Karl Knausgaard - My Struggle - Book Two

‘Have you seen that picture by Anselm Kiefer? It’s of a forest. All you can see is trees and snow, with red stains in places, and then there are some names of German poets written in white. Hölderlin, Rilke, Fichte, Kleist. It’s the greatest work of art since the war, perhaps in the whole of the previous century. What does it depict? A forest. What’s it about? Well, Auschwitz of course. Where’s the connection? It’s not about ideas, it reaches right down into the depths of culture, and it can’t be expressed in ideas.’

‘Have you had a chance to see Shoah ?’

‘No.’

‘Forest, forest and more forest. And faces. Forest and gas and faces.’

‘The picture’s called Varus . As far as I remember, he was a Roman army commander who lost a decisive battle in Germany. The line goes right back from the 70s to Tacitus. Schama traces it in Landscape and Memory . We could have added Odin, who hangs himself from a tree. Perhaps he does, I don’t remember. But it’s forest.’

‘I can see where you’re going.’

‘When I read Lucretius it’s all about the magnificence of the world. And that, the magnificence of the world, is of course a Baroque concept. It died with the Baroque age. It’s about things. The physicality of things. Animals. Trees. Fish. If you’re sorry that action has disappeared, I’m sorry the world has disappeared. The physicality of it. We only have pictures of it. That’s what we relate to. But the apocalypse, what is it now? Trees disappearing in South America? Ice melting, the waters rising. If you write to recapture your gravity, I write to recapture the world. Yes, not the world I’m in. Definitely not the social world. The wonder-rooms of the Baroque age. The curiosity cabinets. And the world in Kiefer’s trees. That’s art. Nothing else.’

‘A picture?’

‘You’ve got me there. Yes, a picture.’

There was a knock at the door.

‘I’ll call you back,’ I said, and rang off. ‘Come in!’

Linda opened the door.

‘Are you on the phone?’ she said. ‘I just wanted to say I was going to have a bath. Keep an ear open for the children. In case they wake up. Don’t put your headphones on.’

‘OK. Are you going for a sleep afterwards?’

She nodded.

‘I’ll join you.’

‘Right,’ she said, smiled and closed the door. I called Geir back.

‘Well, what the hell do I know,’ I said with a sigh.

‘Or me,’ he said.

‘What have you been doing this evening?’

‘Listening to some blues. Got ten new CDs in the post today. And I’ve ordered… thirteen, fourteen, fifteen more.’

‘You’re mad.’

‘No, I’m not… Mum died today.’

‘What?’

‘She passed away in her sleep. So now her angst is over. What good did it do? one might ask. But dad’s devastated. And Odd Steinar, of course. We’re going down there in a few days. The funeral’s in a week. Weren’t you going to Sørland at about that time?’

‘Ten days later,’ I said. ‘I’ve just booked the tickets.’

‘Then we’ll see each other perhaps. We’re bound to stay on for a few days.’

There was a pause.

‘Why didn’t you tell me straight away?’ I said. ‘We chatted for half an hour before you told me. Were you trying to make a point out of everything being as normal?’

‘No. Oh no. You’ve got the wrong end of the stick. No, no. I just don’t want to go there. And when I talk to you I’m away from it. It was as simple as that. It’s not worth talking about. I’m sure you understand that. It doesn’t help at all. It’s the same with blues. It’s a place to escape to. Well, not that I feel a lot. But I reckon that’s a feeling too.’

‘It is.’

After we had rung off I went into the hall between the kitchen and the living room, took an apple and stood munching as I gazed at the kitchen, which had been stripped of everything. Plaster where the worktop had been, long planks leaning against the bare walls, the floor covered in dust, various tools and cables, some furniture which would soon be assembled wrapped in plastic packaging. The renovation was supposed to take another two weeks. All we had really wanted was a dishwasher, but the worktop wasn’t the right size for it, and it would be simpler, the fitter said, to have the whole kitchen changed. So that’s what we did. The owners of the block would pay.

A voice made me turn my head.

Had it come from the children’s room?

I went over and peeped in. They were asleep, both of them. Heidi in the top bunk, with her feet on the pillow and her head on the rolled-up duvet, Vanja beneath, on the duvet as well, with her arms and legs stretched out, her body in a little X-formation. She tossed her head from one side to the other and back again.

‘Mummy,’ she said.

She had opened her eyes.

‘Are you awake, Vanja?’ I asked.

No answer.

She must have been asleep.

Now and then she woke late in the evening and cried so piercingly, but it wasn’t possible to make contact with her, she just screamed and screamed, trapped inside herself, it seemed, as though we didn’t exist and she was completely alone where she was. If we lifted her and held her tight, she put up a furious resistance, kicked and punched and wanted to be put down again, where she was just as wild and unapproachable. She wasn’t asleep, but she wasn’t awake either. It was a kind of in-between state. It was heart-wrenching to see. But when she woke next day she was in a cheery mood. I wondered whether she remembered the desperation or if it drifted away like a dream.

At any rate, she would like to hear that she had said mummy in her sleep. I would have to remember to tell her.

I closed the door and went into the bathroom, where the only light came from a small candle on the edge of the bath, flickering in the draught from the window. The steam was dense inside. Linda lay with her eyes closed and her head half under the water. She sat up slowly when she noticed me.

‘Here you are in your grotto,’ I said.

‘It’s lovely,’ she said. ‘Don’t you want to jump in?’

I shook my head.

‘Thought so,’ she said. ‘Who were you talking to, by the way?’

‘Geir,’ I said. ‘His mother died today.’

‘Oh, how sad…’ she said. ‘How is he taking it?’

‘Well,’ I said.

She leaned back in the bath.

‘I suppose we’re at that age now,’ I said. ‘Mikaela’s father died only a few months ago. Your mother had a heart attack. Geir’s mother has died.’

‘Don’t say that,’ Linda said. ‘Mummy will live for many years yet. Your mother too.’

‘Maybe. If they get through their sixties they can live to be quite old. That’s how it usually is. Anyway, it won’t be long before we are the oldest.’

‘Karl Ove!’ she said. ‘You aren’t even forty yet! And I’m thirty-five!’

‘I talked to Jeppe about this once,’ I said. ‘He’s lost both his parents. I said that the worst for me would be that I no longer had anyone to witness my life. He didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. And I don’t really know if I meant it. Or if it’s not my life I want witnessed, but our children’s. I want mum to see how they get on, not just now while they’re small but when they grow up. I want her to know them inside out. Do you understand what I mean?’

‘Of course. But I don’t know if I want to talk about it.’

‘Do you remember when you came into the room and asked if I knew where Heidi was? I went out with you to look. Berit was here. She had opened the balcony door. And when I saw it, the open door, I was seized by a terrible fear. All the blood drained from my face. I almost fainted. The fear or the panic or the terror, or whatever it was, was so instantaneous. I thought that Heidi had wandered onto the balcony on her own. In those seconds I was sure we had lost her. They must be the worst seconds of my life. I’ve never known such a strong emotion. The wonder is that I’d never experienced it before, that something can happen and we could really lose them. In some way or other, I imagined they were immortal. Oh, yes, that was what we weren’t supposed to talk about.’