Karl Knausgaard - A Time for Everything

There was almost nothing left of the town. Of those buildings that hadn’t been sucked out by the undertow, all were either partially or totally destroyed. Beams, planks, ropes, slabs of brickwork, roofing tiles, shards of glass and fixtures, all jumbled up, here and there an intact fire wall, here and there an entire house wall, in certain parts of the town remains of entire streets, but when, later that evening, they got down there, they found that no one even there had survived. They didn’t find many bodies, most had been carried out by the undertow, and the few they did come across, tangled up in everything from bed canopies to fishing lines and hauling ropes, crushed under wardrobes and woodstoves and pianos, caught up in everything from scaffolding to hatchways and garden fences, they threw into the sea so that they wouldn’t lie there and rot and spread disease among the survivors, who’d initially thought to remain there — the town and the sea beyond was their world; it was just as easy to rebuild their houses here as to leave for somewhere else and build them there — until the thing that drove them up the valley happened.

The sea rose.

Even on that first evening the water covered the harbor, but everyone thought it was because of the spring tide, which presumably had caused the tidal wave, and assumed it would recede in a few hours. But when the waves continued to wash over the wall and into the lowest streets next morning, and both harbor and breakwater were under many feet of water, they began to realize that it wasn’t a question of high and low tide. The sea itself had risen several feet. And it was still rising: the evening after, the waves were lapping over the next wall, six feet farther up.

In pouring rain, with the waves slapping just below them, awash with flotsam from the ruined town — bales of cotton, empty barrels and boxes, tubs and pails, corpses of people and animals, distended like balloons; coils of rope, sailcloth, tackles, chests, pieces of planking, shoes, boots; indeed anything that could float — the hundred or so survivors went through the lowest part of the town and saved everything of value they could. They worked methodically upward, and after a week everything had been searched and the goods carried to the top of the mountain.

At that point the sea was sixty feet below them. The next day it was fifty-four and the day after that, forty-eight. But even though they knew that the sea rose six feet a day, and so it was a simple enough matter to work out that it would reach the lip of the mountain in just over a week, they remained up there. It’ll go down tomorrow , they said to each other before they fell asleep, and the first thing they did upon waking was to go over to the lip to check the water level. It can’t just go on rising , they said to each other, it’s against the sea’s very nature. Sooner or later it’ll stop, and then go down .

The rain fell heavily all this time. They built some provisional shacks out of planks and tarpaulins and these, together with the great heaps of rescued items made the plain look like some kind of marketplace. There they slept, ate, and sat staring out across the sea in the hope that signs of imminent change would appear. When the cloud cover suddenly parted and all at once the sea lay there glittering in the sunshine, the relief among many of the survivors was so great that they wouldn’t leave the town a few hours later when the wind began to blow. Whether they thought that the storm would die away of itself, leaving everything as before, or if they quite simply couldn’t take any more and put their lives in the hands of fate, it was impossible for those who left to ascertain. They had hurriedly loaded their handcarts, said farewell to their friends, and set off inland along the spine of the mountain. The valley beneath them was the final stretch before the river flowed into the sea and, made up mostly of bogs and marshes, was intersected by the river’s many channels and small meandering lakes; it had long since become sea bottom, and they had to walk for many hours before reaching the new shore farther up the valley and could at last leave the high ground. Presumably it would be easier there to find shelter from the ever more violent wind they had at their backs.

“And now we’ve come here,” he said, letting his glance take in everyone who’d been watching him intently all this time. Then he drained his glass, nodded to his sons, and got up.

“So you’ll be moving on tomorrow morning,” Anna said.

Lud stopped and turned to her.

“Yes,” he said.

“Where do you plan to go?”

“Up into the mountains. That’s all we know for now.”

“Do you know the way?”

Lud shook his head.

“But I suppose it’s only a matter of going up,” he said, smiling.

“Ah well,” said Anna. “It’s not quite as simple as that. Now that the river is in full spate, there are only two possible ways up. One is through the pass, and that’s out of the question as you have children and heavy baggage with you. The other climbs up three miles along the valley. I suggest that some people from here go with you. Or that you wait a day. Then we can go up together. Because if things are as you’ve described them, and the sea’s moving up the valley, there’s no reason for us to stay here. All our houses were destroyed in the storm. And the river can break through that embankment up there at any moment.”

“That’s something we’ll have to discuss first,” said Dedan. “Early this morning we decided to stay on for the time being. As far as I can see, nothing has happened to alter that. If the sea is rising, then it’s rising, but how close is it? At least six miles away, if I understand him right,” he said, nodding toward Lud.

“Sleep on it,” Lud said, and made for the door, where his sons stood waiting. “We’ll talk about it again early tomorrow. Good night!”

When he’d gone, Javan turned to his wife.

“Dedan is right,” he said. “We’ve already made a decision. What they do has nothing to do with us.”

Anna had said what she had to say, and didn’t answer. Everyone noticed that she didn’t even look at him when he made his comment, but gazed at the floor in front of her. She wouldn’t even give him that.

“What’s the point of rebuilding our houses if a flood is on the way?” asked Lotan, who came from a farm farther down the valley. “And if we’re not going to rebuild our houses, what’s the point of staying here? Are we going to wade around in mud waiting for the flood to come? We know it’s coming. Is that what you want, Javan and Dedan?”

“We shouldn’t be hasty is all I’m saying,” said Javan. “It’s not simply a matter of setting out just like that, as you seem to think. What do we do with the cows for example? Slaughter them? Let them out to wander about down here?”

“We’ll take the cows with us,” said Anna. “It’s their summer pasture. They know the way. But there’s no need to make things more complicated than necessary. Those who want to leave now can leave. Those who want to stay, remain here.”

“Anna’s right,” said Lotan. “It’s up to us individually to decide if we want to stay or not. Can’t we at least agree on that?”

They could. If there had been a vote between Anna’s suggestion of everyone going, and Dedan’s of everyone staying, most people would have supported Dedan. After all, who did Anna think she was? What gave her the idea she could decide what they would do?

Her father, Lamech, had been exactly the same. He’d gone about his farm like some petty king feeling superior to all and sundry. And his father before him had been of the same kidney, the old people could relate. The family on that farm had always known best.