Authors: Tore Renberg
Waking up at three in the morning, jolted by a dizzy heart, to stare at the darkness in fear. Being wide awake, feeling how ready her body is, how sharp, anxious and all set it is, as though she were a soldier.
Where are you? What are you doing now? What are you thinking about?
Sandra tilts to one side:
No, you must never leave me, you must never look at anyone but me, nothing must ever change from the way it is now.
That terrible fear that one day it will end. She refuses to believe it, because Sandra and Daniel are the ones who are going to make it: I will never leave you. I will never look at anyone else. Here are my hands, look, they’re touching you, look, they want to caress you, and here’s my mouth, look, it wants to kiss you, feel it, it’s yours:
Promise me, yes? Do you promise, yes? Sure? Yes? Positive?
Yes.
Nobody will threaten us.
No.
This will never end.
One day he was just standing there, like a snowdrop when the ground frost releases its hold.
That was only a few weeks ago, and there was a life before this but now it’s no more than fading echoes in her body. The girl with three freckles on her nose and the slightly goofy teeth has gone crazy. She can’t concentrate on her homework, when her mother and father are speaking it’s like they’re muttering in the fog. The same with her friends, it’s utterly impossible to grasp what they’re babbling about.
She knows that relationships fall apart. She knows that people leave one another. But this is different. This is a higher power. This is for the rest of her life.
One day he was just standing there. It was the week Tiril left an hour early to rehearse the Evanescence song. Sandra could feel the sweat making her T-shirt stick to the skin between her shoulder blades while she vacuumed the floor, and in the distance she picked up some sounds from the entrance. Sandra has clear instructions not to open the shop after closing time. They’ve told her not to talk to anybody if they knock on the glass, because there was an incident a few years ago where a guy managed to break in and threatened one of the cleaners while he stole money and whatnot.
But the sounds wouldn’t cease; it was raining cats and dogs out there, and Sandra moved cautiously towards the door, worried about what she was going to see.
There was a boy standing outside with a moped helmet in one hand. He looked so small, so wet, so terribly good-looking and he didn’t look dangerous. What did he want? He was trying to form words with his lips; he smiled, pointed at himself to show that he wanted to come in; what was it he was trying to say?
‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. She pointed at the door while she wagged her finger. She mouthed the words as clearly as she could: ‘I can’t let you in, I’m not allowed.’
But he just stood there.
He was so good-looking!
His mouth was so … so bright.
And then she realised who it was. Bewildered, she said: ‘Daniel?’
‘Yeah.’
She watched him form the words with his lips. It was a super strange moment, she felt it right down to the soles of her feet. It was Daniel William Moi standing there, the boy there were so many rumours about, the foster brother of Veronika from the flats. And the weird thing was that she said his name and smiled at him, stupid Sandra who’s only fifteen, and that he actually smiled back,
Daniel William Moi
, the one in sixth form nobody dared talk to, the one all the girls thought was so hot with those deep eyes of his, and dangerous. The fact that she smiled at him and that he smiled back, it was almost unreal.
‘Yes,’ he repeated, pointing at himself again.
Sandra’s eyes began to blink. Was she going to let him in? Now he said that word again, what was it he was saying? He started doing something with his hands too, as if he was drawing in the air, a square, no, a circle, while his lips repeated what he was attempting to say.
He began to laugh, and Sandra couldn’t help but laugh as well, it was a really odd situation, two people standing miming and laughing on either side of a glass door. Now he began to write something on the rain-soaked windowpane, what was it?
Sandra went as close as she could. He put the moped helmet down on the ground, his hair was already wet, his face glistening, and when he stood up he traced his forefinger across the glass again. But what he wrote was washed away by the rain.
Now he was standing right against the pane.
Today’s paper?
Is that what he said?
He’s so gorgeous!
Today’s paper?
‘What are you saying?’ Sandra spoke louder.
He read her lips. He’d probably learnt it from Veronika, the lip-reading, and he repeated, as slowly as he could:
toi
let
pa
per
Sandra burst out laughing, she felt her face crack up. Daniel William Moi was standing there yelling for toilet roll. He was so cute, you could see how white his teeth were when he laughed and he was soaked to the skin. She leaned towards the glass and formed the words as clearly as she could:
‘Wait. Wait. Okay? Wait.’
He nodded, and she dashed back through the shop. Sandra knew she was doing something wrong, but it felt right so she did not allow herself time to think, she just ran into the backroom, ran with one arm under her breasts and the other swinging through the air, got the keys to the entrance and whispered to herself: ‘I’ll do it. I’ll just do it.’
‘Hi,’ he said and laughed as she let him in.
‘Quick,’ she pulled him further into the shop, away from the windows, ‘quick, I’ll lose my job if they think I’m letting people in…’
‘Right, yeah…’ The rainwater was dripping from him and forming small puddles on the floor, he shook his long fingers and sprinkled the droplets around him.
‘It’s fine,’ she said, feeling the perspiration begin in her armpits and under her hairline. ‘It’s only water.’
‘I’ve been at band practice – I play in a band – and I’d promised Inger, that’s my foster mother, to buy toilet paper on the way home, but I forgot the time and got here a bit late, and well…’
He looked at her.
Sandra swallowed.
‘Hi,’ he said, ‘my name’s Daniel.’
He extended his hand. She took hold of it and felt small. She released it quickly.
Sandra nodded and swallowed again, ‘I know,’ she said, something catching in her throat.
He looked at her. For a long time. Sandra tried to look away, because his gaze was so penetrating, but she wasn’t able to.
‘What’s your name?’
His voice was so deep.
‘Sandra Vikadal,’ she said and curtsied.
She
curtsied!
‘Well, look, you can get toilet roll,’ she said hurriedly, to cover what she’d just done. She turned so he wouldn’t see how stupid she looked. ‘But I’ll have to just give it to you,’ she said, ‘because I can’t open the till…’
He laughed as he followed her along the aisle towards the shelves with the toilet paper. ‘Theft.’
‘Gosh, yeah,’ she said.
They stopped in front of the shelves. She grabbed a packet, felt the fear over what she was doing course through her hands, then held it out to him.
He’s a lot taller than me, she thought.
And then – it was so unbelievably strange and so unbelievably
nice and Sandra has thought about it every day since, as though it were a sign – then he jutted out his chin, giving his face a sort of silly look, and raised his forefinger. He held it in the air in front of her. Then he brought it to her nose, gave it a gentle press and said:
‘Now the two of us have a secret, Sandra Vikadal.’
And then?
Then the days, the hours, the minutes and the seconds just came crashing down. They collapsed on top of one another. The following night he was back, she let him in without any questions, the night after that he kissed her in the backroom, and the next night she met him in the woods for the first time, and the next night … everything merged together, she hardly slept, he took her over, they kissed and kissed and neither mouth could get enough, they touched one another and touched one another and neither pair of hands could get enough, they stared into each other’s eyes and Sandra felt she was drowning in them, they entwined hands, and what did they talk about?
The future, countries they would travel to, things they would see, how beautiful the world was right here, right now. They talked about each other, about the storm of emotions that had suddenly arisen one rainy night, they retold and retold their own short history, how he had stood outside the shop with the moped helmet in his hands –
you were so wet!
– how he had tried to make her understand what he was saying –
toilet paper, I said! A thousand times. But you, you thought – I thought it was today’s paper!
Over and over again they repeated their own short history, and they thought it was the most important story of all. And every day they came closer. Every day, greater courage in their kisses, every day, greater courage in their hands, every day, greater courage in their words. Every day, a wild joy over recognition –
Oh, you’re well sexy in those jeans
– and an equal joy in discovering new things –
Your lips look so beautiful when they gleam like that
– and every day an all-engrossing interest in everything the other person does –
I just have to hear that band, I’ve never liked metal but I’m sure I’d love them
– and every day a drawn-out farewell, that horrible moment when they had to part:
Oh, do you have to go?
Yeah. I have to.
I hate this.
Me too.
Don’t go.
I have to.
I hate this.
See you tomorrow, yeah?
Yeah.
If not I’ll die.
Yeah.
You’re mine.
I’m yours.
See you tomorrow.
And now?
Now it’s serious. Sandra runs across the football pitch and Sandra has decided: she’ll lie down, she’ll be brave.
She gasps when she catches sight of him by the substation. A pressure lifting from her chest; he hasn’t left. She runs faster, as fast as she can and throws herself into his arms.
‘Daniel,’ she sobs.
‘Hey…’
‘I’ve missed you so much! I thought you’d be gone! I didn’t think you – I thought—’
‘Hey, come on…’
He takes her face in his hands.
‘Hey, hey…’
He tilts her chin up with two fingers.
‘You…’
He looks her in the eyes.
‘Hi,’ he says, holding her gaze. ‘Do you think Daniel would leave you? Eh? Do you not know Daniel would wait until Friday, until next month, Jesus, until it bloody well started to snow, if it’s you he’s waiting for?’
She sniffles and feels the tears roll down her cheeks. A ‘hhha’ escapes her mouth, and Sandra stretches up on her toes, closes her eyes and kisses him, for a long time.
‘You taste of salt,’ he says, laughing.
‘It’s the tears,’ Sandra says, sniffling. ‘Tears of joy.’
‘They taste extra nice,’ he says.
Then they begin walking into the woods while holding each another. Daniel with his arms around her slender waist, she with her arms up along his back, him backing up, her following his steps. It looks like ballet and that’s probably what it is.
Sandra unbuttons her top.
They totter further into the woods. Their breathing is heavy, his hands rove over her backside, she undoes the last button, they kiss one another, whisper ‘Here?’
‘No, not here, it’s too exposed.’
‘Further in?’
‘Yeah, further in.’
‘What about here then?’
‘No, across the road, the forest is denser there and no one can see us…’
Then they stop. Sandra is naked from the waist up. He stands there gasping. He places his hands on her breasts and sighs.
‘Do you want to do this?’ Daniel whispers.
‘Yes,’ she whispers, closing her eyes, ‘yes, it’s what I want.’
‘Do you want to do this every day for the rest of your life?’
‘Yes,’ she whispers.
They sink down on to the ground.
‘No matter who I am?’
‘Yes,’ she whispers.
‘No matter what has happened to me?’
‘Yes, I want to do this every day for the rest of my life.’
‘Cool,’ says Daniel, ‘that’s really fucking cool of you.’
Rudi strides through the woods. He’s a tall man, well over one ninety-five with long arms which don’t always know what to do with themselves. His face is pockmarked, his whole body is lopsided and he looks like a roaming tower moving across the ground.
He stops for a moment to think.
Not many men have as good a woman as he has. Anyone thinking of laying a hand on her better fucking watch out. You can call it what you want, call it being a psycho, call it jealousy, I call it love and Chessi does too. Do you not think I’ve looked after her? Do you not think Rudi has given her what she wants? Didn’t she get to see Aerosmith at Sweden Rock Festival? Dream until your dreams come true!
Rudi froths saliva between his teeth and continues pounding across the forest floor. Hasn’t he taken her to both Rock am Ring and Rock im Park, hasn’t he laid the tickets on the table and paid for the whole shebang? Weren’t they a fixture at Norway Rock in Kvinesdal until the festival went bust, doesn’t she get as many thousands of pints of beer as she wants, didn’t she stand and almost weep with joy in front of Motörhead and didn’t she almost come when Twisted Sister played ‘We’re Not Gonna Take It’? Didn’t he hold her and rub her back when she puked in the tent in the middle of the night. And hasn’t she got an amazing fucking metal tattoo on her back that he paid for? And isn’t she allowed to go to that skincare shit, even though he thinks it’s disgusting.
Rudi spits into the woods, feeling strong and fair.
She’s grumpy and electric, always has been. She’s not approachable in the morning, you need to stay weeeell bloody clear of her until she’s had her coffee. But those are the kinds of things you just have to cope with when it’s love that’s at stake, you need to be generous,
you need to let her sit in her room and mope – yeah, she can keep that room until she dies, every girl needs to have a room of her own.
Rudi spits again, before halting in his tracks and spinning all the way round.
Here. A wistful feeling sneaks up and strikes Rudi. Gran’s cabin could have stood right here. God bless the old bag of bones, they were the good old days. Land, fields, sheep and cows and no mobile bloody phones, no interfuckingnet and nobody ringing up to ask if you’re interested in faster broadband; no, mister, I’m interested in your dick on a skewer. Good thing for you, Gran, that you didn’t have to live to see this shit.
Focus.
Rudi peers into the forest. He pricks up his ears. A sound? His eyes dart back and forth in the darkness, trying to adjust to the lack of light. He orders his pulse to slow down.
No, no sounds.
Need to get hold of that du-du-du du-du-du du-du-du song. It’s impossible to remember the name of it. Coldplay. What is it he’s singing?
I used to rule the world.
Chessi is going to put her finger down her throat and puke, heavy ballads all the way there. Rudi can’t stand pop either, metal all the way. But that one song there, that takes the roof off the church. He needs to get it on CD, then he won’t have to sit wondering if they’re going to play it on the radio when he’s out in the Volvo, and no way in hell is he getting any SPOTIFUCK or PISSTUNES or YOUSCREW and sitting listening to Mötley on a computer or watching the old videos on a mobile phone, that’s an insult to all music.
Tapes. And CDs.
Rudi nods to himself.
He never got into vinyl. Jan Inge likes records. He’s got those old country records his dad left behind when he went to the US. Might be hi-fi, but it’s just scratches and stress. Rudi has always been of the opinion that if it’s good sound you want, just turn up the volume, then you’ll hear everything loud and clear. But each to their own, he thinks, I mean, it’s not like I sit doing my nails with silver polish and read poetry while the moon glimmers behind a cloud either.
Pity you never had the chance to meet my woman, Gran. Cecilie’s her name! Lots of sharp edges but you’d be hard pressed to find better. Granny would’ve liked her. She’s sitting on a silver cloud up there in heaven with flowers in her lap, and one day she’s going to say:
Rudi. There you are. Welcome to heaven. Is that right? You became a crook, I see, well, to every man his own life, welcome to heaven!
She had a lot more respect for an individual on God’s green earth than the rest of that unspeakable family of his: Get thee behind me, Beast from Sandnes. Is that what a brother is supposed to be like? And is that what a sister-in-law is supposed to be like? Spitting in your own brother’s face at Gran’s funeral? Telling him you never want to see him again as long as you live?
Rudi breathes in and out deeply.
Who are you, Pål?
The question is: should they move? Away from Jani. Get their own place. A damn hard question. Hard in
every
way. It’s by no means certain Jani could handle it. It’s by no means certain it’d be good for the company. It could actually ruin
everything
. A damn, damn, damn, damn, damn, damn hard question.
He waves his big hands in front of him in the darkness.
Focus, like Jan Inge says, you need to focus, Rudi. Don’t talk too much. Don’t get lost in thought.
He takes long strides up towards the rock where he’s arranged to meet Pål. He catches sight of him when he’s halfway up. Rudi comes to a stop and studies him. There’s no immediate recognition. Of course the guy had to have a dog. He needs to start saying it to people.
Dogs prohibited
. Pål looks worn out. His shoulders are slouching, his hands are nervous and his face is sad. He can’t say he recognises him.
Rudi continues on and Pål catches sight of him. Rudi gives him a firm nod and assumes his sternest look, Pål raises his hand and gives him a lopsided smile.
‘All right?’ Rudi halts.
‘Yeah, hi, I’m På—’
Rudi glances quickly left and right. ‘No,’ he says, grabbing Pål by his jacket. ‘No, we can’t stand here. Come on.’
‘Okay…’
They walk down the hill, cross the path and break off into the woods. The dog barks. Rudi hears Pål breathing nervously beside him and lifts his hand up in the air as a signal to remain silent, while continuing to pull Pål after him. He looks intently toward the tree trunks ahead.
‘Can you make your dog shut up?’ Rudi hisses. ‘Or do I have to find a stone to beat his head in with?’
Pål bends down quickly to the dog, whispers in a commanding voice: ‘Zitha! Quiet!’
Rudi mutters to himself, annoyed. They cross the road and enter the small forest on the far side, which seems less inviting, less frequented, and after a short time Rudi points toward the substation.
‘There,’ he says. ‘Behind that.’
‘Okay?’
‘The hum from the substation,’ Rudi says. ‘Away from prying eyes.’
They tramp through the undergrowth, towards the graffitied brick wall. The substation emits a steady, monotone sound. They stop. Rudi smiles sideways and says:
‘Påli dude. I was thinking about you earlier today. You say we’ve met before? In the old days? Did you massage J-J-Janne D-D-Dobro’s melons? Did you live on the same road as Tommy Pogo? Did I steal comics from you? Did I beat you up under the street lights by Tjensvoll Shopping Centre?
Pål looks down. ‘Eh, no, eh, it—’
‘No?’ Rudi clicks his tongue. ‘No?’ he laughs. ‘Yeah, they were the good old days. That was what made us men, eh?’
‘I…’ Pål clears his throat. ‘I lived here when I was small. Or, I mean. I still live here, and … yeah, I, or, everyone knew who you were of course, or the Tjensvoll Gang, who all of you were rather, and eh, what all of you, y’know, did—’
‘You’re struggling a little. Were you afraid of us?’
‘Eh…’
‘Were you?’
‘Everyone was.’
‘Heh heh.’
‘The whole area was, we—’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Rudi interrupts, ‘old times. Now our paths cross once again and you’ve gone grey, my friend, but have I? Heh heh! Can’t say I remember you. Okay, Pål, focus. The ball’s in your court, we don’t have any unfinished business, I haven’t beaten you up, you’re not out for revenge and I’m guessing you don’t want to invite me round for dinner? Heh heh! And if you do, then I’ve only one thing to say – Rudi ain’t no homo! I’d cut my own head off before I’d take a cock up the hole!’
Rudi jabs Pål hard in the chest.
‘No,’ he says, inhaling what feels like a kilo of air, while thinking that people can say what they like about fresh air being the best thing there is, but when you’ve quit smoking you know what the real truth is. ‘No, you don’t get much of a laugh if you’re not up for a laugh. So Wally, the dog whisperer, what will we do?’
‘Eh …. well—’
Rudi places his hand on Pål’s shoulder. ‘Nervous? Okay, listen to me. Breathe in. And out. And in. And out. This is what you discover the older you get. All people –
almost all,
there’s always an almost – that’s the thing. This is what I want to teach my kids, if I have any.
All people – almost all – are okay.
They might look like inside out goatskin, but they’re okay. Come on, Kåli, you need to breathe here! In, out, in, out! Yeah. Repeat after me, Tåli:
All people – almost all –
are okay.
There’s something for you to think about.’
Rudi stops himself. Focus. He takes his hand off Pål and straightens up. Scrutinises him. Just a regular guy. Not much else to say. Could do with a bit more facial hair, maybe. Shy looking.
‘So. Pål. Fagerland. What is it this fudgepacker has got on his mind? Have you got a woman, Fåli?’
‘Eh … no…’
‘No? Thought as much. You’d know to look at you. Yeah, I can see how things might be tough. If I didn’t have—’
Rudi clears his throat. How many times has Jani said it: No names. No stories. Nothing personal. He’s said it a billion times.
‘Anyway,’ Rudi says, ‘one day the ladies are going to come knocking on your door too. And that’s when you need to start … yes, so anyhoo … Pål. Fagerland. What is bothering this guy?’
Pål shifts his feet.
‘Spit it out, Gåli. And remember to breathe now.’
Pål gulps. ‘The Ace of Spades,’ he whispers, glancing up at Rudi.
Rudi begins slowly to nod. ‘I see,’ he says, in recognition. ‘Double up or quit?’
Pål looks down at the tall grass. ‘Yeah,’ he says softly.
‘Double stakes or split?’ Rudi raises his bushy eyebrows.
‘Yeah,’ whispers Pål.
His shoulders drooping over. His eyes, so scared looking. Standing there, slouched over. The dog’s leash hanging slack from his wrist. His meek, embarrassed voice. Is he crying? Jesus, this guy is in a bad way.
Rudi starts removing his jacket. He pulls the sleeves back the right way round and hands it to Pål. Then Rudy takes off his sweater, which he also hands to Pål. And even though it’s beginning to get very cold, he pulls off his T-shirt. Then turns his back to Pål.
‘See?’
‘Yeah…’
‘What do you see?’
‘Well…’
‘You see that it says Motörhead?’
‘Yes,’
‘Good.’ Rudi turns and takes back his clothes. ‘So now you know.’
‘I can’t get out of it,’ he hears Pål say while he puts his clothes back on.
‘Staying up at night?’
Pål nods.
‘The internet?’
Pål nods again.
‘That’s what’s wrong with the world today,’ Rudi says, and spits.
Pål looks at him. ‘So I was thinking … I don’t know, maybe it’s a stupid idea but I’ve got into a situation which I can’t manage to, y’know, debt collection and…’
‘I know, you don’t need to explain. Go on…’
‘And then I came to think of you and him, what’s his name, Jan Inge, and—’
Rudi lifts both hands. ‘Whoa! Stop! No names. Erase! Rewind! Dude, no names!’
‘Okay, no names, but you two came to mind, from the eighties,’ Pål says, his forehead sweaty. ‘I have two kids. Two girls. I’ve done something stupid. I…’
‘Yeah?’
‘Well, I—’
‘Yeah?’
‘I need a million.’
‘A million?’ Rudi laughs.
‘Yeah.’ Pål nods and looks down at the undergrowth.
‘Listen,’ says Rudi, slapping Pål on the back, ‘sorry I’m laughing here, but … I mean … you need a
million
, and—’
Pål’s eyes brim with desperation. ‘Help me,’ he whispers, a lump in his throat. ‘Help me, please. I have two daughters—’
‘Yeah, don’t they have a mother?’
‘Yes, but it’s … it’s complicated. I’m up to my neck in this…’ Pål pauses, swallows, before looking up at Rudi: ‘I’ve no place to go. Please, help me. I’ll do anything.’
Rudi nods. He folds his arms.
‘Anything,’ Pål whispers.
Rudi puts his fingertips against one another, all ten of them, and begins pacing restlessly in front of Pål while he speaks.
‘Firstly: It’s sad, what’s happened to you. You’ve done something stupid. Secondly: You’re not alone, this happens the best of us. Thirdly: You’re looking for a solution. That’s good. Fourthly: You’re a Motörhead man. I appreciate good taste. I like that we’re cultural brothers. Do you like Coldplay? No, Rudi’s just kidding with you. Heh heh. Sorry. Back to the game, to put it like that. Fifthly: You think we can get our hands on a million?’
‘Yeah, I…’
‘Do you or don’t you?’
‘I … I don’t know what I think. I don’t know what you … I just remember … in the old days, when you were in the Tjensvoll Gang … people said that…’
‘And what makes you think I don’t work as a gardener now, or crochet tea cosies?’
‘Huh?’
‘Go on,’ said Rudi. ‘Go on.’
‘I’m sorry if I … I just thought … is there anything I can do to get hold of a million? Then I had the idea of calling you.’
‘Ah, Påli.
Is there anything I can do to
… you’ve got the right attitude, maestro. You’ve got in touch with a good company, I’ll give you that. You’ve realised that there’s something called expertise. You have what Jani calls intuition. But
is there anything I—
’
They hear a rustling behind them.
‘Down!’ Rudi puts his hand on top of Pål’s head and pushes him down into the bushes. He turns round as quick as a flash, peers back into the woods. ‘Down!’ he repeats. ‘And keep the dog quiet!’