to stop smiling. I put my books on
my desk, wrote an ‘occupied’ note and went downstairs. I was a diva in a movie. I felt so beautiful: my hair flowing, a mass of curls, my skirt heavy and feminine. When I think back, I’m glad no one saw me, no one I knew at least. Lord above. It must have been obvious to anyone who saw. I moved as though I was in a melody. I headed straight for the kitchen, past the dirty dishes, shy of nothing. Ivar was over by the extractor fan, smoking with his back to me. I was his woman. I remember thinking it. I am your woman, Ivar, I said. I tried to say it in a deep, sensual voice. He turned, saw me, looked at me and smiled. A smile that came from deep inside him, warm and knowing. Still looking at me, he flicked the ash with his fingers and walked towards me. I felt his every move in my legs, in my belly, he only had to make the merest gesture and I sensed him inside me. I looked at him, the bulge in his trousers, the short white jacket, the sleeves folded back, showing his forearms. Then he kissed me, touching my arse, both hands on my butt as we kissed, and I was so strong, that’s what strikes me now, how strong I felt. I barely recognize myself. He looked down at me with questioning eyes. I knew what he was asking and I answered with a nod. Yes, I said. I loved saying yes to him. I adored it. He took a key from a cupboard, told one of the others that he had to fetch something. The other guy smiled. All three of us smiled. I remember feeling it was OK, it must have been the sense of elation, the fact that I was so happy, and, yes, that I was so turned on, and that it was somehow all right, it suddenly felt completely fine and it didn’t matter if anyone else knew. We went down into the basement, down the stairs, hugging each other. I insisted on walking behind him, holding him round the middle, and we nearly tumbled over. Shh, he said to me sternly. I just laughed. In one of the underground corridors he unlocked a door. We went inside and he locked it after us. The room was dusty, stacked full of tables and chairs. I started undoing Ivar’s belt and pulled down his trousers. Stay still, I said. I don’t know where I’d got the idea. The soft skin on his hard penis, smooth and lovely. It was so good. I’d never done it before, but I was hungry, that was how it felt. I wanted to be closely acquainted with his genitals. To tease and caress him. I ate him. Chewed and sucked. I told him to sit down. We smiled. Ivar sat on a chair, an old school chair, or kitchen chair. He looked sweet with his prick standing up against his belly. I pulled down my skirt, my tights, my knickers. My inner thighs were soaking, I didn’t know it was possible to be so wet. I sat over him. I could. It seemed completely natural now. He leant his head back towards the leg of a table that had been stacked upside down. He looked at me, eyes half shut. I didn’t know which entered me, his gaze or his prick. I moved slowly up and down. I felt my own sex like a tight ring. He stroked my buttocks. Then he took my waist so hard I had to stop, he looked at me, and for a moment we were silent. I love you, he said. All I wanted was to move on him again. To go on and on. And he touched me as though he knew my body blindfold. I think we made lots of noise. I remember my belly against a large, cold table, my breasts tingling. It was so beautiful. I suppose that was why I cried so much afterwards. I curled up in a little ball in his lap and he blew on my neck. I’m starting to cry again now, here in this stupid blue room. Ivar, Ivar. To think I’ll never have sex with you again.

  My face is completely wet. I wish I had a tissue to dry my eyes and blow my nose on. I use the sheet. Why not? It hardly matters; a pink sheet in this blue room, utterly meaningless. I wipe my nose, rub my cheeks hard. I don’t want anyone to find me like this. Why am I crying when it’s all over? Ivar will have left by now, it’s gone eleven, it’ll be twelve soon, I’m gaining nothing. It’s like the autumn with its wind and leaves and rain, bathing everything, washing the world clean. If something can be blown away, disappear so quickly, was it nothing? Can I have any measure of what has been in the now? What is the now? Why are my most trivial memories the clearest? The way he held his cigarette between his fingers that Saturday morning, when I’d stayed overnight after all, the way he cradled it in his hand like a warm potato on a blustery day; and his gaze out of the window, distant, stern. Those times when he looked angry. He was so handsome then. Hard, severe. Have I forgotten him in just these few hours? Is it possible that he’s completely gone from inside me? But what if he hasn’t and I still have him somewhere inside me, beneath every thought, like a broad river flowing hot under a crust of cold thoughts, tearing at the river bank, so that its sands crash into the water, so that any edges in me crumble away without my knowledge. Who am I then? How can I be sure what I know? How can I know what is real?

  That Tuesday I was working like a madwoman, with total focus, as a prepayment so I could spend the evening with Ivar. If I studied hard enough it would be all right. I was coming back from the toilets, when I saw Karin emerge from the reading room. I don’t think she saw me, but I got the feeling she’d gone there hoping to find me. I let her walk away. Thinking of it now, I see God walking down the spiral staircase beside her; the two of them – a strong Karin and a fragile, transparent figure in conversation. God is sad and Karin turns to him and smiles, baring lovely teeth. Karin’s smile makes everybody happy. She should just stand at the altar and smile, and that would be blessing enough. Dear Father, be with Karin – she deserves it. What kind of dreadful notion, Johanne, to deserve God. Forgive me, Lord, I didn’t mean it like that.

  I remember Ivar bowed over the lock of his shiny bicycle. He turns his head towards me, ostrich-like, and smiles. The yellow light from the fridge in the Co-op shining on his face, his freckles, his glance, those blue eyes. He is holding up a packet of cheese. This one? I think it was raining that afternoon. Yes, I remember his cold lips and hot breath under the hood of his raincoat, and how it dripped on us out in the backyard, just down there, before we came in, and the things he said, how I poked fun at his dialect as we made the food, how he turned and pointed the kitchen knife at me, you know something, Johanne, it’s a good job I’ve got this. I couldn’t help telling him how one of the boys in my class had told us a story in the cookery class, about a woman who’d had two fists stuck up her at once. So that’s the kind of thing you go about remembering, Johanne. That’s very bad. He smiled, shook his head and sighed. Sometimes I wonder what you actually dream about, what you really want. He grabbed my wrists and pulled me to him, and we laughed and kissed, and I knew that if we’d been alone, we’d have done it there and then. Actually we were alone, but Mum could arrive any minute. I touched him through his apron. My hand seemed so small and fragile, I’d never felt that before, and I remember I was happy at being weaker than him. We were standing like that when I heard Mum’s key in the door. And it struck me that I’d forgotten to tell her that Ivar was eating with us. Strange that I’d forgotten. I could easily have rung, but I hadn’t. She was generally pleased when I brought people home, most often Karin, but I suddenly felt sure she wouldn’t be so eager to meet Ivar. I don’t know if the thought or the feeling came first, they seemed to come simultaneously. I wanted to hurry the cooking up, but when I reached out for the saucepan I felt a pain shoot up my back. It was as though the muscles had contracted and refused to release.

  Why are we incapable of helping ourselves with these things? Why can’t we massage our own body? Stroke our own back with warm hands? I opened my eyes and you looked at me. We were lying close together on the narrow mattress. It was the middle of the night. I don’t know whether you’d been sleeping. We didn’t smile, just looked at each other, smiles somehow deep within. When I think now, when I close my eyes, we’re back there. You open your eyes and I’m lying there watching you. Neither of us says a word. It’s like a hot liquid flowing in and filling gaps I never knew existed.

  Hello, darling, Mum shouted, as she opened the front door. I went out into the hall and gave her a hug. I don’t know why, I don’t usually. Mum must have seen Ivar’s shoes, or noticed something. Have we got a visitor? She was smiling as she said it. I recall a summer job I had in a street kiosk. I was serving a woman with fruit, green apples I think, and as I turned to her after weighing the
m I must have gone faint or something, because my customer suddenly seemed to reveal her true face. Her skin had only been a disguise, now her cheeks were covered with rough fur and scars and her tongue lolled out between her teeth. Ivar’s here, I said. You can meet each other. She stiffened slightly, and paused to take off her scarf, the long rust-coloured one that goes round her neck several times. I’d have liked to say he hadn’t come here to exploit us, that Ivar had his own money and could buy food for himself, that he lived alone and had done so for years. But I’d paid for the food with Mum’s card. They shook hands. I remember thinking Ivar might have smiled a little more broadly, made a better first impression, been more giving, so she’d see he wasn’t dangerous. He could make an effort, I thought. I saw Mum’s negative reaction to him, to the fact that he didn’t hold her gaze long enough, I wanted to tell him to look her in the eye. It upset me that he didn’t bother, didn’t understand. Something so simple, so elementary. Was he an idiot? Mum went into her room behind the curtain to change and then into the bathroom. I could feel where she was in the apartment through my back. Ivar and I went quiet, and carried on making the food. He held me round the waist and wanted to tickle and kiss me, but I didn’t laugh. I was concentrating, concerned that everything should be as nice as possible and look good. Candles, serviettes, tableware perfectly laid out on the table, a casual symmetry. Maybe I should put some classical music on. I went into the lounge and took out the Satie.