The Wolves of Eternity, page 39
‘I’d like to speak to Evelyn Løyning, please,’ I said.
‘I’m afraid she’s asleep at the moment,’ she said.
‘Ah,’ I said. ‘This is her son speaking. I was just wondering how things went with her surgery today?’
‘The surgery went well. She’s tired now, of course, so it’s good that she’s sleeping. I’m sure she’ll be able to speak to you tomorrow, in the morning.’
‘Good, that’s a relief,’ I said. ‘Can you tell her Syvert and Joar rang?’
‘I will.’
I put the phone down and turned to Joar.
‘Did you catch that?’ I said. ‘She’s asleep, but everything’s fine and we can ring up and speak to her in the morning.’
He nodded.
‘You did really well in that science test!’ I said as we went back into the living room. Joar sat down next to me again.
TV Theatre was starting. More lofty socialist telly for people’s licence money. Curse of the Starving Class, this one was called. We saw the inside of a house, a door being rattled, then a fist that punched through the wood.
‘Since when did you start watching TV Theatre?’ I said, and grinned at him.
‘I was wondering the same about you,’ he said.
A young man in a white T-shirt lay on his back on a bed, thinking. I could feel this country close like it was part of my bones, he said in a voice-over. I could feel the presence of all the people outside, at night, in the dark. Even sleeping people I could feel. Even all the sleeping animals. Dogs. Peacocks. Bulls. Even tractors sitting in the wetness, waiting for the sun to come up.
‘Have you ever seen a tractor sitting anywhere?’ I said.
Joar shook his head.
‘I’ve never seen one waiting for the sun to come up either.’
‘Shall we turn it off?’
‘Can do.’
I got up and turned it off, then went to the kitchen for more coffee.
‘Are you thinking about Mum?’ I said when I came back in.
He shrugged.
‘It’s a shame we couldn’t speak to her. But the nurse said it had all gone well, so that’s the main thing.’
‘Will I have to live with you when she dies?’
‘Joar, she’s not going to die. You mustn’t think like that.’
‘It’s quite likely that she will, actually,’ he said. ‘Am I going to have to live with you then?’
‘Listen,’ I said, putting my coffee down on the table. ‘Mum’s ill. She’s got cancer. Some people recover, some don’t. You’ve got to battle it and not give up. If we go around telling ourselves she’s going to die or wondering what we’re going to do if she does, we’ll have given up already. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
‘Cancer’s all about genes. Genes don’t care what we say.’
‘Not directly, no. But you’ve heard of the placebo effect, haven’t you?’
‘Of course.’
‘It’s when some people are given medicine, while others are given a dummy treatment, and then it turns out that the ones who’ve been given the dummy treatment get well too. And why’s that? Because they thought they’d been given the proper medicine. So believing helps, you see? Not just psychologically, but physically as well.’
‘The cancer cells are in Oslo. We’re here.’
‘Mum will know if we lose hope. She’ll hear it in our voices.’
He fell silent.
Outside, the sky was blue again. The late sunlight drenched the trees across the field.
It was amazing how little of the world we could see at any one time.
Going somewhere else wouldn’t help, all we’d see there would be another section, just as small.
All we could see was what the eyes could see.
It wasn’t much.
A sort of duct in front of and behind us, with various things in it. Trees and bushes and hills. Or houses and streets. Or rooms and furniture.
That was the world.
‘Anyway, we can’t just sit here,’ I said. ‘We should do something.’
‘Like what?’ said Joar.
‘I don’t know. Is there anything you feel like?’
He shook his head.
‘How about going for a drive?’
‘Now? At this time?’
‘We’re on our own,’ I said. ‘Bedtime’s for us to decide.’
‘Where shall we go?’
‘Wherever you want. The falls?’
‘What are we going to do there?’
I shrugged.
‘It’d be nice just to sit there for a bit. There’ll be a lot of water in the falls now. Or we could go to the chippy? How about sausage and mash? A hot dog? Sausage and chips? A burger?’
‘Sausage and chips.’
‘Right, then. Let’s go!’
* * *
*
The feeling I had of everything being small and condensed disappeared as, stepping over to the car, I felt the cool air of evening against my cheeks, the breeze somehow carrying with it the thought of Lisa, and everything then seemed to quiver and vibrate.
It was all in my head.
Nothing had changed.
The undertaker’s job, that was in my head too.
Lisa was in my head.
Even Joar was in my head, sitting there next to me on the passenger seat, clicking his seat belt.
‘It’s a lovely evening!’ I said to him, dropping the sun visor down with one hand as I turned the wheel with the other and pulled away along the road.
He smelled a bit, a faint odour of sweat mingled with something more pungent.
Did he use a deodorant?
Probably not.
It came all of a sudden, that smell of sweat.
I remembered Mum telling me. We’d been visiting her family over in the Vestland, it was summer and the weather was glorious, I was twelve years old, and one morning we were sitting out on the step in the sunshine waiting for Evert to come, and Mum said I’d grown up so much I’d have to start using a deodorant. She bought one at the supermarket that same afternoon, I could still remember it, a light blue Sterilan in a glass bottle.
I’d been embarrassed about smelling of sweat, but proud of myself at having reached the age when I had to use a deodorant.
I could buy him one without comment.
We followed the road through the woods and out onto the long flatland that was covered with strawberry plants on one side, sloping away to the river, while on the other tall spruce trees rose up like a wall.
The wino’s funeral had not been well attended. I’d counted twelve in all, besides Johansen and myself, and Kristian, who was already there waiting for us when we came.
We’d rolled the coffin across to the church on a trolley, Johansen and me, Kristian walking in front of us with slow, solemn, measured strides, like he was a general or something.
General of Death.
Joar took a packet of chewing gum from his pocket, Juicy Fruit, and after removing the silver wrappers he folded two of the soft sticks together, popped them into his mouth and was about to put the packet back in his pocket when he changed his mind and held it out to offer me a piece.
‘Do you want some?’
‘Yes, please. Will you open one for me?’
He did so, and my mouth filled with the taste of artificial fruit flavouring.
The river ran green beneath us, dark, almost black under the trees. Glimpses of yellow where the sandy bed shone through. The road on the other side, hardly used any more, lay empty.
‘We might have to wait a week before going up to Oslo,’ I said.
He turned his head and looked at me.
‘Why?’ he said, a wariness in his voice and eyes.
‘She’s only just had her procedure today. She won’t be feeling that good. Best to wait a bit until she’s more up to it, I reckon.’
‘I’d say it was the other way round.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘It’ll do her more good to see us now.’
‘Perhaps,’ I said. ‘But it’ll be important for her to get as much rest and as much sleep as possible.’
How was I going to go out with Lisa now without him putting two and two together?
I’d have to cross that bridge when I came to it.
‘Do you want to have a quick look at the falls?’ I said.
He shrugged.
‘Can do.’
I parked the car in front of where the bus pulled in. Even there, the air was a mist of tiny droplets from the falls. The roar increased as we walked along the path beneath the dark trees, the water here and there appearing to us in glimpses between the trunks, shapeless and greyish white.
My face was wet as we stood at the edge and peered across. In summer, the river often had so little water in it that you could venture out, stepping from rock to rock. One of them had runes carved in it, from the Viking age, I’d seen them many times, though without knowing what they meant. There were a couple more rock carvings there too, one from the fourteenth century, the other from the sixteenth century, something to do with the king having come past once.
We sat down on the bare rock. Further below us, we could see the faint glow of the factory windows. Some red forklifts stood lined up outside the main building. There was a row of dark green containers, too. A lorry trailer with a blue tarp. Three cars.
We sat for a while without speaking. I stared at the plunging falls, the way they seemed to force the near-black waters of the pool below onwards into the river channel.
Joar stared too.
It was impossible to tell what was on his mind.
‘What are you thinking about?’ I said after a bit.
‘What?’
‘What are you thinking about?’ I said, louder.
‘Nothing.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ I said. ‘You’re always thinking about something. Things nobody else thinks.’
‘Am I?’
‘You know you are!’
‘OK.’
‘Go on then, what are you thinking about?’
‘Nothing in particular. Just looking at the water.’
‘Without a thought in your head?’
‘Yes. Or rather, I was thinking that the form’s always the same, but the contents keep changing. How strange it is. What difference is there, exactly, between form and content, if you look at the water there?’
‘There, you see,’ I said.
He looked at me.
‘See what?’
‘You were thinking about something.’
‘What were you thinking about, then?’
‘Not that!’
‘What, then?’
‘Nothing. I was just looking at it all. The falls and the factory, and the hill over there. I wasn’t really thinking about anything.’
‘How come you thought I was?’
‘I could tell. Besides, you’re a person who thinks a lot.’
‘You think as well, you know,’ he said.
‘Oh, thanks!’ I said, and laughed.
‘But if you don’t think about what you’re thinking, your thoughts just drift away, because there’s nothing to tie them down.’
‘There’s a word for people like you.’
‘What?’
‘Precocious.’
‘I have reached puberty, you know.’
‘I’ve realised,’ I said, and laughed again, wiped the mist droplets from my brow and cheeks and got to my feet. ‘Shall we go back?’
* * *
*
Among the cars outside the chippy I immediately recognised Gjert’s black Ascona, and once I’d parked I ambled over. Gjert, with a carton of chips in his lap and a sausage in one hand, rolled his window down. Bente was sitting beside him, struggling with a big hamburger.
‘All right?’ said Gjert.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘Sausage and chips, is it?’
‘Has to be done.’
‘I’m with you as far as the ketchup goes, but the mustard you’ve got there’s a different matter. Chips and mustard, it’s not on. Tastes horrible.’
‘Have you come all this way just to criticise?’
‘It’s not a criticism. I’m merely sharing my experience. You should be grateful. Don’t you think, Bente?’
‘Yes,’ she said, gripping her burger with both hands like it was still alive.
‘How’s things, anyway?’ I said, glancing then at Joar, who stood studying the menu in the window.
‘Not bad,’ said Gjert. ‘Busy, which is good. How about you?’
‘I’m OK.’
‘I hear you’ve gone into the funeral business?’
‘Who told you that?’
‘Vegard. What’s it like?’
‘OK. Not much to talk about.’
‘I can imagine,’ he said, and laughed.
‘It’s only to tide me over. I’ll be packing it in after the summer.’
‘It’s all money.’
‘That’s the way I look at it.’
‘You coming to practice tomorrow?’
‘I reckon so.’
‘See you there, then.’
‘Yes, see you,’ I said, and went over to where Joar was standing.
‘What’s it going to be, then?’ I said. ‘Flat fried cow or ground pig with flour, herbs and preservatives in a casing of intestines?’
‘Hamburger and chips, please. And a cola, if I’m allowed.’
‘Course you’re allowed.’
I stepped up onto the little veranda-like platform and ordered Joar’s hamburger and chips and a sausage and mash for myself. When the food came, we took it over to one of the tables that had been put out on a patch of grass next to where the trees started. We were quite high up the valley, the hillsides were steep and tall and the air between them chilly now that the sun had retreated and shone only on the trees that stood uppermost on the slopes. Most of the young people who hung out here were from the town a few kilometres further up the road, so neither the cars nor the faces inside them were familiar to me.
Below the road, on the flat ground beside the river, was a camping site. Whenever I saw it, I always wondered who on earth would come camping here. Midges, forest, youths cruising around in cars, what kind of a holiday would that be?
Nevertheless, the place was packed with tents and caravans all summer.
I squirted a long line of ketchup into my carton and handed the bottle to Joar. Pressed the sausage into the mash and tried to gouge some up with it, but either the mash was too firm or the sausage was too soft, so I picked up the plastic fork instead, ridiculously small though it was, hardly bigger than a toothpick, and scooped some mash into my mouth before dabbing the sausage in the ketchup and biting the end off.
‘Your hamburger all right?’ I said.
Joar nodded with his mouth full.
‘Since you do so much thinking, what do you think’s the meaning of all this?’ I said, indicating the situation, the general surroundings.
He rolled his eyes.
‘I’m not joking, I’m asking you seriously. Have you thought about it?’
He swallowed, then drank some cola.
‘No,’ he said.
‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘But don’t you think it’s strange that everything we can see around us here is the result of an explosion, and that before that there was nothing?’
‘Are you talking about the Big Bang now?’
‘Yes. How can something as complex as a cat emerge out of nothing?’
I’d run out of patience with the little fork and used my fingers to pick up a big mouthful of mash.
‘Is this something you’ve been wondering about?’ he said, looking at me with his mouth half open.
‘What if I have?’
‘There’s nothing strange about it,’ he said, his voice suggesting puzzlement that I could even ask. ‘Matter accumulates into great clouds. The clouds become stars and planets. On the planets, matter crams together and forms systems. In some of those systems, life emerges. Some of that life develops and becomes a cat.’
‘Simple as that?’
‘No, it’s not simple at all,’ he said. ‘It took science thousands of years to work it out.’
He dipped the end of a chip into his little blob of ketchup and popped it into his mouth.
‘How come you know?’ I said.
‘It’s something I learned at school. Didn’t you?’
‘I suppose I must have done,’ I said, and licked my fingers before taking another bite of sausage. ‘What about God, though?’
‘That’s just superstition.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Now you’re being stupid.’
He bit into his hamburger again.
‘You’re not getting confirmed, then?’
He shook his head, his mouth still full, swallowed, then gulped some more cola.
‘Does Mum know?’
‘No.’
‘What do you think she’ll say?’
‘She can say what she wants. I can’t get confirmed just for Mum’s sake, can I?’
‘I did.’
‘I thought you did it for the money?’
I laughed.
‘That as well.’
We finished eating. I went and got some serviettes from the dispenser next to the serving hatch and wiped my mouth and fingers, but the dry paper wasn’t enough, so I gave the car key to Joar, crossed over to the petrol station toilet and washed my hands in the sink there. It wasn’t until I stepped outside again that I realised how dark it was getting. The lights had come on at the side of the road and the light from the petrol station windows suddenly seemed a lot brighter.
‘Can we give Mum a ring when we get home?’ Joar said as I got in the car. ‘She might be awake now.’
‘Where’s the key?’ I said.
