Beatles

  A boiling hot plate was shoved into my hands.

  ‘You were unplaced in the orienteering,’ Peder said, grinning to both sides.

  ‘Right,’ I said. ‘Slipped on Ullevålseter.’

  ‘Got to have your navigation in order, you know. And your speed.’

  Couldn’t be bothered to listen to the sailor, cleared off again and now there was a bit more life in the place. The sound system was on full peg, some old-time jazz thing, three couples slipped across the parquet and a few others were negotiating. Seb lay on the floor rummaging through the record stand, shaking his head in desperation. I couldn’t get Peder and Cecilie out of my system and in my annoyance I made a grab in the air and caught Vera on the hoof. She was so shocked she clung to me and her breath was hot and her eyes were framed by black eyeliner. A damned tango wailed from the speakers, I held her tighter, bent her backwards and stuff, and people were cheering. Then Peder and Cecilie came in with more food, Cecilie stopped and met my eyes, not for more than a second, but it was the first time, the first time we had looked at each other. I let go of Vera, sat down on a chair and lit up. Vera was left on the floor, alone, like a little child, abandoned in a large crowd.

  Peder brought me some food.

  ‘Close your eyes and point west,’ he said.

  ‘Not hungry,’ I said, blowing smoke past his parting.

  He sat on the edge of the table.

  ‘Nice jacket you’re wearing today,’ he said, feeling the tweed between his fingers. ‘Brand new?’

  Ears pricked up in the room.

  ‘Inherited it from Jesus’s uncle,’ I said.

  Peder continued to rub the lapel. His blue jacket was blinding me.

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ he said. ‘Because you buy your clothes from the Sally Army, don’t you.’

  I hadn’t thought about Fred for a long time. Now he stood in front of me as clear as day, in his wide trousers, and the rat, I saw the rat in the torch light.

  It all happened very fast. I punched him on the nose. He fell back with blood spurting like a fountain over his mouth and chin.

  The girls screamed, Cecilie came running in, Slippery Leif and Crutch held me from behind and Cecilie took Peder up to the bathroom. I was too common for him to be bothered to retaliate.

  There was a bit of a hubbub, the nation split down the middle into those for me and those against. The girls took Peder’s side. Slippery Leif tried to arbitrate, smooth things over, Crutch was grinning so much he was foaming, Vera was sending me glares of contempt.

  Seb took me aside.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked.

  ‘The bastard was makin’ fun of Fred,’ I said.

  ‘Of Fred?’

  ‘Takin’ the piss out of the Salvation Army,’ I said.

  Seb nodded several times.

  ‘Got what he deserved,’ he said.

  Peder and Cecilie were in the bathroom a hell of a long time. Was she having to sew his nose back on or what? My stomach was churning. I smoked until my palate felt like a fakir’s mat. The couples were beginning to take shape: Vera was deep in a chair with Morten, Astrid was in a clinch on the floor with Torgeir, Trude was glued to the wall with Atle hanging over her like a banana. There was feverish activity among the last mini-skirts and The Sound of Music crackled through the air like a doped-up swarm of bees. Peder came across the floor with cotton wool in one nostril. Cecilie stood in the doorway watching. The room fell quiet. He stopped five centimetres from me. The top of my head was level with the knot of his tie.

  Peder stuck out his hand.

  ‘My apologies,’ he said.

  I couldn’t believe my ears.

  He repeated it.

  ‘My apologies. We’re quits.’

  Shook his hand, our hands bobbed up and down.

  ‘My apologies,’ I said tamely.

  The atmosphere seemed to explode. Peder turned on his heel and went back to Cecilie and I was left standing looking perplexed, just like Vera a moment before, and I realised I had lost, Peder had won, I had been hammered down into my shoes, I was beneath my own soles.

  A few hours passed of which I have no memory. I sat smoking and watching for Cecilie. The couples were clear now, one or two adjustments had taken place at the last moment. Vera could not deride me enough with her eyes. Cecilie was not there. Nor Peder. Seb came over.

  ‘Dull fare,’ he said. ‘We’re goin’ to see if we can get in Club 7.’

  I shook my head.

  ‘It’s only across the bay. Could swim there.’

  ‘Nothing doin’,’ I said. ‘I’m stayin’.’

  ‘Seen the record shelf, have you? Frank Sinatra, Mozart and Floyd Cramer.’

  ‘I’m stayin’,’ I said.

  ‘I got you the first time,’ Seb said, waddling over to the other corner on his long, thin legs.

  I went for a tour of the palace. There were corridors and rooms everywhere, stairs going up, stairs going down, needed a compass at least, I smiled, tried anyway, face was set in concrete. This was a house in which you could be lonely. I began to understand Cecilie a little. I began to hate Peder. I walked down a long corridor with doors on both sides and lines of family portraits. Beneath me I could hear music, voices, laughter. Then I heard another sound, coming from behind one of the doors, a door that was ajar. I tiptoed over, my heart bulging beneath my shirt, took a cautious peep, opened the door wide and my heart sank like a lift. Cecilie was in bed, and for a moment I thought she was with someone, Peder. My blood drained away. Then I discovered she was alone. She turned slowly towards me, her face swollen and red, not looking like the Cecilie I knew.

  ‘Anything the matter?’ I stammered.

  She sat up, dried her eyes, that took a second, then she was the old Cecilie, her armour was back in place.

  ‘No. What could be the matter? Just a bit tired.’

  There was nothing I could do. I followed her down. Peder was standing with Slippery Leif and Crutch, discussing something or other. Seb was sitting in a chair, bored out of his skull. Cecilie went over to Vera and Atle, turned her back and left. I was barely worthy of her back.

  I bummed a smoke off Seb.

  ‘Low gear,’ he said. ‘Almost in reverse.’

  ‘Think we’d get in Club 7?’

  ‘Maybe. Gunnar and Ola were goin’ to try. But they left with Stig.’

  Slippery Leif waved to us and we shuffled over to their corner. Didn’t have a lot to lose. Peder was smoking. Rare sight. 400 metres. He scowled at me with the plaster on his nose.

  ‘Drinks cabinet,’ Leif whispered, rolling his eyes. ‘We have to find the drinks cabinet, boys!’

  That wasn’t such a bad idea. We agreed to meet in a quarter of an hour in the same corner and each went our separate ways. The expedition returned empty-handed.

  Seb had left. Probably going to try and find Guri.

  ‘He must have the booze in the safe,’ Peder said.

  ‘I’m no safecracker,’ Crutch said.

  ‘Fridge,’ said Leif.

  We trooped into the kitchen. Empty, too. Just milk. Loads of milk. We sat round the table. The prospects were gloomy. Gradually more people came, all the remnants. In the end it was quite a gang sitting there racking their brains.

  Then Slippery Leif had it. He snapped his chubby fingers and smiled.

  ‘You see the speck in your brother’s eye, but not the beam in your own!’ he said.

  We leaned across the table.

  ‘Eh??’

  ‘Haven’t you been confirmed yet? My dad’s a doctor. It’ll take half an hour.’

  He left and we waited for three quarters of an hour. Then Slippery Leif breezed in with a bulging jacket and placed two lab jars containing a transparent liquid on the table.

  ‘96,’ he said. ‘Medical alcohol. Quality merchandise.’

  We distributed glasses and the atmosphere was electric.

  ‘What shall we mix it with?’ wondered one of the drinkers.

 
‘I’ll take it neat,’ Crutch said, sticking his tongue in the jar.

  Crutch didn’t say much more that night. He lay in a corner making hissing sounds.

  ‘Milk,’ Leif said.

  The milk bottles appeared on the table and we mixed some real bombshells.

  ‘Can’t see it!’ Pål grinned, raising his glass.

  We drank. Looked at each other. Drank again.

  ‘Doesn’t taste of anything,’ Ulf said.

  We tasted, smelt, drank again.

  ‘Won’t get drunk on this,’ Tormod said.

  We mixed a new round. Drank and smacked our lips.

  ‘Tastes of milk,’ Peder thought.

  We were agreed. It tasted mostly of milk.

  ‘Sure it’s 96?’ Leif queried.

  Slippery Leif pointed to Crutch lying under the tap. Yep, had to be 96. No doubt about it.

  The door opened and Cecilie peered in.

  ‘Are you drinking milk?’ she said.

  ‘We are indeed,’ Leif said. ‘Milk’s in.’

  Cecilie laughed and went.

  ‘I definitely won’t get drunk on this,’ Peder said.

  Leif poured another round.

  We drank and smacked our lips, smoked and drank.

  Then Ulf got up, a generally solid type, a flatfooted person of regular habits, he swivelled round three times and banged his head on the wall. That was where he stayed.

  We looked at each other. Then we slowly got to our feet and the party actually started, or finished, there. We stumbled around, crawled on all fours, crashed, fell on our faces. Pål swore he was walking on the ceiling. Tormod tried to walk into the fridge. We searched desperately for the door, Kåre disappeared into the pantry, Otto opened a cupboard, rubbish poured into the room. In the end someone found the handle and we charged into the halls like a flock of paralytic calves with St Vitus’s dance. There was a bit of a commotion in the living room. I remember seeing Cecilie’s face as a white, luminous oval of fear, then I remember nothing until I was standing on the roof. I stood on the roof of Cecilie’s house and the night was starlit and the wind was blue. Down in the garden people were running around shouting and screaming. It was a long way down, long, steep and dark. I balanced on the slanting roof tiles. Someone was crying down there in the dark green garden. I danced across the roof of Cecilie’s house. Then I heard someone right behind me. I turned sharply, almost fell, one foot slipped and I fell forward. A howl like a wild bird’s cut through the night. I got to my feet again and stood still. The voice was nearby.

  ‘Kim, for Christ’s sake!’

  A light was switched on and I saw Peder’s face emerge from the roof hatch.

  ‘You’ll kill yourself!’ he shouted.

  Shit, not again, he won’t walk away with the victory this time. I clambered up onto the ridge, straddled it and looked out on Frogner Bay, Nesodden, the lights over the fjord, all the flickering dots of the night as if the starry sky was being reflected onto the earth. Then I stood erect on the pointed edge, and I had never felt so steady on my legs. Peder had left the skylight and there was total silence in the garden. The darkness swallowed all the sounds, only my heart was beating like furious palms against the kettledrums of the night.

  Then I wriggled my way down to the skylight and into the attic.

  Only remember the party was disintegrating, girls were crying, boys were vomiting, Cecilie was stuck to a blue wall with her hands down by her side.

  ‘Shall I help you to clear up,’ I slurred.

  ‘Go,’ she said and her glare deep-froze me.

  I went.

  Had no idea where I was going, just knew that I was in my seventeenth year and I was scrambling through Kongeskogen, having been turned away from the palace, tall swaying trees loomed menacingly on all sides, and I arrived at the sea, lay down under a bush and slept like a rotating rock on Paradisbukta beach.

  I was awoken by the frost, I was freezing like a mangy, furless dog and my teeth were chattering. It was a grey dawn, grey light, the choppy waves beat against the shore. My shoes were drenched, my jacket full of vomit, my head at half mast, I was the only person in the world and not to be trusted.

  Then I did the most stupid thing of all.

  The idea lodged itself in my crazy, jumbled brain.

  I found the way back to Cecilie’s house.

  It stood like a colossus in the dawning day. The curtains in Cecilie’s room were drawn. I sneaked across the lawn. The door wasn’t locked. I slipped in, stood in the huge living room where the party had left its all too visible marks. I crept up the stairs. The corridor with all the doors seemed endless. I tripped, crawled on all fours on the soft carpet to Cecilie’s door. Listened. Heard her sleeping. I did. Heard her breathing and her dreams and her turning between the sheets. I was about to haul myself up to the door handle when I felt a fist haul me up even higher. A cold voice assailed me.

  ‘What the hell do you think…?’

  Cecilie’s father twisted me round and at that moment two doors burst open. Cecilie’s mother was standing in her dressing gown with her mouth open. Cecilie looked at me, I imagined she wasn’t happy. Then I was dragged outside like the dog I was, into the garden and tossed over the gate. I didn’t hear everything he said.

  Then it was a case of staggering home to another father. He was sitting on a stool in the hallway with an exhausted expression and white knuckles.

  ‘Where have you been?’ he yelled.

  I had nothing to say.

  I stumbled past him.

  ‘Where have you been?’ he repeated, brandishing his arms.

  ‘At a party,’ I whispered.

  He lashed out. He slapped me and was just as terrified as I was, pulling his arm back as though he had burned himself.

  Now Mum was there, too.

  Three was a crowd.

  ‘Now you are getting a haircut, Kim!’ was all she said.

  We stood there puzzled, looking at each other. Dad hid his hand behind his back and put on an odd smile.

  ‘I’m tired,’ I said, walked into my room and locked the door.

  First came fear, belatedly, too late. My kneecaps melted and I threw up in the waste paper basket. At that moment sunlight flooded through the window. It was going to be a beautiful Sunday, the last this year with what was left of the summer, an Indian summer.

  I lay in bed and was suddenly afraid of the fear, the fear that came too late.

  Was that everything? Yes. I’m an elephant and never forget anything.

  And as I lay there, ill and awake, Mum and Dad drove to Nesodden to collect the apples, the apples.

  After the party quite a few people were impressed. They called me Karlsen-on-the-roof. But they had not seen the finale. Cecilie had. And now she not only stopped looking at me, she also stopped talking to me, and the worst thing was that she changed her desk, too, moved further away so that I could only see her neck, which was as taut as two steel hawsers. There was no point even getting close to her, she disappeared, slipped away, and I felt like a rotten apple while the others thought I was terrific and wondered if I had a propeller on my back and the party was talked about for the rest of the year, to the exclusion of everything else.

  I was left wondering how I could approach Cecilie again, but it seemed to be impossible. The bell rang every time I took a step in her direction. I was a leper and insane. The only consolation was that Peder had also been excluded from her royal court. At least that was how it appeared. But Slippery Leif was on good terms with her and allowed to enter her domain, even though he was the one who had brought the damned firewater. There was no justice in the world.

  We sat at my place in the evenings because Gunnar, Ola and Seb were being subjected to rows and scenes in their houses. In Bygdøy Allé, just down from Gimle, they were erecting a large building which was going to be a supermarket with self-service and so on. Gunnar’s father turned grey and developed a stoop overnight thinking about his tiny greengrocer’s and how it wou
ld fare. Stig’s hair, the longest in Frogner, had not been cut since New Year and the Cathedral School headmaster was threatening to expel him if he didn’t change his hairstyle, but Stig let it grow, it was quite a to-do. Ola’s father’s customers were all balding pensioners now, unless boys began to have their hair cut again he was bound to go bankrupt. He went home to his sitting room to get in some practice with his scissors, the only thing that could save him now was a good performance at the Norwegian hairdressing championships in Hønefoss. And Seb’s father, home on three months’ leave, was arguing with Seb’s mother and had apparently thrown a teapot against the wall one night, so no peace was to be had there, either. We sat in my house. Mum and Dad had calmed down after my early morning return, we sat in my room smoking, drinking tea and pulling at our beards.

  Didn’t talk about The Snafus much now, not after Sergeant Pepper, didn’t make any sense. After ‘Lucy In The Sky’ and ‘A Day In The Life’. We laughed at ‘Love Me Do’ and had taken the pictures down from the wall long ago. Sat up till the early hours discussing the lyrics, they were the best texts that had been written since the Bible and the sagas.

  We went into great detail.

  ‘“Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds”,’ Seb said, ‘means LSD.’

  And the BBC refused to play ‘A Day In The Life’.

  This is where it all began.

  And so the evenings passed. With tea and smoking and music. Ola talked about Kirsten. In the summer Ola would go to Trondheim, dead cert. The groove between Seb and Guri had developed a scratch – she had met a slalom creep from Ris and Seb was dreading the day the snow arrived. Gunnar and Sidsel saw a lot of each other. I imagined that once you had experienced the security of Gunnar’s back, it was hard to leave. And I received a letter from Nina. She wrote that it had been a wonderful summer, the best she had ever experienced. She wrote that she had smoked cannabis and had had such a strange dream about me. But I had almost forgotten the summer and didn’t answer.

  Then one evening Gunnar turned up with an LP he had borrowed from Stig and Stig had said the LP was a bomb, we would need a safety belt and a parachute to survive the grooves. Intrigued, we peered at the cover. The Doors. Never heard of them. We put on the record and turned it up full volume. Then something happened. Afterwards we lay in separate corners screaming and covered in blood. It was bad. We picked up the pieces and gathered round the speakers again. We were fish on the quayside with flapping gills. You didn’t find this organ in a church. It was quite different from Goose’s stuffy chords. And the voice was from another planet.