Beatles

  ‘What did we do wrong!’ she burst out.

  She clung to my arm for the rest of the visiting time.

  ‘I miss Nesodden,’ I said. ‘I long for Nesodden.’

  Nap wanted me to speak. He walked around me with his hands against his back and was pathetic. His room smelt of sweat. In his dark eyes I could see another, a more dangerous, Napoleon than the one he purported to be.

  Kept my mouth shut.

  Had no appetite and became ever thinner. A doctor arrived to remove the stitches from my hand. There were scars everywhere. My mangled finger was the worst. During the evening the anaesthetic wore off, it burned itself out. It was good to feel some pain. Then they arrived with supper. The pills. Chlorpromazine. Phenthiazine. I don’t remember all the pet names they had. Don’t remember all they said. But it was all for my own good, they kept saying.

  Mum: ‘Uncle Hubert’s come home!’

  Couldn’t understand how she could drink the coffee.

  ‘He’s had a picture accepted for the Autumn Exhibition!’

  I turned to the window.

  ‘Do you think crime pays?’

  She immediately got frightened.

  ‘You haven’t done anything bad, have you, Kim?’

  ‘Why am I here?’

  ‘They want to help you, Kim. You’ll soon be well again. You’ll soon be out.’

  ‘Will there be a lot of apples this year?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mum.

  Sleep.

  One day I was allowed to go for a walk. We were a scruffy lot trotting up to Lake Sognsvann, past the fields. Two orderlies walked at the front and two at the rear of the pack. Summer was in its last phase. Weary. Worn out. Had to be August. Legs were leaden. We dragged ourselves along the road. Then I saw them. They were coming towards us. Four boys with rods over their shoulders and big fishing bags. They slowed down and were quiet as we passed them. I turned. They were whispering and looking at us.

  That night I couldn’t sleep.

  The wind rose, rattled the windows.

  Shadows on the wall. Processions.

  Close by someone was playing a tune on a saw.

  The following day I had visitors. Gunnar and Seb sat in the visitors’ room chain-smoking. I went to see them with my hat pulled well down. They didn’t try to tear it off.

  Sat down on a wobbly chair.

  They were shitting themselves, didn’t know what to say.

  ‘How was it at Stig’s?’ I asked.

  Seb was tanned and had acquired biceps.

  ‘Alright,’ he whispered. ‘Been diggin’. Gonna move there this autumn. You can have my room,’ he added quickly.

  ‘Don’t think I’ll need it.’

  We went into my room.

  ‘Been searchin’ for you all over town,’ Gunnar said. ‘Your mum said you were here. We didn’t bloody believe her!’

  Didn’t say anything for a while. They rolled cigarettes and smoked.

  ‘What happened?’ Seb asked, studying the floor.

  ‘Don’t know. Got rabies.’

  They tried to laugh. Sounded terrible. Couldn’t look me in the eye.

  ‘What are they doin’ to you?’ Gunnar asked abruptly.

  ‘Dopin’ me up.’

  ‘Shi-it!’ Gunnar leapt to his feet and stood by the window. ‘Christ! Spit the crap out! Spit it in their faces!’

  ‘Can you hear the shouts?’ I said.

  They were silent and listened. Screams. As if someone were screaming with a muzzle over their mouth.

  ‘Solitary confinement,’ I said.

  Visiting time was over. I accompanied them to the exit.

  ‘George wasn’t playin’ the solo on “While My Guitar Gently Weeps”,’ I said. ‘It was Clapton.’

  Seb gave me a strange look, nodded. Then they had to go.

  Sat as quiet as a mouse for the rest of the day.

  Rain.

  Mum: ‘I wanted to be an actress once. I had lessons. Have I told you that, Kim?’

  ‘Why didn’t you continue?’

  ‘Life doesn’t always turn out the way you imagine. You’ll have to realise that some day, too.’

  My hat made my forehead itch. Took it off. Mum liked seeing me like that. She caressed my shiny skull and smiled.

  ‘Can I trust you?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Mum said. ‘Always.’

  ‘Whatever happens?’

  ‘Yes, Kim. Whatever happens.’

  Rain. Pills. Water.

  Nap wanted to talk to me again. I sat in his room. I studied his hair.

  ‘It’s a shame to have to say this, but you are treatment-resistant, as we say. You would like to stop taking the medicine, wouldn’t you. But of course we can’t let you do that, if you won’t cooperate in other ways.’

  He thumbed through some papers on his desk.

  ‘And we can’t keep you here for an eternity, can we.’

  I thought about those senile apparitions in the canteen, they no longer had an age.

  ‘How long is an eternity?’ I asked.

  His face shot up with a look of surprise at hearing my voice.

  ‘When you got up to these stunts, Kim, had you been drinking or smoking? Or did you just decide to do it of your own accord, of your own free will?’

  My mouth dropped. Napoleon stared at me.

  ‘I have plenty of time today. Take all the time you need, Kim.’

  ‘What stunts?’

  ‘You know very well. The skeleton, for example.’

  Mum must have told him. Mum. Now there was no one I could trust. I kept my mouth shut. I would never open it again.’

  Nap waited.

  Then he couldn’t wait any longer.

  ‘Don’t you feel any shame for robbing your father’s bank?’

  I was feverish, yet I was clear, clear and cunning and wary like a hunted Red Indian.

  I saw it. The letter I had carried around myself when I was called up for the military medical.

  It lay open on Napoleon’s desk.

  At first I was happy. Mum hadn’t told tales.

  Then I made my decision. I leaned forward as if I were going to tell him something in confidence. Nap sent me an expectant look. But instead I swept his reading lamp onto the floor, snatched the letter and made a leap for the door. He followed me down the stairs, I tried to read as I ran, but I was too weak, I didn’t have the strength, I was seized from behind, lashed out with my left hand, just caught sight of his wig falling off before I fell myself, with incredible speed, down into a white, imageless darkness.

  Late summer sun. Clear, crystalline air. Could count spruce needles at a distance of ten kilometres.

  Mum: ‘I’ve knitted you a new hat.’

  I tried it on. It was a good fit. Soft. Black.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Dad sends his love.’

  ‘Why didn’t he come?’

  ‘You mustn’t do things like that any more, to Dr Vang.’

  ‘What do you all know about me?’

  She put the old hat in her bag.

  ‘Isn’t it time we got to know each other better?’ she said slowly.

  Strange words.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ I said.

  The bell rang.

  Couldn’t keep up with the days. Couldn’t keep up with the nights. A line of marbles. The view from the window. It had to be getting on for autumn. Glass. A yellow leaf.

  Then I remember one day after all. Never forget it.

  There was a visitor for me in my room.

  Nina.

  She was sitting on the chair with big heavy eyes, thin, scrawny, long black dress. Mouth.

  Sat on my bed, hid my face in my hands, felt alive for the first time for ages.

  She sat down beside me.

  ‘Kim,’ she said, one shoulder close to me.

  ‘When did you come?’ I asked. ‘To Oslo?’

  ‘Yesterday.’

  ‘Yesterday?’

  ‘Yes. Going to sta
y here now. We live in Tidemandsgate. Do you remember?’

  I covered my eyes.

  ‘Are you clean now?’ I whispered.

  ‘Think so. It’s over. There are other things to live for. Aren’t there, Kim?’

  ‘Yes, but not here.’

  ‘You’ll soon be out.’

  We fumbled into each other’s arms, somehow, our gaunt bodies, I leaned over her, she was under me, crying or laughing. I pulled up her dress and she held me tight around the neck.

  ‘Be careful,’ she said, she begged.

  ‘Don’t be frightened,’ I mumbled. ‘I’ve had mumps.’

  It happened so fast. We were two grindstones rubbing against each other, she helped me into position, it hurt her and she cried, then we were frenzied, and the moment I felt a searing pain in my dick, the door opened. I twisted my head round and yelled, and there was Cecilie, paralysed, in the doorway, Cecilie, she spun round and was gone, like a dream and an alarm clock.

  I rolled over, fell, crawled over the floor. Nina was mute, crying without a sound, pulling on her clothes. A nurse charged in. I could hear more footsteps. Then I just remember I was in an avalanche, dogs were barking, I felt sticks poking me all over my body, but no one started digging where I was.

  The woman in white came with a photo for me one morning, when I was up, when I had been found.

  It was of me. I was lying in the middle of a flock of sheep and thrashing around with my arms and legs.

  New days. Old days. Ballooning nights.

  I was given permission to go for walks in the area. An eye in every window. Cold. Time had disappeared. Hair hadn’t grown back. I saw the chimney close-up. The fence. I followed a path, downwards, someone was coming towards me, a huge figure, a slow-moving mountain of a man. I wanted to turn back, but it was too late. My mind began to buzz, my thoughts dissolved, one by one, a field of flashing lights.

  He stood directly before me.

  He blocked out the view. He was larger than ever.

  ‘Jensenius,’ I said, removing my hat.

  His gaze fell on my skull.

  He opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. His eyes were pools of old fear. His tongue hung over his lips, big and motionless. He trembled.

  Jensenius was a mute.

  He pointed over his shoulder, towards the main building.

  The green spire.

  Then he produced a stump of a pencil and a slip of paper, wrote, gave it to me, turned round slowly and waddled back.

  I read the note.

  Get away. Before it is too late.

  That evening I stopped taking the medication. I was terrified. I was ready. I was scared to death and dangerous.

  September.

  The sign of Virgo. I was Libra.

  Mum: ‘Kim, you have to cooperate with them. You must get well for our sake.’

  ‘Can I trust you, Mum?’

  ‘Yes, Kim. Of course you can. But why don’t you want to talk to Dr Vang? He only wants to help you after all.’

  ‘What picture did Hubert paint for the Autumn Exhibition?’

  Mum giggled.

  ‘A mussel.’

  I chewed on a cigarette.

  ‘Mum, one day, could you bring me a stack of paper and something to write with?’

  She looked at me in astonishment.

  ‘No problem. What are you going to do with them?’

  ‘And an envelope and a stamp.’

  Yellow leaves gusting through the air.

  Sat down in Napoleon’s office. The wig was immaculate. He looked at my hat and gloated with satisfaction.

  ‘Would you have preferred to go to prison?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  Conversation over.

  On my return downstairs, Gunnar was sitting in the visitors’ room puffing away.

  ‘Let’s go to my room,’ I said.

  The corridor.

  I closed the door and listened.

  Gunnar watched me.

  ‘The most recent opinion poll shows forty-three per cent against and thirty-six for,’ he said.

  I sat by the window and lit up.

  ‘You know it’s exactly ten years since The Beatles recorded ‘Love Me Do’, don’t you?’ I said. ‘11 September 1962.’

  ‘Bloody hell. We were so young!’

  Gunnar seemed to perk up, his muscles relaxed.

  ‘D’you remember the autograph I flogged you that autumn?’

  ‘The salt pastilles. You bastard! But you didn’t bloody manage to trick me over Comrade Lin Piao!’

  We grinned. I thought of the leaflets in the drawer.

  ‘D’you remember that porn mag Stig brought back from Copenhagen?’

  ‘After the handball tour? Yes.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Gunnar seemed happy that he could talk so easily to me. Jesus!

  ‘Muck,’ he chortled.

  ‘And d’you remember that I got you out of a fix while you were on the bog?’

  ‘I’ll never forget that, Kim.’

  ‘And you shook my hand and promised me you would be there for me if ever I was in any trouble?’

  ‘Of course, Kim. Gunnar doesn’t forget that sort of thing.’

  I fell on my knees before him, clenched my fists and beat the floor with them, stopped, listened.

  ‘You have to get me out of here! You have to get me out of here, Gunnar!’

  Indian summer.

  I sat in my room waiting.

  Lukewarm slop on a plate. Everyone was talking about the killings in Munich.

  Lying awake at night.

  Mum: ‘What are you going to do with all this paper?’

  I put it in my bag in the wardrobe.

  ‘The envelope and the stamp?’ I asked.

  She passed them to me, too, and the biros.

  ‘Are you going to write a letter to Nina? She’s been here, hasn’t she?’

  Yesterday I took the shutters off the window. The light surged into the House like a wave. There were dead insects on the sills. I was blinded, staggered around with my hands in front of my face. Spring came at me from all sides. May. Everything was transparent. The paper shone. The writing disappeared in the burning sun. I crept onto the balcony. My eyes adapted to the light, as though I had been blind for years and was slowly regaining sight. The fjord was full of boats. Sails. A cruise ship. A motor boat. Then I heard the sound. Someone was there. I slowly rose to my feet. She was sitting on the rock my great-grandfather had carried up from the quayside. Astride the two uneven black halves, with a big stomach bulging out from under her flowery dress.

  Nina looked at me.

  ‘Hiya, Kim,’ she shouted with a gentle wave.

  She ran with light, wary steps towards the gate.

  I wanted to run after her, but had no strength.

  She turned and smiled, holding her bulky stomach.

  I waved with my injured hand.

  ‘I’m waiting for you!’ she shouted.

  And then she was gone, down the steep path.

  Behind me the apple trees were in white blossom.

  It was the night of the referendum.

  25 September 1972. I was twenty-one years old.

  I sat in my room. An excited orderly burst in gesticulating with his arms.

  ‘The noes have it!’ he yelled. ‘The conservatives are looking down in the mouth already!’

  He left just as quickly. Heard the noise on the TV. Clapping. Cheering.

  Drowned the solitary confinement.

  Looked out of the window. Soon be night. Bed. The bare walls.

  The woman in white brought in supper. She put the tray of pills on the table and rested her hand on my shoulder.

  ‘It’ll be a Yes, anyway, Kim. The votes from the towns are coming in now.’

  ‘Can I be excused the pills tonight?’ I asked. ‘I wasn’t allowed to vote. I would’ve voted for No.’

  She was impatient and tense.

  The noise from the TV.


  ‘It’s my job,’ she said quickly.

  ‘Go and watch the box,’ I said. ‘I can swallow them on my own.’

  She gave me a squeeze and scurried out.

  Heard the door lock.

  I crushed the pills and scattered them under the bed.

  Heard the shouts and the groans from the room where the white coats were sitting round the TV set.

  The weather was unsettled.

  The wind outside. Shadows on the wall.

  Then she was back again.

  ‘Aren’t you in bed yet?’

  I sat on the sheet. She took the empty tray.

  ‘Bratteli’s been on TV. It’s going to be a Yes.’

  I lay on my back and she tiptoed out. The key. The lock. Footsteps.

  Woken by gentle taps. I looked around in the dark. The tapping continued. The window. I peered between the curtains and saw Gunnar’s mug in the light of a torch. I waved and he switched it off. I got dressed. Took out the bag with the pens and paper and the letter. It surprised me that it was so easy to open the window when the door was locked from the outside. I wriggled across the windowsill and Gunnar caught me. We ran half-bent over the slippery ground, climbed the fence, for there were no holes in the fence round Gaustad, and there, at the side of the road, was a Volvo PV with the engine running.

  Gunnar pushed me in, Ola pressed the accelerator to the floor and we sped round the bends.

  Seb was sitting at the front and passed a bottle of white wine back to me.

  I was on the verge of tears.

  ‘Bloody hell, boys. Shit!’ That was all I could say.

  ‘We won!’ Gunnar shrieked in my ear. ‘We won!’

  ‘Eh?’

  Ola sat over the wheel like a goalkeeper.

  ‘Drove down from Trondheim when the arrow was on Yes. Six hours. A record!’

  ‘Was it a No?’

  ‘Yes!’

  It was party time in the car, Seb played a happy blues on the harp, Gunnar sang, we raced towards the city centre and Norwegian flags had been hoisted in the wind. Some retard with a Europe sticker on the rear window was in our lane. Ola passed him on the outside and forced him into the ditch. We stuck out our heads and gave him three straight fingers and one crooked one.

  ‘Stick that up your arse, you clod!’ Seb yelled, and he was left way behind.