Ю Несбё - The Kingdom

And then the silence was almost complete. A few padding footsteps and low voices coming from the kitchen. Adult voices in normal, everyday conversation, about small, practical matters. The sounds I had fallen asleep to as a child. Safe sounds. A safety you think will last because it feels so right, so good, so unchanging.

I had dreamed. About a car that for an instant floats off into the air and looks as if it’s heading on into outer space. But then gravity and the real world get hold of it, and slowly the heavier front end, with the engine, starts to dip downwards. Into the darkness. Into Huken. There’s a scream. It’s not Dad’s. And not Mum’s. And not the climber’s. It’s my scream.

I hear Shannon giggle and whisper ‘No!’ outside my door, and then Carl’s drunken ‘Roy just thinks it’s cosy. Now I’m going to show you what it was like for us.’

I stiffened, even though I probably realised he wouldn’t do it. Show her what it was really like for us.

The door opened.

‘You asleep, bro?’ I felt Carl’s boozy breath against my face.

‘Yes,’ I answered.

‘Let’s go,’ whispered Shannon, but I felt the bed shake as Carl lay down on the lower bunk and pulled her down with him.

‘We missed you at the party,’ said Carl.

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I needed a little timeout and then fell asleep.’

‘Takes some doing to sleep through the racket from that rånergjengen .’

‘Yeah,’ I answered.

‘What’s a rånergjengen ?’ asked Shannon.

‘A boy racer gang. Noisy bastards with simple pleasures,’ sniggered Carl. ‘Burning up tyres in their souped-up cars and sleepers.’ I heard him take a swig from a bottle down there. ‘But the ones who were here tonight, their old ladies don’t let them do it any more. The ones who keep the tradition going are the kids who hang out at Roy’s station.’

‘So then a råne is a what?’ asked Shannon

‘It means a pig.’ I said. ‘A male pig. Hot and dangerous.’

‘Does it have to be dangerous?’

‘Well, you can castrate it. Then it becomes a galte. ’

‘ Galte ,’ she echoed.

‘So strictly speaking, what we had up here tonight wasn’t actually a rånegjeng but a galtegjeng. ’ Carl chuckled. ‘Married, settled, castrated, but obviously still capable of reproducing.’

‘ Galtegjeng . And some of them drive American cars, which you call Amcars.’ I could see how every Norwegian word we said went straight into that linguist’s brain of hers.

‘Shannon loves American cars,’ Carl went on. ‘She was driving her own Buick from the age of eleven. Ouch!’

I heard Shannon’s whispered protest from below.

‘Buick,’ I said. ‘Not bad.’

‘He’s lying, I didn’t drive ,’ said Shannon. ‘My grandma let me hold the steering wheel of this rusty old car she inherited from my great-uncle Leo. He was killed in Cuba, fighting with Castro against Batista. The car and Leo both came back from Havana in pieces, and Grandma put the car back together by herself.’

Carl laughed. ‘But Leo she couldn’t put back together?’

‘What type of Buick was it?’ I asked.

‘A Roadmaster ’54,’ said Shannon. ‘When I was at university in Bridgetown, Grandma drove me there in that car every single day.’

I must have been tired, or else still groggy from the punch and the beer, because I almost said that those vintage Buick Roadmasters were the most beautiful cars ever in my view.

‘Shame you slept through the whole party, Roy,’ said Shannon.

‘Oh, he doesn’t mind,’ said Carl. ‘See, Roy doesn’t really like people. Apart from me, that is.’

‘Is it true you saved his life, Roy?’ asked Shannon.

‘No,’ I said.

‘Oh yes!’ said Carl. ‘That time we bought the second-hand diving gear from Willumsen and didn’t have enough money to pay for the course, so we tested it out without knowing a fucking thing about it.’

‘It was my fault,’ I said. ‘I was the one who said it was just simple, practical logic.’

‘Says he. Of course, he managed it all right,’ said Carl. ‘And when it was my turn I got water inside the mask, I panicked and spat out the mouthpiece. If it hadn’t been for Roy…’

‘No, no, I just leaned over the side of the boat and pulled you to the surface,’ I said.

‘That same evening I sold my share in the diving equipment. Never wanted to set eyes on it again. How much did you give for it? Hundred, was it?’

I could feel the corners of my lips widening. ‘All I remember is that for once I thought I got a good price from you.’

‘It was a hundred too much!’ cried Shannon. ‘Did you ever do anything in return for your big brother?’

‘No,’ said Carl. ‘Roy’s a far better brother than I am.’

Shannon gave a sudden laugh and the bunk beds swayed; I think he must have been tickling her.

‘Is that true?’ Shannon hiccupped.

There was no answer, and I realised it was me she was asking.

‘No,’ I said. ‘He’s lying.’

‘Is he? How did he help you then?’

‘He corrected my homework for me.’

‘No I did not!’ protested Carl.

‘The nights before I had to hand in my essays he used to get up from where you are now, sneak over to my satchel, take my exercise book out to the toilet and correct all the misspellings. Then put the book back and crept back into his bed again. Never said a word about it.’

‘That happened maybe once!’ said Carl.

‘Every time,’ I said. ‘And I never said anything about it either.’

‘Why not?’ Shannon’s whisper had the same dark quality as the darkness in the room.

‘I couldn’t have people knowing that I quite happily let my kid brother sort things out for me,’ I said. ‘But on the other hand I needed a pass mark in Norwegian.’

‘Twice,’ said Carl. ‘Maybe three times.’

We lay in silence. Shared the silence. I heard the sound of Carl’s breathing, so familiar it was like hearing my own. Now there was a third person breathing in the room, and I felt a stab of jealousy. That it wasn’t me lying down there with my arms around him. There was a chill cry; it sounded like it came from the outfields. Or from Huken.

I heard muttering from the bunk below.

‘She’s asking what kind of animal that was,’ said Carl. ‘A raven, wasn’t it?’

‘That’s right,’ I said and waited. The raven – at least the one that lived up here – usually called twice, but this time not.

‘Does it mean danger?’ asked Shannon.

‘Could be,’ I said. ‘Or it’s answering another raven, one we can’t hear, that’s half a dozen kilometres away.’

‘Do they have different calls?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘There’s a different call if you get too close to the nest. The females call most. Sometimes a whole choir at it for no reason you can figure out.’

Carl chuckled. I love that sound. It spread warmth, goodness. ‘Roy knows more about birds than anything else. Apart from cars maybe. And service stations.’

‘But not about people,’ said Shannon. From the way she said it you couldn’t tell if it was a question or a statement.

‘Precisely,’ said Carl. ‘So instead he gives people bird names. Dad was the mountain lark, Mum the wheatear. Uncle Bernard was the bunting because he was training to be a priest before he became a car mechanic, and the reed bunting has a white collar.’

Shannon laughed. ‘And what were you, darling?’

‘I was… what was I again?’

‘The meadow pipit,’ I said quietly.

‘I presume the meadow pipit is handsome, strong and intelligent then,’ chuckled Shannon.