Karl Knausgaard - Dancing in the Dark

Sture’s class was already by the door.

‘Any blood?’ he asked me.

‘No,’ I said. ‘Just snot and dirt.’

We talked a bit about what had happened; when Kai Roald came back I told him he could fight as much as he wanted as long as he didn’t do it on school premises. At the weekends you can fight from the moment you get up until you go to bed, and in the afternoons too, but not at school. Can you manage that? I said. He shook his head. It was Stian who started it, he said. OK, I said. You’ll have to settle your differences with him when you get home. But not here. If it happens again I’ll have to punish you, do you understand? And it isn’t worth that. Wait a few hours and you can do whatever you like. Now, though, I’m afraid we’ll have to start the lesson. You have to learn as well, all of you. Especially you, I said. You don’t know anything!

The four girls sent me a particularly sulky expression.

‘Nothing at all!’ I said. ‘So, get out your books.’

‘And how much do you bloody know?’ Hildegunn said.

Vivian and Andrea laughed.

I raised a forefinger.

‘No swearing! I don’t want to hear that in the classroom.’

‘But everyone swears in Northern Norway,’ Vivian said.

‘The same rule applies to swearing as fighting,’ I said. ‘Swear as much as you like at home. But not here. I’m serious. I mean it. Right. You can carry on with the exercises you started last time. Page thirteen onwards. If you need any help I’m here. At the beginning of the next lesson we’ll go through any problems that arise. OK?’

I went to the window, leaned against the frame and crossed my arms. Heard Nils Erik’s voice at the other end of the open-plan block; he had English with the fourth class. I thought of Stian, saw that cheeky smile of his in my mind’s eye, and saw the girls in the class, their eyes watching his every movement. They admired him, I was fully aware of that. Perhaps they even dreamed about him?

They probably did.

The thought smarted. He was just a little shit.

I went to my desk, glanced at Hege, who had taken her pupils over to the little library corner, where they sat on cushions in a circle around her and listened while she read.

She noticed that I was watching, looked across and smiled. I smiled back, sat down at the desk, thumbed through the textbook to see what I could do in the next lesson.

When I looked up again my eyes met Andrea’s. Blood suffused her cheeks. I smiled. She raised her hand and lowered her gaze. I got to my feet and went over to her.

‘What do you need help with?’ I said.

‘This bit,’ she said, pointing. ‘Have I done it right?’

I leaned forward and went through what she had written. She sat motionless, following my finger as it moved down the page. A faint fragrance redolent of apples emanated from her. It had to be the shampoo she used, I thought, and felt a quiver spread through my chest. Her breathing, the hair that fell over her face, her eyes staring through it. All so close.

‘We-ell,’ I said. ‘It looks right to me.’

‘Does it?’ she said, looking up at me. When our eyes met I straightened up.

‘Yes, it does,’ I said. ‘Stick at it!’

No one was in the staffroom when I entered after the lesson. It was only when I had sat down that I noticed Torill — she was in the kitchenette buttering a slice of bread.

‘Have you had a free period?’ I said.

She nodded and took a bite, holding a finger up while she chewed and swallowed.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But I’ve been busy preparing for my next lessons!’

‘Right,’ I said, reaching over for the newspaper on the table. As I browsed through it I was aware of her movements. The slice of bread that went up to her mouth and down again as she scurried around.

She leaned forward and opened the fridge door. I looked up. She was wearing a pair of black stretch pants. I examined her thighs so clearly outlined in them, and her bottom. It was broad but not too broad; on the contrary, it was curvaceous and so utterly feminine.

The blood began to throb in my member, and I crossed my legs without shifting my gaze. How wonderful it would be to sleep with her and feel her thighs and bottom against my body. Oh Lord. To penetrate her. Oh Lord God. Oh. Her breasts cupped in my hands! Oh, just her skin! Oh, just the smooth insides of her thighs!

I swallowed and studied the ceiling. It would never work. Even in the highly unlikely event that I ended up in bed with her or someone like her, it would never work. I knew that.

She stood up with a carton of milk in her hand. Opened it and started filling a glass as she shot me a brief glance. When our eyes met she smiled.

She had noticed everything.

I blushed and smiled back, feverishly trying to think of something that might divert her attention from the colour in my cheeks and what I had just seen and thought.

She threw back her head and finished the milk in one draught. Wiped the white moustache off with the back of her hand and looked at me again.

‘Would you like some coffee, Karl Ove? You look like you could do with some!’

What did she mean? Why did I look like I needed coffee?

‘No, thanks,’ I said.

But a no drew attention!

‘Erm, well, perhaps I will,’ I added quickly. ‘Yes, please!’

‘Milk?’

I shook my head. She poured out two cups and brought them over, passed me one and sat down beside me with a sigh.

‘You sighed,’ I said.

‘Did I?’ she said. ‘It’s just late in the day. I slept badly last night.’

I blew on the black impenetrable surface with the small light brown bubbles at the edge and took a sip.

‘Do I make a lot of noise?’ I said. ‘The music and so on, I mean.’

She shook her head. ‘I can hear you’re there,’ she said. ‘But that doesn’t matter.’

‘Sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure.’

‘OK, but tell me if it’s too loud.’

‘Can you hear anything from our flat?’ she said.

‘Hardly anything. When you walk across the floor, that’s all.’

‘That’s just because Georg is away fishing,’ she said. ‘I’m a lot quieter when I’m on my own.’

‘Is he going to be away for long?’

‘No, they’re back on Saturday actually.’

She smiled and her lips were so soft and red and supple against her hard white teeth.

‘Right,’ I said and looked up because the door at the end of the room opened and Tor Einar, then Hege and Nils Erik, came in.

‘Here they come, in serried ranks,’ I said.

‘Yes, some of us respect lesson times,’ Nils Erik said. ‘We know that every minute is important for the pupils’ future lives. So we cannot, I repeat, cannot finish three minutes before the bell rings. That would be grossly irresponsible. In fact, I would go so far as to say it would be unforgivable .’

‘Yes, regular temps have a heavy cross to bear,’ I said. ‘Why didn’t you become a form teacher like me? Then you would have had more control over your time, you know.’

‘It’s my ultimate goal to become a head teacher without studying,’ Nils Erik said. ‘It’s not very common, and it won’t be easy, but that’s what I’ve set my heart on.’ He rubbed his hands and grimaced in a caricature of greed. ‘Now for a few decent slices of dry bread with a bit of hard goat’s cheese!’

Then in came Vibeke, Jane and Sture. I got up, thinking I should make some room for those who wanted to eat, and stood by the window staring out with a cup in my hand.

The sky was grey but not heavy. The girls from my class were standing by the wall on the far side chatting. The eighth and ninth years were allowed to stay inside if they wanted, and they invariably did, at least the girls. The children in the lower school generally stayed on the other side by the football pitch.