I sing, as though my song could erase these thoughts. But they keep coming. I pray to God for strength, for greater faith, for humility. This fog in my head, this exhaustion, this powerlessness, these endless images. I look at my feet. Are they a part of me? Where do I begin and where do I end? These hands, are they mine? These words? These thoughts? My own voice seems so far away, coming towards me from another place: talking, laughing, inconsequential, superficial. The rain. I watch it falling on the other side of the window, observe the uneven patterns of the drops on the pane, the dense grey colour in the sky that casts such a wonderful light. A dark light that makes me think about God again. You see, Johanne, it’s like a circle, everything is interconnected, an identical picture, everything comes back to God. I shan’t be afraid. I am not alone. No, you are not, Johanne. You are never alone. And now it’s coming again. It always does when I’m happy or feel comforted or whenever someone is kind to me. I look out of the window again. The rain is trickling down silently, evenly, like the tears that cover my face. Perhaps God is in the water, in the raindrops. I put my hand against the cold pane to be close to Him. To be as close as I can without imposing.
Karin had left several messages on the answering machine. Where are you, Johanne? I feel like I’m losing you. I listened to her voice on the tape, but it seemed so distant. I didn’t know what I should say. Then one day she came into the reading room, before ten o’clock. She knows I’m always there at that time, that it’s my best study time. Johanne, she said, leaning towards me and giving me a cold hug of fresh outdoor air. I was glad to see her, felt my conscience prick, stroked her soft stubbly hair. Have you got five minutes? Never, I said, smiling and getting up. I followed her out onto the landing. I didn’t want to go down to the cafeteria, it would take too long – besides, I’d have to buy something, spend money, and Ivar might spot me and come over, it would all be too much. What’s going on? Karin asked. Why haven’t I heard from you? Why don’t you answer my calls? I love you. I care about you. I want to know what’s happening. I’m going to America, I said. I must have looked idiotically happy. Karin just stared at me. Johanne, she said seriously, stop and think for a moment. Is it that boy in the canteen? Ivar, I said. He’s a man. All right, she said, but how long have you known him? Always, I said. That’s how it feels anyway. It’s amazing. Just imagine, somebody loves me! Come on, said Karin. Now you’re hurting me. You know I love you. And what about Unni? Have you thought about her, Johanne? Your sweet mother and all the things the two of you share? And what about God? Have you prayed to Him and asked for His guidance? She stroked my hair, brushing a few strands from my cheeks. Johanne, are you sure this is God’s will? It’s only six weeks in Pennsylvania, I said. I remember how proud I felt to be able to say it so lightly. To be young and impulsive at last. Karin shook her head. I feel like I’m losing you, Johanne, she said. There were tears in her eyes, she averted her gaze, looked down the staircase; someone was coming up, she turned her face to the ceiling, stood there blinking, the corners of her mouth trembling. We stood in silence before she finally looked at me. Then the tears flowed. You’re growing so far away from me, she said, and from everything we share. She wiped her tears with the sleeve of the green woollen sweater she’s so fond of. Johanne, she said, you didn’t come to the Association meeting on Friday, and you weren’t at the palace chapel on Sunday. It’s an awful thing to say, but it even seems like you’re drifting away from God. I had nothing to say. I didn’t know where to start, she’s left me with no opening, she viewed everything from a closed circle, with no gap for me to slip in. And my circle looked utterly different. I hadn’t thought much about God recently, it was true. But I was so happy, and I gave him thanks whenever I remembered. It says somewhere that it’s just as important to come to the Lord with our joy and I’ve tried to do that. I really didn’t know how to talk to Karin. I felt drops of cold sweat running down my arms. Have you nothing to say? Karin asked. I just looked at her, as though I was waiting for an answer to come. I shook my head. I couldn’t really say no even, because the truth was, I had a lot to say, it was just so difficult. We stood looking at each other in silence. I was struggling not to laugh, I can’t take scenes like this seriously, they feel so pompous somehow. Karin began to walk down the stairs. Halfway down she turned and for a moment I was afraid she’d run back up and hit me, or hug me. But she walked on and disappeared. My head was bursting. I wondered if I should go down and talk to Ivar about what had happened. I decided to take a walk round the Social Sciences block to get some fresh air. Maybe that would relieve the pressure. I took the stairs, going in the same direction as Karin had a minute before, pushed the door open and went out. It’s not true, I thought. Karin doesn’t understand how things are. I thought I should feel grief at losing a friend, but I felt only relief. I felt free. What she’d said about God wasn’t true. I looked at the withered leaves on the gravel and lawn, at the dark, wet tree trunks and the thin, spindly branches. A few leaves are still hanging on, I thought. We’re holding out, clinging on in there. We are not alone. Despite everything, I felt a kind of painful joy. My confrontation with Karin had brought me some clarity and strengthened my relationship with God.
Ivar left the invitation open. He said he didn’t know what it was with me, that he didn’t quite understand, but he wouldn’t push me. He’d be out there for six weeks to begin with, hardly an eternity, and my lectures would be finished in three weeks anyway. He wanted me to miss them. I’d take my books with me and he’d buy my ticket. We’d stay at a place in the country that some friends of his owned, an old house with an outside toilet. But it’s warmer than it is here at this time of year, he said. He’d been before. There was a shower at one end of the house, also outside, and a veranda at the front where you could sit in the evenings and read. We might hear the grasshoppers still, and we’d watch the lights of cars in the distance, talk, play the harmonica and guitar, and listen to the radio. I saw the two of us being hacked to pieces by a gang of youths on the run. First they raped me, while Ivar watched on. Then they sliced off his extremities: his ears, nose, eyelids, lips. Blood and more blood. While I watched on. And then perhaps they let me live, and we both survived; Ivar permanently maimed, me torn, bruised. In the sticks, outside Pittsburgh, no car, the phone line cut. I thought of Mum. She’d be left alone here at home. And there’d be no way back once I’d left. She’d think I didn’t love her. I didn’t know how I could leave and still convince her that I loved her. I wished Ivar had never asked, that our relationship had been allowed to develop slowly. We could have let things happen at their own pace, without forcing things. I could live with Mum until I’d finished my studies, and sleep at Ivar’s place now and then. Afterwards he could live with me at The Barns. We’d have a dog and go away on holiday.
Oh really, Johanne, he said. It was Tuesday afternoon. We were sitting with a couple of beers in the bar at Blindern. Ivar had bought them. I’m not keen on the taste, but Ivar reckoned it was something one should at least get used to. Yes really, I said. I smiled, I couldn’t help myself when he looked at me like that, and his voice aroused me, I wanted to go to the toilets and have sex straight away, wanted to have him inside me, I couldn’t understand why I’d waited so long, for something so delicious, and now I wanted it again and again. But I was tired too. We’d had some late nights, and I’d got up at the usual time, and my back was stiff. Yes, I repeated. He brushed some strands of hair from my lips, they were sticking everywhere, he leant across the table and kissed me. Two more days to go, he said. Stay with me tonight, Johanne. Do you want to? Yes, I said, I do. He gave me one of those fantastic smiles. But I can’t. I could see my reply upset him. Everything made perfect sense in my head, but it sounded weird when I tried to explain. It looked obvious from the inside, but from the outside it seemed like a hollow excuse. I have to stick to my plan, I said. I can’t go changing my habits, can’t start spending nights away from home, it’s important for my exams that I live a regular life, I said. But in
the summer I’ll be able to sleep with you all the time. Johanne, he said. His voice was so deep. My body said yes. I rang SAS today. There are plenty of seats left. We won’t talk about it any more now, but I just want to say that the plane takes off on Thursday morning at eleven forty. He spoke slowly, so I’d remember what he was saying. I’ll take the 8.54 Airport Express from the National Theatre. I’ll wait in the coffee shop by the grey sculpture that’s straight in front of you as you enter the departure hall. I’ll wait there until the last call. The offer’s open, he said. Then he said quietly, Everything in me wants you to come. He inclined his head and smiled, as though it was all so simple, not the least bit difficult, just wonderful and exciting. Everything in me. How could he say that so lightly? Why did he have to be so unreasonable? It was perfectly good here at home. America was just a fixation. And you can’t miss three weeks of lectures; not when you want to go straight on to the professional programme. I felt my body ripping apart, my back about to shatter. I got up, saying I had to go to the toilet. There were students everywhere, pretty girls, couldn’t he just take someone else with him and leave me alone? I went into a cubicle and sat down and it was as if my body emptied itself. It had been like that for days. As I washed my hands, I looked in the mirror. Eyes wet with tears behind my glasses. I wished I could split my body in two, give one part to Mum and the other to Ivar. Then they could both have their share, and I could keep my ribcage as a little raft on which I’d curl up and float away.
When I got home late last night the tins of paint were standing in the hallway, along with a big roller and blue tray, some white spirit and a little brush. I’d forgotten completely. Several days had passed since Mum was meant to buy the paint. I wouldn’t get the decorating done before I left. Nor did I want to think about coming back, right now. It would have to wait. I tried to switch my thoughts off. It’ll be all right, Johanne, everything will be just fine, I said to myself. I took the black travel bag down from the top of my wardrobe and started to pack. Ivar had brought me home. We’d been for a long walk, taking little detours, stopping to look at views, corners and road signs, we’d kissed, stood in silence under an extraordinary tree, looked at an old table in an overgrown garden. We’d talked and laughed. There’d been so much to discuss. In the beginning I’d wondered what I’d say when we were together, plan topics of conversation, try to think of things that might interest him. Last night we simply talked. So many new ideas came to me when I was with Ivar, thoughts I didn’t know I had. It was as though we were walking together along an old familiar street that suddenly opened out and lit up, enticing, wondrous. Never-ending. I hadn’t wanted to let Ivar go. But I had to, of course, since I was going home to pack. I’d made up my mind. But I still didn’t tell him. I was looking forward to turning up on the train and making him happy. He was going to lift me up and we’d spin around and around. It had come clear to me as we walked. I knew that I had to go. I couldn’t let Ivar slip away. He mustn’t leave without me. The suitcase, my clothes, the walls, the floor, everything had clean, crisp edges. All my movements were precise. This was for real. I wanted to pack swiftly and be done with it, as if there was a clock hidden somewhere, ticking towards catastrophe, but so long as I finished my packing all would be well. I decided I’d send up a prayer before going to bed, and I had to remember to pack my Bible. I tried to speed up, but my body went so slowly, hanging back, as though it knew all this would come to nothing. But the decision had been made, I packed, my desire was so strong, as though my will could govern everything, triumph all on its own.
Johanne, yelled Mum from her bed. I’d been sure she was in a deep sleep. And I’d tried to be quiet. Yes, Mum, I shouted back. What? She didn’t answer. She could just come here and see. Come here and see me packing. At the back of my wardrobe I found a chunky brown sweater that I’d knitted years ago and forgotten. It was soft and warm, and I wanted to take it to use when we sat outside in the evening; I’d put it over my knees and sit listening to Ivar’s gentle voice as he experimented with ways of phrasing a new melody. We’d dream and make plans. Our hands would grow wrinkled together, old and wrinkled and happy. Johanne, said Mum. She was wearing her dressing gown and had a cigarette in one hand. What are you doing? Packing, I said. What? I’m packing. I’m travelling tomorrow, remember? I couldn’t bear to look her in the eye. I checked what I’d put in the case, but I wasn’t concentrating. I registered Mum lighting her cigarette and exhaling, then taking several drags, deep into her belly. I didn’t think it would actually come to anything, she said. You didn’t mention the trip again. No, I said. She was right. I’m not sure why I hadn’t talked about it. I’d thought about it all the time. The trip to America with Ivar. It had certainly been going round in my head constantly; whether or not to go, if I could or should, if it was responsible. I’ll be honest with you, she said, I’ll be completely straight with you. Yes, I said. I feel cheated, she said. I didn’t say anything. I thought we’d agreed that you were going to decorate the lounge? Yes, I said. And now here you are creeping about, packing in the middle of the night to go away. Just leaving everything behind. Yes, I said. There was silence. If she’d got the paint sooner I’d have managed to do the decorating. I’d asked her to buy it, but I hadn’t wanted to nag, she hadn’t seemed particularly keen. True, I’d promised to do it. True, I hadn’t kept my word. And I hadn’t told her anything. Mum went into the lounge and sat down, on the very edge of her chair. She stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray, I heard it crunch under her finger. I started to cry. I’m sorry, Mum, I said. I’m really sorry I didn’t talk to you, I should have spoken to you and prepared you, I know it’s bad. Please don’t be angry with me. Mum came and stood in the doorway, a hand resting on each side of the frame, the sleeves of her dressing gown draped like the wings of an angel. How can anyone ever trust you, Johanne, if you don’t keep them informed? It’s impossible to know where one stands, and you know my experiences with unpredictable behaviour, she said. It’s not on, Johanne. You’re a fully grown adult. Was she saying I was like that; out of control, without boundaries? That I trampled on people? That I was a psychopath? Suffering from an antisocial personality disorder, as it’s called now. A condition characterized by a lack of empathy, an inability to imagine how others feel, or to put oneself in their shoes. To understand their pain. In a way that’s true; I do find it hard to comprehend other people’s suffering, how things feel for them, and I know I’m bad at offering comfort, I seem incapable of it. Maybe it’s just the way I am, I thought, irrational and insensitive without knowing it. I’d been wrong not to talk to her about travelling. But I hadn’t spoken to anyone, not even Ivar. I’d thought I was the only one who could grasp all the arguments, for and against, and that I was the one who ultimately had to decide. This was all my fault. Maybe she’d have understood me if I’d told her, she might even have helped me pack, bought me some pretty pairs of tights, slipped a treat in for Ivar and me to share.
Mum went behind the curtain and back to bed. Moments later I heard the reading lamp go off and saw the sliver of light on the lounge wall disappear. I finished my packing, toiletries included, but the will had gone. I watched my small hands moving among the folded clothes; perhaps I was hungry, low blood sugar. I sat in the kitchen and ate an orange, trying not to think whether the eating helped; I had decided to leave, those thoughts had no place. I washed my hands and dried them, put the clean clothes I’d wear tomorrow in a pile on top of my bag. I went into the bathroom and took a shower. I washed my hair to make it curl; it’s lovely the next day when I go to bed with it wet. I brushed my teeth thoroughly. I wasn’t the least bit tired, but my arms felt heavy. I put my red toothbrush back in the glass next to Mum’s yellow one. Otherwise my shelf was empty.
I hear a key in the lock. Mum’s back home. I’ve been waiting so long for that sound that when it finally comes it’s too sudden and I’m alarmed. Just imagine if it isn’t her. Or if she isn’t alone. Perhaps Ivar’s with her and they’ll sleep together whi
le I listen. Relax, Johanne. She’s alone, I hear only her footsteps. Thin, hard soles against the floor in the hallway and then going through into the lounge, tip-tap, tip-tap. I bang on the door for her to let me out. Mum, I shout. You’ve got to come and help me. Mum! Hello, Mum! Hurry up! I hear her taking her outdoor shoes off. They must be wet from the rain. Maybe she’s putting her others on, the ones that she wears indoors. I listen to her going into the bathroom. The door creaks. I can see her now, unzipping her trousers and sitting down. Why isn’t she coming? She’s in there smoking! That’s what she’s doing. She must be able to hear me. Or maybe she’s got her Walkman on. I shout louder.
There’s a knock on the door. I don’t know how long I’ve been waiting since her return. Five minutes. Maybe ten. I’m sitting on the chair at my desk, looking out. The footsteps have stopped, perhaps she’s walking about in her socks. Johanne, says Mum, through the door. Yes, I say. For a moment it’s quiet, apart from the noise of the fridge humming behind her. The rain has stopped. The afternoon is drawing in now, it’ll be dark soon, evening will turn to night, and then the day will begin again. I hear her sit on the chair, it creaks. She’s in my seat, right outside my door. Johanne, she says again. I don’t answer. When you were born and I held you in my arms… She stops. I say nothing. It’s quiet for a moment. You are the wisest and loveliest person I know, she says. Which is why I gave you this day, she says. A sort of day of rest. To give you the chance to think things over. I don’t know if I’ve done the right thing, but I pray that God will forgive me if I’ve done wrong. She waits. Anyway, it’s done now, she says, and can’t be undone. Silence again. I can hear her preparing her Winnertip machine and pulling the tape off her packet of tobacco. I wait for the sound of the flap sliding forwards and then back, the tap of the cigarette against the table, her thumb on the lighter as she lights up. I gaze out at the Virginia creeper. It is a dark red. My back feels supple now, nice and soft. The key turns in my door. The sound of metal rattles in my head as though the lock was inside me, then her face appears, she smiles hesitantly, exhales, extends the hand that’s empty of a cigarette, bends down and brushes the top of my hair with a kiss. I observe her arm near my throat, the tiny mole on her elbow, the fine, downy hair, light brown. Are you angry with me? she asks. She looks at me with big blue eyes, leans in front me and lifts away my hair to see me properly. Her face is right over me. I feel her breath on my forehead and note the skin cream glistening on her neck. Answer me honestly, she says. The whites of her eyes are completely yellow, a blood vessel has burst, forming a delicate red web. I see the reflection of my own eyes in hers. And feel nothing.
The Blue Room (Coming of Age Series) Page 11