Naïve. Super

  – Playing surviving-a-disaster games

  – Office, having a filing system

  – Shop

  – Sneaking

  – Chasing on bikes

  – Collecting bottle tops

  – Blueberries

  – Dressing up (as a princess)

  – Golden shoes

  – Plastic diamonds

  – Miniature things

  – Scented erasers

  – Mum’s make-up

  – Making little cities of Lego in the sand

  When the cafe closed, we walked through the Royal Park. I went home with her and we drank a cup of tea. She showed me her camera. And some of the pictures. Large colour pictures.

  When I left, she gave me a hug which, in retrospect, I think may have come extremely close to being a kiss. It was probably a hug. But it might have been a kiss.

  7 Classic children’s TV series written by Swedish author Astrid Lindgren.

  Scary

  Today I’ve received three faxes. The first two I don’t have a problem with, but the third one is scary. If I’m not careful, I’ll stand a chance of losing what little foothold I’ve gained.

  The first one is from Kim.

  He’s seen a badger. He wanted me to know. He has drawn a picture of it, and he says it was something between a large cat and a small dog. His supervisor was visiting him up there. They were sitting outside late at night drinking wine, and it was she, the supervisor, who had seen the badger first. But Kim saw it as well. He seems proud to have seen a new animal. I am happy for him.

  The other fax is also from Kim.

  He’s written a list of things that make him happy. I don’t remember whether or not I faxed him my list. Maybe he’s done this completely by himself. Nothing could be better.

  This is what makes Kim happy:

  – Water

  – Skyscrapers

  – Meeting girls I’m in love with accidentally on the street, when they don’t have anything in particular to do that day and me neither

  – Swimming

  – Cycling

  – Free jazz

  – Spring

  – When girls I’m in love with phone me all of a sudden

  – Mornings

  – Some books

  – Chocolate

  – Dark chocolate, maybe with nuts, almonds

  – Cognac

  – Documentaries made in the 50s and 60s, filmed with a hand-held camera, on grainy black/white film

  – Flying/travelling

  – When things are completely the way I thought they would be, if what I thought was something good

  – When good things happen that I never in my wildest dreams would have imagined

  – Seeing a badger

  – Getting a fax

  – Getting a lot of faxes

  – Friends

  – Work

  – Clouds (sometimes)

  – Cat

  – Managing what I’ve wanted to for a long time

  – Showering

  – Jumping

  – Running

  – Singing

  – Eating

  – Sleeping

  The list is such a long and appealing one. I’m a little envious. Kim has a better grasp on life than I do. But I’m getting there. One day I’ll be there as well.

  The third fax is very disconcerting. It’s from my brother. He is thanking me for having bought the Volvo. He wants to do something in return. Something for something. My brother’s decent that way. But what he is suggesting is making me nervous. He is offering to buy me a trip to New York. For a week. He’s already there, and he says we can live in an apartment owned by some friends of his. In Manhattan. I want to avoid making a decision about the contents of this particular fax. I take the ball and go down into the courtyard. I’m throwing now.

  Perspective

  I had pictured spending the last couple of weeks before my brother came home taking it easy. Hammering and summarising my situation. Cementing that little trace of security that I had after all managed to construct. But then this fax came and ruined the whole plan. I had almost become calm. I had attained a kind of peacefulness. I can only dream about that now. New York. It sounds scary. Overwhelming. I am afraid of being overwhelmed right now. That city seems too big for me.

  There are many reasons why I shouldn’t go. Lise is one of them. I am meeting her later today. And maybe other days. I don’t know what New York is like, but I can hardly imagine that it would be better than Lise.

  I also feel I am in the process of getting a grip on things. If I go, I might jeopardise that. It is unnecessary to seek more confusion than what I already have. Besides, I’m expecting a reply from Paul. I’m sure he’ll reply soon. And then I’ll know a lot of things. I’d rather know those things than go to New York. In a few minutes my brother’s going to call. I don’t look forward to that. I have to say no.

  Now he’s calling.

  He insists I come to New York. It surprises me that he is insisting. I have never heard my brother insist before. We can have fun, he says. And according to him, many things indicate that I would benefit from some exposure. Getting out into the world. I tell him it’s really not a good time. I say no, but my brother thinks a no is out of the question.

  For once I mustn’t think a single thought, he says. Just buy the ticket and get on the plane. He says he’ll be giving me pocket money as well. In addition to the trip. It’s actually quite a generous offer. But all the people, the noise. I’m nervous.

  I ask him if he couldn’t give me something else. Maybe a watch. A Rolex. I do want a watch.

  Never, my brother says. He says a Rolex costs fifty thousand, and that he wouldn’t have agreed to buy one even if it cost a thousand.

  The point is, he wants to give me the opportunity to get away.

  Things happen when you travel, he says.

  What things? I ask.

  Perspective, my brother says. And he tells me I mustn’t be afraid. He’ll be there. My own brother. He’s going to take care of me.

  Perspective? I say.

  The Arm

  Lise is wearing a red sweater. We’re sitting on the grass, drinking mineral water and eating baguettes with chicken salad. It’s almost sunny. I’m saying it’s strange when you meet someone. That it’s a new planet.

  I am saying that I tend to dream my way into relationships. It happens by itself, in no time at all. Suddenly I’ve thought it all out. I picture her in all possible situations, I picture the house we could be living in and the places we could be going on holiday. And this is happening without me even having talked to her. It could happen while I’m walking down the street and meet the eyes of a girl passing by.

  Lise asks me whether I’ve been thinking like this about our relationship. First I hesitate a little and say no, but it is very clearly untrue, so I say yes.

  Lise smiles and says she didn’t think I had any plans. I tell her there’s a difference between plans and dreams. When I ask her if it bothers her, she shakes her head and gives me a little hug.

  I tell her my brother has invited me to New York. Lise is excited. She thinks I ought to go. I say that I had already thought about spending less time sitting at home, and instead going out more and meeting people, but that this was a bit sudden.

  I am afraid of being overwhelmed. Lise reassures me. She has a theory about New York. She says there are two things that can happen there, and that it’s up to me to decide which.

  The first possibility is that I put aside all reservations and take it all in. Like a child. The other option is to keep a distance and pay attention to the little things, try to find recognisable features. Organise and compare.

  The first option can lead to becoming overwhelmed. The other one could lead to observations, contemplation and fun. According to Lise. Besides, she thinks becoming overwhelmed can have its advantages. I ask her what she means by that. She thinks that with time, it can provide some p
erspective.

  Perspective? I say.

  Now Lise is touching my arm and telling me again that she thinks I ought to go. I like it when she touches my arm. I’d almost consider going just to let her know I appreciate being touched.

  She says she can’t see why I shouldn’t be able to continue hammering and throwing the ball when I get back. I should allow myself this opportunity to get away for a while. Maybe I’ll see things differently afterwards. It sounds so right the way she says it.

  Form

  Now my brother’s calling to insist some more. He says sun, he says Central Park, he says good things to eat and drink, he says Empire State Building.

  Sights, I say with contempt. What would I want with sights?

  My brother says the important thing is not the city itself, but that the two of us are together. Brothers should sometimes be together and do nice things, he says.

  I think that’s a good attitude to have. But New York is probably far too big.

  Isn’t New York far too big?

  My brother thinks it’s suitably big.

  I ask him if he is overwhelmed.

  He says no.

  I ask him if he has ever been overwhelmed or if he’s afraid of becoming so.

  He says no again.

  I ask him if we couldn’t rather drive across America in a car.

  No.

  I ask him if I can bring Lise.

  He asks who Lise is and I explain.

  He says no.

  I ask if I can have a Rolex.

  No.

  Then I ask my brother what he believes in.

  Come on, he says.

  What do you believe in, I say.

  What do you mean? he says.

  What do I mean? I’m asking you what you believe in, I say.

  In life? my brother asks.

  What else? I say.

  You’re not kidding? he says.

  No, I say.

  He thinks about it.

  I believe in market forces, he says.

  Those free ones? I ask.

  Yes.

  What kind of thing is that to believe in? I say. That’s just crap. Who needs market forces?

  My brother says it isn’t crap.

  Whatever.

  What else does he believe in?

  He believes in friendship.

  Good.

  He believes in love.

  Honestly? I ask.

  What? my brother asks.

  That you believe in love, I say.

  Of course it’s true.

  I tell him I didn’t think he did.

  He asks whether it makes a difference.

  I say yes.

  I ask whether New York is mostly content or mostly form.

  My brother says form, he says I’d have to create the content myself.

  I ask him why he thinks I would benefit from going.

  He says new places, new thoughts, perspective.

  You’re sure about this perspective thing? I say.

  Positive.

  There is a moment’s silence.

  Then my brother asks whether I give up.

  Yes, I tell him. I give up now.

  Have a safe flight, he says.

  Thank you, I say.

  X-Ray

  I’m going to America.

  I’m going to let it rip.

  I stand for a long while looking at the hammer-and-peg.

  Maybe it’s cowardly of me to take it.

  But New York is probably not the most hammer-conducive place in the world.

  People who live there probably have completely different ways of releasing tensions.

  Why should I hammer and make a fool of myself in New York?

  On the other hand, I don’t want to pretend I’m any tougher than I am. That could easily cause harm.

  I weigh the board in my hand.

  It weighs next to nothing.

  I don’t have to use it. It’ll be a support just to have it in the rucksack. To know it’s there.

  And should I feel the need to hammer, I’ll have it right there with me.

  I could also go without the hammer-and-peg, and just buy one if things get tight. But that’s risky.

  I don’t know how big Brio are in America. Maybe they don’t have hammer-and-pegs there. In which case I risk bottling up plenty emotions.

  I’d be fooling no-one but myself by leaving it at home.

  The hammer-and-peg has to come.

  If the city is as big as I think it is, I’ll very likely need to let off steam.

  Besides, it’ll look good in the X-ray machine at the airport.

  I grant the customs people the experience.

  Now I’m packing.

  Underwear. Socks. T-shirts. Tooth brush. Pair of shorts.

  Camera.

  Hammer-and-peg.

  Meaning

  The airport shuttle is leaving in a little while. Lise and I are lying on the grass in the Royal Park. We’re eating pancakes that Lise has made. I’m asking Lise if she thinks it’ll all be fine in the end. That depends what I mean by the end, she says. If I mean the very end, it’s not likely that it will be fine. It is naturally a question of faith, Lise says. Some think they’ll be living several lifetimes or that they’ll go somewhere good after death. If what I mean is eventually, in a while, that things will straighten out with time, the likelihood is greater. It also depends what I mean by fine.

  She asks me where I’m trying to go with this.

  I tell her I don’t know. I tell her that, what I probably want to know, is whether things will sort themselves out. I don’t want all that much. But I want to be fine. I want to live a simple life with many good moments and a lot of fun.

  Lise believes that it ought definitely to be within my reach. I say there’s not much that can be fun as long as I don’t feel existence has meaning.

  Can’t you just not worry about meaning? Lise asks.

  I tell her no. I can’t.

  What about friendship, Lise says. Us, for example, isn’t there meaning in us?

  Yes, I say.

  There you go, she says.

  As the airport shuttle arrives, I take a picture of Lise with her instant camera. I ask her if she’ll wait for me.

  She laughs and kisses me, and says I must send her some postcards.

  I ask her if one a day will be too much, but she doesn’t think so. But she’d like me to write them in fun places. Preferably on top of high buildings.

  I wave goodbye to Lise from the back seat of the bus. Just when I lose sight of her, her face starts to appear on the Polaroid picture. Now I can still see her after all.

  Manifesto

  From the airport I phone my parents to say I’m going travelling. When Mum hears I’m going to America, she limits herself to saying that it sounds exciting. Have a good trip, she says.

  Dad goes a bit further. He says that if I give him about an hour, he’ll have time to write a manifesto for me to hand out on the street when I get to New York. It’ll be a manifesto where he denounces everything America stands for, their stupidity, their sick dreams, their foreign policy, and cultural imperialism. Just a small A4 sheet of paper. He suspects most Americans have no idea about the way in which he and other European intellectuals perceive America.

  Dad wants to give them something to think about. A lesson.

  I tell him my plane is leaving in fifteen minutes. We’ll have to do the manifesto next time.

  N

  I’m on the plane now. I am on my way out into the world. I’m watching a movie that is so bad I feel sorry for everybody involved, and I am thinking about the airline employee whose job it is to select the in-flight movies. I wonder if he is just unlucky, or if he’s stupid, and whether or not he has a girlfriend.

  In the window seat to my left sits a German lady who keeps handing me cartons of juice. The next time she offers me one, I’m going to say no thank you.

  I’m reading in Paul’s book again. I like it a little
more now that I’ve written to him. I feel we’ve established a close relationship. That we are in mutual confidence. Paul and I. Maybe he’s writing me a reply this very moment. Maybe he’s telling me not to worry and that everything will be fine.

  He writes that the earth floats freely in space. It rotates and moves. Very fast. We use the sun to keep track of how much the earth rotates. Somebody has decided that the time is twelve o’clock at midday everywhere on earth. Therefore, the time is different in many other places from what it is in Norway. The earth is divided into 24 time zones. We pretend the time is the same everywhere within these zones. If we didn’t, we’d have to set our watches four minutes forward if we travelled a hundred kilometres east. That means the time at my parents’ cabin would always be four minutes more than the time at home.

  As I read, it strikes me that the time in New York is not the same as the time in Norway. It’s six hours less. In a way I earn six hours by going to New York. It’s a satisfying thought. I’ll try to spend those hours doing something pleasant. On the other hand, I lose about one three-billionth of a second every hour I spend at an altitude of ten thousand metres. The trip takes eight hours. I will lose one twenty-four-billionth of a second. It’s not a lot. I allow myself to ignore it.

  Now the German lady is asking if I’d like another carton of juice. I say no thanks and put my hand to my stomach to show her I’m neither hungry nor thirsty. She puts the carton of juice on the floor and puts one of those masks over her eyes to make it dark. She’s going to try to sleep.

  I get up to go to the lavatory. There’s an Italian queuing in front of me. I’ve noticed him earlier. He is here with two friends. They’re all dressed in suits and they keep walking back and forth. I feel they are up to something fishy. That they don’t wish me well.

  I am not afraid of flying. At least not the technical side of it. But I’m frightened of people. They get up to so much funny business.