Karl Knausgaard - Dancing in the Dark

‘Hi,’ I said. ‘Happy Christmas. Are you still in the Canaries?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We’re here for a few more days. It’s wonderful to get away from the darkness, you know.’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘We’re going to have a baby,’ dad said. ‘Unni’s pregnant.’

‘Is she?’ I said. ‘When is it due?’

‘Straight after the summer.’

‘That’s good news,’ I said.

‘Yes, it is,’ he said. ‘Now you’ll have another brother or a sister.’

‘That’ll be strange,’ I said.

‘I don’t think it’ll be strange,’ he said.

‘Not in that sense,’ I said. ‘Just that there’ll be such a large difference in age between us. And we won’t be living together.’

‘No, you won’t. But you’ll be siblings anyway. That’s as close as you can get.’

‘Yes,’ I said.

In the kitchen mum was setting the table. The coffee machine was chugging away with small puffs of steam rising from it. I quickly rubbed my arm several times.

‘Is it nice where you are?’ I said. ‘Can you swim there?’

‘Oh yes, you bet you can,’ he said. ‘We lie by the pool all day. It’s wonderful to get away from the darkness in Norway, we think.’

There was a silence.

‘Is your mother there?’ he said.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Would you like a word with her?’

‘No, what would I have to talk about with her?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said.

‘Don’t ask such stupid questions then.’

‘Right.’

‘Did you go to Sørbøvåg at Christmas?’

‘Yes, we’ve just got back. Half an hour ago in fact.’

‘They’re still alive?’

‘Oh yes.’

‘And grandma was ill?’

‘Yes.’

‘You know that’s a hereditary illness she’s got, don’t you? Parkinson’s.’

‘Is it?’ I said.

‘Yes, so you’re vulnerable. You could get it. And then you’ll know where it came from.’

‘I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,’ I said. ‘Dad, food’s ready here. Have to go. Say hello to Unni and congratulations!’

‘Give me a call some time, Karl Ove, when we’re back. You hardly ever ring.’

‘Will do. Bye.’

‘Bye.’

I put the phone down and went into the kitchen. The cat had settled on the chair under the table, I could see his bushy tail hanging over the edge. Mum opened the oven door and put some frozen rolls on the shelf.

‘There wasn’t a lot of food in the house,’ she said. ‘But I found some rolls in the freezer. How many do you want?’

I shrugged.

‘Four maybe.’

She added one more and closed the door.

‘Who was it on the phone?’

‘Dad.’

I pulled out the chair beside the cat and sat down.

‘He’s in the Canaries, isn’t he?’ mum said, crossing the floor to the fridge.

‘Yup,’ I said.

She took out one white and one brown cheese, fetched a chopping board from the worktop, put it on the table and placed the cheeses on it.

‘What did he have to say? Were they having a good time?’

‘He didn’t say much. Just wanted to chat. He was a bit drunk, I think.’

She put the slicer on top of the white cheese. Removed the jug from the coffee machine, filled the cup on the other side of the table.

‘Do you want some?’ she said.

‘Yes, please,’ I said, passing over my cup. ‘But he said one thing that was a bit strange. He said Parkinson’s was hereditary. And that I was in the danger zone.’

‘Did he say that?’ mum said, meeting my eyes.

‘Yes, that’s precisely what he said.’

I cut the rind off the white cheese, moved it to the edge of the plate, changed my mind and threw the rind in the bin under the worktop.

‘Not much is known about that,’ mum said.

‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘You don’t think I’m bothered by it, do you?’

She sat down. I opened the fridge, took the juice from the door and looked at the date: 31 December. Shook it. There was a drop left.

‘Did he really say that?’ mum said.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But don’t give it another thought. He was a bit drunk, as I said.’

‘Have I ever told you about the first time he met grandma and grandad?’ she said.

I shook my head. Opened a cupboard and took out a glass.

‘They made a deep impression on him, both of them. But especially grandma. He said she was like nobility.’

‘Nobility?’ I said, sitting down and pouring the juice into my glass.

‘Yes. He saw something special in her. Dignity, he said. You know, it was tough, very different to what he was used to. We weren’t poor in any real sense, we always had food and clothes, but things were tight, they were. At least, compared with his childhood home. I don’t know what he’d been expecting. But he was surprised. Perhaps also because they dealt with him in a way he was unused to. They took him seriously. They took everyone seriously. Perhaps it was as simple as that.’

‘How old was he then?’

She smiled.

‘We were nineteen, both of us.’

‘Do you want some juice by the way?’ I said. ‘There’s a drop left.’

‘No, you take it,’ she said.

I emptied the carton and threw it into the sink. A perfect aim. The sudden noise made the cat stir.

‘He talked about her eyes,’ mum said. ‘I can remember that. He said they were piercing yet gentle at the same time.’

‘That’s true,’ I said.

‘Yes, he’s always been good at observing others, your father has,’ she said.

‘You wouldn’t believe it now, the way he behaves,’ I said, taking a sip of the juice.

The acid taste made me grimace.

‘That’s partly why I’m telling you,’ she said. ‘So you can appreciate that he’s more than what he’s showing at the moment.’

‘I realised that,’ I said.

Some steam escaped from the gap at the top of the oven door and from the outlet at the back of the stove. How long had they been in now? Six minutes? Seven?

‘He was a very gifted person. There were so many sides to him. Much more so than any of the others around him — when I met him anyway. And there can be no doubt that it was a problem that his talents were never really appreciated when he was growing up. Do you understand what I mean?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Mm.’

‘But if he was as gifted as you say he was, how could he do to us what he did when we were growing up? I was petrified of him. The whole damn time.’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Perhaps he was confused. Perhaps he was driven by external demands incompatible with what was inside him. He grew up with so many demands on him, so many rules and regulations, and when he met me I brought along other demands that probably didn’t suit him at all. Well, obviously they didn’t.’

‘Yes, he mentioned something about that,’ I said.

‘Did he?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you talk about all this?’

I smiled.

‘Wouldn’t exactly say that. It’s more him sitting there and moaning. But I think the rolls are done now.’

I got up, walked around the table, opened the oven door, took out the burning-hot rolls one by one as quickly as I could, put them in the bread basket and set it on the table.

‘Lots of external rules and monumental internal chaos, is that your diagnosis?’ I said.

She smiled.

‘You could put it like that,’ she said.

I split open a roll and then handed her the bread knife. The butter I spread melted the second it made contact with the greyish surface, which was partly doughy from the heat. I cut myself two slices of brown cheese and placed them on top. They melted too.

‘Why didn’t you just leave?’ I said.

‘Leave dad?’

I nodded with my mouth full.