Karl Knausgaard - My Struggle - Book Three

He stopped in front of me.

“Where’s Vemund?” I said.

“On vacation,” Geir said. “They left today. Are you coming in the boat?”

“All right,” I said. “Where do you want to go?”

Geir shrugged.

“Gjerstadsholmen. Or one of the small islands beside it?”

“OK.”

Geir only had a row boat, so the radius of his activities was much more limited than that of the other boat owners. Nevertheless, it took us out to the islets and on occasion we had rowed several kilometers along the coast of the island. He wasn’t allowed to row in Tromøya Sound.

We scrambled on board, I pushed off, he positioned the oars in the rowlocks, applied force with his feet, and rowed so hard, with his oars so deep, that a grimace distorted his entire face.

“Ugh,” he groaned at every pull. “Ugh. Ugh.”

We glided along the light-blue surface of the sea, which was sporadically ruffled by gusting shoreward winds. The waves further out in the sound had white tips.

Geir turned and located the little island, adjusted his course with one oar, and then resumed his grunts while I hung my hand in the water and rested my eyes on the little there was of a wake.

As we approached, I stood up, leaped ashore, and pulled the boat into a tiny inlet. I didn’t know how to tie any knots, so it was Geir who tethered the rope to one of the metal rods that appeared to be fixed to every single little crag in the archipelago.

“Feel like a swim?” he said.

“Fine by me,” I said.

On the side facing Tromøya Sound, a rock rose from the sea into a two-meter-high pinnacle from which we jumped and dived. It was cold in the wind but warm in the water, so we swam for almost an hour before getting out and lying on the cliff to dry.

When we had dressed, Geir took a lighter from his pocket and showed it to me.

“Where did you get hold of that?” I said.

“It was in the cabin,” he said.

“Want to set fire to something?”

“Yes, well, that was the idea.”

Grass grew in all the cracks on the rock face, and in the middle of the islet there was a grass plain.

Geir crouched down, cupped his hand around the lighter, and set fire to a little tuft. It caught at once with a clear, transparent flame.

“Can I try?” I said.

Geir stood up, swept his stiff bangs to one side, and passed me the lighter.

“Hey!” I said. “Watch out! It’s spreading!”

Geir laughed and stamped on the fire. It was as good as out when flames suddenly flared up further away, where he had already put it out.

“Did you see that?” he said. “It started all on its own!”

He stamped it out, and I walked over to the plain and lit the grass there. At that moment a strong wind gusted in. The fire was raised like a little carpet.

“Give me a hand,” I said. “There’s so much to put out.”

We jumped and stamped for all we were worth, and the fire was suffocated.

“Give me the lighter,” Geir said.

I passed it to him.

“Let’s light the grass in lots of places at once,” he said.

“OK,” I said.

He lit it where he was, passed me the lighter, I ran to the other side and lit it there, ran over to him, to where he had moved, and he lit it there.

“Can you hear it crackling!” he said.

It was indeed. The fire crackled and spat as it slowly ate its way across. Where I had lit the grass the fire resembled a snake.

Another rush of wind blew in off the sea.

“Ooooh yikes!” Geir said as the flames rose and took a substantial chomp out of the middle.

He started stamping like a wild man. But suddenly it didn’t help.

“Give me a hand,” he said.

I heard a growing panic in his voice.

I started stamping as well. Another blast of wind, and now some of the flames were up to our knees.

“Oh, no!” I shouted. “It’s burning like hell over there, too!”

“Take your sweater off! We’ll put it out with those. I saw them do it in a film once!”

We took off our sweaters and began to beat the ground with them. The wind continued to whip up the flames, which spread even further with every gust.

Now the grass was well alight.

We stamped and beat at the flames like crazy men, but it was no use.

“It’s no good,” Geir shouted. “We won’t be able to put this out.”

“No,” I said. “It’s just getting worse and worse!”

“What shall we do?”

“I don’t know. Can we use the bailer, do you think?” I said.

“The bailer? Are you completely stupid or what?”

“No, I am not stupid,” I said. “It was just a suggestion.”

Oh, no. The fire was burning out of control. I could feel the heat from several meters away.

“Let’s get out of here,” Geir said. “Come on!”

And so, as the flames danced and crackled across the grass, with ever greater ferocity, we shoved out the boat. Geir got behind the oars and began to row, even harder than before.

“God Almighty,” he kept saying. “What a fire! What a fire!”

“Yes,” I said. “Who would have thought it?”

“Not me anyhow.”

“Me neither. Hope no one sees it.”

“Makes no difference,” Geir said. “The important thing is that no one saw us. ”

On reaching land we dragged the boat deep into the forest to hide any possible traces. There was soot on our T-shirts; we dipped and wrung them in the water, and for safety’s sake we removed our shorts and rinsed them as well. If anyone asked we would say we had been swimming in our shorts and our T-shirts had fallen in the sea. Then we dived in to get rid of the smell of fire and walked home.

From a distance I could see there was no one in the front garden. I stopped in the hall: not a sound. Slipped into the boiler room, hung up the T-shirt, and went up to my room bare-chested, took another T-shirt from the wardrobe, and changed my shorts.

From the window in Yngve’s room I saw Dad lying on the sun bed on the lawn. He could lie in the sun for hours without moving, like a lizard. And the tan he had bore witness to it. The sound of a radio drifted over from somewhere; Mom must have been sitting on the terrace under the living-room window.

An hour later she came into my room with some deodorant for me. MUM for Men, it was called. It was a glass bottle, blue, and smelled sweet and good. I thought: for men. I was a man. Or a young man at least. I would be starting a new school in a few weeks and would use the deodorant.

She explained I should rub it in under my arms after washing, but always after washing, never without, otherwise the smell would be worse.

After she had gone I did as she said, inhaled the new aroma for a while, then resumed the book I was reading, it was Dracula, my all-time favorite, I was reading it for the second time, but it was just as exciting now.

“Supper’s up!” Mom called from the kitchen, I put it down and went in.

Dad was sitting in his place, dark-skinned and dark-eyed. Mom poured boiling water in the tea pot and put it down on the table between us.

“Martha has invited us to their cabin today,” she said.

“Out of the question,” Dad said. “Did she say anything else?”

Mom shook her head.

“Nothing special.”

I looked down at the table and ate as fast as I could without giving the appearance of haste.

An engine was started up nearby, it coughed a couple of times, then died. Dad got up to look out the window.

“Isn’t Gustavsen away?” he said.

No one answered; he looked at me.

“Yes,” I said. “But not Rolf or Leif Tore. They’re the only ones at home.

The car was started again. This time the engine was revved hard. Then it was put into first gear, and the drone rose and sank and stuttered.