Authors: Tore Renberg
Granted, at first sight, yeah. At first sight Jan Inge may not cut such an impressive figure as he does when you see him in action. But then we´re talking discrimination, Rudi thinks, and isn’t that a mortal sin? What we’re looking at then is a type of racism, a type of Nazism,
obesity Nazism,
and what was it we learned in primary school about not judging people by their appearance, their race or creed? It’s bullying, pure and simple. And Rudi’s seen it so many times when he’s been in the presence of the great Jan Inge, and he doesn’t mean ‘great’ as in fat, but ‘great’ as in brilliant, and what would Gran have to say about that? Shame on you! People who meet Jan Inge and look away, people who talk shit behind his back, call him a hobbit, or people who quite simply talk shit to his face. Do they not think he’s hurt by that?
Great men have feelings too.
The worst Rudi’s experienced was the time they had a job on with the Tornes Gang from around Haugesund. A shower of bastards. Doped out of their minds all day long, swapping women all the time, swindling each other, no conscience and no love, either for the profession or for the people engaged in it. It had seemed so promising, a nice decent break-in up in Haugesund. They’d come by information, they needed people, they’d heard about Jani’s gang – naturally enough, word gets around. But Jesus, Mary and Holy Saint fucking Joseph. It started from the minute they met them. ‘Whataboutye,’ said the Tornes guy, the one with ears as big as an elephant, ‘fat ass there is Jan Inge, is he?’ ‘Whataboutye,’ his brother chipped in, Tornes guy number two, the one with such a tiny nose you’d think he’d snorted it away, ‘all right hi, Porky, you going to drive the Skoda, are you?’ ‘Whataboutye,’ Tornes guy
number three takes over, the youngest brother, the one with the mental big wart on his forehead, ‘all right hi, Fatso, are you the one called Videoboy?’ Oh fuck, Gran, wash my mouth out with Domestos. I’m happy you didn’t have to see that. That’s how they went on, for two whole days, and if it hadn’t been for Jan Inge himself refusing to let Tong and Rudi do over the whole Tornes Gang and cut them into pieces, then that’s what would have happened to them, and they would have been messed up and smelt even worse.
It’s only fair and proper, thinks Rudi, that I stand in Jani’s shadow.
Der Führer
, without making invidious comparisons.
Look how he puts his arm around Pål. Strolling along in the lee of the substation. Seems like a sound bloke, Pål. Heart in the right place. Feels like one of us in a lot of ways, thinks Rudi, as he hears Jan Inge say: ‘Are you with us, Pål? Will we do this? Go through with, what I like to call, a time-honoured classic?’
When they meet people they’re going to cooperate with in some way or another, Rudi often feels that he can’t really talk to them, like they’re living in a world far removed from his. But Pål. Top bloke, plain and simple. Really good feeling, knowing they’re not just doing this for the money, but also to help their fellow man.
Fellow Man.
That was a book, so it was. Granny was always on about it. She had books on the brain, Gran. Sitting there with her books. Hamsun and Agatha Christie and whatever their names were. Nothing wrong with that, total respect for book people, Rudi thinks, even though I’ve chosen the real life and everything it has to offer, instead of the book life with all it has to give.
Pål doesn’t reply. But Jan Inge allows him time.
It’s all about being calm, pensive and dignified.
‘Let me tell you a story,’ he hears Jani say, from over in the thicket. ‘A little story. My father – I won’t mention his name or where he lives – my father had some problems once. Lets put it like that. Some problems that his kids, my sister and me that is, weren’t completely aware of. If you and I were to walk the miles together, I could tell you all about it. About what a child sees, about what
a frightened little child understands and what a grown-up understands, and what a person who sees an axe coming down on their throat understands. You like horror, Pål? No? I could – and maybe I will? – show you some films one day.
Suspiria?
No? You haven’t seen
Nightmare in a Damaged Brain? The Thing?
No?
Carnival of Souls?
You haven’t seen it?
Night of the Living Dead? The Hills Have Eyes?
Hm. You sure I haven’t met you before? Anyway. My father. He had an insurmountable number of problems. And this is in spite of being a happy-go-lucky guy. If there’s one thing that characterises him, it’s his unbelievable good humour. It’s almost mystifying. But problems. Big problems. But you know, we were just kids, and I mean, what did we know about adult life. I mean, what were we? A trifle, blades of grass in the field. So, we’re talking the very early eighties here – keywords are Blondie, Wham!,
Blade Runner, E.T., Raiders of the Lost Ark
, John Holmes, Desiree Cousteau – and let me make it quite clear that we’re anti-porn. We’re feminists, twenty-four hours a day. At your service, women! The eighties – reminds me of Speedos and tight shorts, Rossignol skis and Björn Borg, things your kids will never know anything about. Smells they won’t associate with anything. I mean, who remembers Kim Carnes? Me, Pål. Me. Or, hold on … ‘Bette Davis Eyes’ … no, now I’m getting mix—Rudi! Eighty? Eighty-one? Eighty-two?’
‘No idea, that’s your area of expertise.’
Jan Inge nods: ‘I think I might be wrong, forget that about Kim Carnes.’ He plods on for another few steps with Pål, who still remains silent. Rudi has begun patting Zitha, the dog breathing calmly to his touch.
Jan Inge breathes in and out heavily. ‘I’m showing faith in you now, Pål. Because I like you. But also because I want to show you that in our firm, we’re different. We’re not some cocaine-snorting gang of idiots from around Haugesund. We work with, and for, people. We don’t bow to the Hell Angels or the Bandidos. We don’t jump for joy because David Toska and his gang come to town. We work away quietly. We’re almost like part of the very bedrock of the city. Anyway. My dad. So he had a large number of insurmountable – is that what it’s called? Insurmountable? Rudi? Insurmountable or insuperable?’
Rudi pouts while pondering the question. ‘Errrr,’ he says, ‘I think you could use either of them.’
‘Right. They were the problems he had. Insurmountable and insuperable. I can just say it right out: the biggest problem was my mother. A she-devil, Pål. The mother of all fears. A heart of glass. We can talk about it another time, when the two of us are sharing a pipe by the ocean – I’m speaking metaphorically now – then, we can talk about it. But now we’re discussing my Dad. And I’m getting to the point. Around this time, he was made an offer. An offer, Pål. Just like you.
Now Rudi feels a tugging in his chest. This is precisely what he loves about Jan Inge. Standing here, on an ordinary Wednesday, watching him in action. His thoughts flying hither and thither, his words too, and who knows what he’s after but then it comes, the point.
‘Yes,’ he hears the master say. ‘My father got an offer. This was the oil age now, Pål, not the internet age—’
‘Mayhem! Get thee behind me!’ Rudi makes the sign of the cross with two fingers and holds them towards the sky.
Jan Inge laughs his reedy laughter. ‘It’s the era of oil, and my father is in that business and he gets an offer. While he’s up to his neck in problems. Will he accept a job over there?’
‘Over there, land of the brave, hom—’
‘Will he? A lucrative position, Pål, good money, a new life. He gets an offer, a time-honoured classic, if you think of life as simply time and this as a classic.’
‘Hah. You listening, Poffi?’
‘You follow me, Pål?’
Pål nods.
‘Simple as that. Dad went to Houston. Difficult for us as kids to understand back then. Easy to understand now. And you? Now you’re being made an offer. What do you say, Pål?’
Rudi can’t manage to keep still any longer. This is just too much. He lets go of the dog, who responds by following him. He stands in front of Pål, looks him in the eyes, grips his jaws in both hands and says: ‘Brilliant, Spoffi! This is going to work like a dream! Hallefuckingluja! Can I kiss you?’
Pål looks bewildered. Rudi gives him a friendly shove. Jan Inge takes out his inhaler, shakes it and sucks on it.
‘So. Now we can listen to what you have to say, Pål.’
‘I’m in. But…’ he pauses uncertainly.
‘What are you thinking about, brother?’
‘Well…’ He runs a hand through his hair. ‘No, it’s just – what were you thinking of doing to me?’
Rudi smiles. ‘Listen,’ he says, ‘it’ll be fine. We’re experienced. Don’t worry about it.’
‘Right … but … will it … hurt?’
‘Look, Joffi, there’s being hurt and there’s being hurt … you can take a little bit of pain.’
‘But … will I wind up in hospital? Will I be able to walk afterwards?’
‘Shit,’ Rudi says. ‘You’re a nice guy, Toffi. Don’t think about that. Think about the money! Ah. See this here, this is one of the best days of my life. When I die, I’ll remember four things: Chessi’s face, Jani’s face, Lemmy’s face and that beautiful face of yours, Schmoffi.
Zitha barks.
‘Yeah, yours too, fuckmutt,’ Rudi says and in his head Coldplay begin blaring at full volume: Du-du-du-du-du-du-du-du-du.
‘It’s so bloody good,’ he says ‘to feel that you’re alive. I can’t wait to tell Chessi.’
‘What?’ Jan Inge shoots him a dubious look. ‘No details, not before you’ve cleared it with me.’
‘No, no,’ laughs Rudi. ‘Jesus, I mean, I can’t wait to tell her that it’s time we started thinking seriously about things – kids, y’know, maybe getting a place of our own, taking the relationship a step further!’
A darkness brims in Jan Inge. It flows from his little blueberry eyes and washes down over him.
Malene walks out the front door and out into the street, heading in the direction of Folkeviseveien.
She went home when Thea and Tiril left for the rehearsal, the same time as Sandra disappeared into the darkness to meet Daniel. The wild sensations the day had thrown up vanished quite abruptly, the tingling of her skin, the heat of her body, which had made her feel strong and new. She couldn’t manage to take control of the situation. All of a sudden, Sandra didn’t need her any more; suddenly it was Tiril who had taken over everything, as though she were the big sister. Malene no longer felt at ease wearing the bright red lipstick.
‘Will I go with you?’ she’d asked. Sandra had shook her head. ‘No, no, course, you have to do this yourself.’ Malene had hastened to add, ‘Don’t let him ride roughshod over you, Sandra, okay?’
Dad wasn’t at home when she got in. The house looked like it was abandoned right in the middle of something. The living room door was wide open. One slipper at an angle to the other in the centre of the kitchen. A single saucer with a slice of bread on the kitchen table. A half-empty glass of juice. Zitha’s rubber bone on Dad’s pouf.
Malene cleaned up, but the sight of her hands annoyed her. She thought they looked like the hands of a forty-year-old as she loaded the dishwasher, as she hung up damp towels in the bathroom and as she placed Dad’s shoes beside one another.
Soon it was nine o’clock. She looked over her homework. She flicked through the channels on the TV. Clicked around on Facebook.
Now she’s outside. It’s daft. It’s idiotic. Out spying on Sandra and Daniel. But she can’t help herself. Sandra is having a torrid time and Veronika has it rough … is she jealous, is that it?
She walks quicker.
‘You’re such an idiot, Malene,’ she whispers.
She hurries along past the tower blocks in Jernalderveien and comes out on the plateau above the primary school, from where she’s afforded a view. There they are. Daniel and Sandra. In the middle of the football pitch, underneath the lights. She slackens her pace, lets her feet move slower across the tarmac. She knows she should turn around, but she’s can’t manage to.
Malene straightens up. Walks as naturally as she can out on to the gravel pitch. What will she say when they spot her? She doesn’t know Daniel. He hardly knows who she is. He’s a dangerous boy – who can tell what he’s capable of.
She draws closer. He’s so handsome. Everything about him is beautiful and strong. It’s hard to act naturally when people are so good-looking. How are you supposed to act, when the presence of another person is so overwhelming? She would never have dared go out with a boy like that. He gives a lot but he takes more. What he touches would always be left dazzled but also diminished. It’s not possible to come away from Daniel William Moi intact.
Malene scuffs her feet on the gravel so they’ll notice her. She’s only a few metres from them. What’s she going to say when they ask her why she’s here?
Sandra turns. So does Daniel. What eyes he has, what a mouth. If he opens it up the whole world will disappear down his throat
‘Malene?’
She raises her hand in a clumsy greeting and refrains from looking at Daniel.
‘Hello, fancy meeting you two,’ Malene says, trying to make her voice sound as unaffected as she can.
‘Hi…’ Sandra looks nervous. ‘This is Daniel…’
He gives her a quick look, a look that says she should get out of here as quick as she can.
‘Well,’ she hastens to say, ‘I’m heading to the school to listen to Tiril. Not too many people paying her much attention at the moment, so I figured I’d better be there for my little sister.’ Malene knows she’s speaking too fast, and she knows she’s a bad
liar. ‘Yeah,’ she giggles nervously. ‘Y’know, Evanescence, heh heh, have to support little sis.’
You need to go, Malene.
It’s in their faces, it’s in their body language.
She sees two men come into view down by the substation. They’re coming out of the woods, they resemble characters in a computer game. One of them is ungainly and as tall as a tree, the other quite small and fat. They’re momentarily lit up by a streetlamp outside the kindergarten, before they disappear from under it, heading in the direction of the main road.
‘I see,’ Daniel says, ‘you’re one of the sisters. The gymnast? Heard about your tumble. Bummer. Ankle was it?’
One of the sisters? Has Sandra been talking about her?
‘Yeah…’ Malene nods.
She looks at Sandra with uncertainty, whom for her part, avoids Malene’s eyes.
‘Okay, but anyway, Malene,’ Sandra says, with an affected smile, ‘we’re just going to have a chat…’
Another figure appears beneath the light outside the kindergarten. And a dog. They look like they’re part of the same computer game. First the towering figure, then the little, fat round guy, and now a normal man with his head down, and finally a dog sniffing along. Malene juts her chin out and squints.
It’s Dad.
She feels something shoot through her stomach, a needle-thin pain.
She points at the substation, ‘I’m…’ she says to Daniel and Sandra, ‘I’m just … that’s my dad.’ The others turn to look. ‘He’s out walking Zitha, our dog, that is…’
Dad bends over. Picks something up. It’s a stick. He holds it up high in front of Zitha, who’s wagging her tail expectantly. Then he stops dead, his head turns in their direction, his hand suspended in the air.
He looks like he doesn’t want to be seen, Malene thinks. It’s completely obvious. Dad doesn’t want to be seen.
He relaxes his body, his face breaking into that nice smile of his, shouts ‘Come on, Zitha!’ and throws the stick toward the goalposts.
Zitha sets off in pursuit. Dad strolls towards them.
This is embarrassing.
‘Hi!’
Dad’s big, warm smile.
‘Malene, didn’t expect to see you.’
Dad’s big, false smile.
He puts his hand out as he reaches them. He whistles for Zitha. Daniel shakes his hand and introduces himself. ‘I’m going out with Sandra.’
Dad smiles. ‘I know Sandra all right. Nice evening, eh?’
Zitha comes running over with the stick in her mouth, drops it at Dad’s feet and he commends her.
‘Out walking the dog?’ Daniel asks, bending over and running two hands along Zitha’s snout.
‘Oh yes,’ Dad says, ‘every day. What are you lot up to?’
Daniel’s grins and he says: ‘Darkness imprisoning me, all that I see, absolute horror, I cannot live, I cannot die, trapped in myself.’
Dad gives a start, as though someone had hit him in the face.
‘Heh heh,’ laughs Daniel, ‘Metallica. Your T-shirt.’
Dad laughs and looks down at his chest, the old T-shirt barely visible under his jacket.
‘Best band in the world,’ says Daniel.
Dad smiles. ‘Well, I better be getting home,’ he says. ‘Enter Sandman, y’know. Heh heh. Are you heading home, Malene?’
She nods, knows she’s been given away, but it makes no difference.
She smiles at Sandra, gives her a hug.
‘See you around,’ says Daniel.
The windows of the tower blocks are lit up in the darkness. All those people crammed together. It looks cheery and sad at the same time. Malene is aware of her father’s heavy form beside her. He walks along, making small talk about something, but she’s not following what he’s saying. She’s just aware of him plodding along, aware of something being terribly wrong. She stops as they get to the last tower block. She stares at him for such a long time that he’s forced to make eye contact with her.
Malene puts her head to the side.
‘Honey,’ he says, ‘everything’s going to be fine.’