Karl Knausgaard - My Struggle - Book Two

‘Hello?’ I called. ‘Has something happened?’

No answer.

She must have gone to the hospital under her own steam. Had she?

‘Hello?’ I called again. ‘Linda?’

I took off my boots, went into the kitchen and peeped inside the bedroom door. No one there. I realised the shopping bags were still hanging from my arms and put them on the worktop before going through the bedroom and opening the living-room door.

She was in the middle of the floor staring at me.

‘What’s up?’ I asked. ‘Has something happened?’

She didn’t answer. I went over to her.

‘What’s happened, Linda?’

Her eyes were black.

‘I haven’t felt anything all day,’ she said. ‘It feels as if there’s something wrong. I can’t feel anything.’

I put my arm around her. She wriggled away.

‘Everything’s fine,’ I said. ‘I’m sure of it.’

‘IT BLOODY WELL ISN’T FINE!’ she yelled. ‘Don’t you understand anything? Don’t you understand what has happened?’

I tried to hold her again, but she wormed away.

She started to cry.

‘Linda, Linda,’ I said.

‘Don’t you understand what’s happened?’ she repeated.

‘Everything’s fine,’ I said. ‘I’m sure of it.’

I waited for another shout. Instead she lowered her hands and looked at me with her eyes full of tears.

‘How can you be so sure?’

I didn’t reply at first. Her undeviating stare felt like an accusation.

‘What do you want us to do?’ I asked.

‘We have to go to hospital.’

‘Hospital?’ I said. ‘Everything is as it should be. Babies move less the closer you are to birth. Come on, everything’s great. It’s just…’

It was only then, as I met her expression of disbelief, that I realised this might be serious.

‘Get your coat on,’ I said. ‘I’ll ring for a taxi.’

‘Ring and tell them we’re coming first,’ she said.

I shook my head and went to the telephone on the windowsill.

‘We’ll just go straight there,’ I said, picking up the receiver and dialling the number for the central taxi switchboard. ‘They’ll help us when we arrive.’

While waiting to get through I watched her. Slowly, as though not present in her movements, putting on her coat, winding the scarf around her neck, putting first one then the other foot on the trunk to tie her shoelaces. In the hall, where she was standing, every detail stood out clearly against the dark living room. Tears were still running down her cheeks.

Beep followed beep as nothing happened.

She was watching me now.

‘I haven’t got through yet,’ I said.

Then the beeps stopped.

‘Stockholm Taxis,’ said a woman’s voice.

‘Yes, hello, I need a taxi to come to Regeringsgatan 81.’

‘Yes… and where are you going?’

‘Danderyd Hospital.’

‘Right.’

‘How long will it be?’

‘About fifteen minutes.’

‘That’s no good,’ I said. ‘This is for a birth. We need a taxi immediately.’

‘What did you say it was for?’

‘A birth.’

I realised she didn’t understand the Norwegian word for birth, fødsel . A few seconds passed while I searched for the correct Swedish word.

‘ Förlossning ,’ I said at last. ‘We need a taxi right away.’

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she said. ‘But I can’t promise anything.’

‘Thank you,’ I replied and rang off, checked I had my credit card in my inside jacket pocket, locked the door and joined Linda in the corridor. She didn’t meet my eyes once on the way down.

Outside, it was still snowing.

‘Was it supposed to be coming right away?’ Linda said on the pavement.

I nodded.

‘As fast as they could make it, they said.’

Even though there was a lot of traffic I saw the taxi from far off. It was coming at quite a speed. I waved and it pulled up beside us. I bent forward, opened the door, let Linda in first and got in after her.

The driver turned.

‘Are we in a hurry?’ he asked.

‘It’s not quite what you think,’ I said. ‘But we’re going to Danderyd.’

He pulled out and drove towards Birger Jarlsgatan. We sat at the back without speaking. I took her hand in mine. Fortunately, she allowed me to do that. The overhead motorway lights flashed through the car like narrow belts. The radio was playing ‘I Won’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me’.

‘Don’t be frightened,’ I said. ‘Everything’s as it should be.’

She didn’t answer. We drove up a gentle incline. There were detached houses between the trees on both sides of the road. The roofs were white with snow, the entrances yellow with light. The occasional orange sledge, the occasional dark expensive car. Then we turned off right and drove under the road we had been on into the hospital, which resembled an enormous box with lots of hatches because of all the lit windows. Piles of snow lay scattered around the buildings.

‘Do you know where it is?’ I asked. ‘I mean the Förlossning department?’

He nodded ahead, turned left and pointed to a sign saying BB Stockholm .’

‘In there,’ he said.

Another taxi with its engine running was by the entrance as we arrived. The driver pulled in behind it, I passed him my Visa card, got out, held Linda’s hand and helped her onto her feet as another couple hurried through the door. He was carrying a baby seat and a big bag.

I signed, put the receipt with my card in my inside pocket and followed Linda into the building.

The other couple were waiting by the lift. We stood a few metres behind them. I stroked Linda’s back. She was crying.

‘This isn’t how I imagined it would be,’ she said.

‘Everything’s fine,’ I said.

The lift came and we entered after the other couple. The woman suddenly doubled up, tightly squeezing the rail beneath the mirror. The man stood with his hands full looking down at the floor.

They alerted the staff by ringing the bell when we arrived. The nurse who came to meet us exchanged a few words with them first and told us someone would be coming for us, then accompanied them down the corridor.

Linda sat down on a chair. I stood looking down the corridor. The lighting was muted. There was a sign hanging from the ceiling outside every room. Some of them were lit up in red. Whenever a new sign lit up, a signal sounded, also muted, yet with an unmistakably institutional sound. Now and then a nurse appeared, on her way from one room to another. At the end of the corridor a father was rocking a bundle in his hands. He appeared to be singing.

‘Why didn’t you say this was urgent?’ Linda said. ‘I can’t sit here!’

I didn’t answer.

My mind was a blank.

She got up.

‘I’m going in,’ she said.

‘Wait a minute or two,’ I said. ‘They know we’re here.’

It was useless trying to stop her, so when she made a move I followed.

A nurse emerging from the office section came to meet us.

‘Are you being looked after?’ she asked.

‘No,’ Linda said. ‘Someone was supposed to be coming, but they haven’t come yet.’

She peered at Linda over her glasses.

‘I haven’t felt it stir all day,’ Linda said. ‘Nothing at all.’

‘So you’re worried,’ said the nurse.

Linda nodded.

The nurse turned and looked up the corridor.

‘Go into that room,’ she said. ‘It’s free. Then someone will come and see to you at once.’

The room was so alien that all I saw was us two. Every single movement Linda made went right through me.

She took off her coat, hung it over the back of a chair and sat down on the sofa. I walked over to the window and stood there, looking down at the road, at the stream of cars passing. The snow fell as tiny vague shadows outside the window, seeming to be visible only when the snowflakes drifted into the circles of light from the lamps in the car park.