Karl Knausgaard - My Struggle - Book One

“Happy New Year, boys!” his father said as we got in. “Have you had a good time?”

“Yes,” I said. “Lots of people out and about at twelve. Quite a scene. How was it in Tveit?”

“Fine,” he said, stretching his arm along the back of my seat and craning his neck to reverse. “Whose house was it, actually?”

“Someone Øyvind knows. The one who plays drums in the band.”

“Oh yes,” the father said, changing gear and driving back the way he had just come. The snow in some of the gardens was stained with fireworks. A few couples were walking along the road. The occasional taxi passed. Otherwise all was quiet and peaceful. There was something I had always liked about gliding through the darkness with the dashboard illuminated beside a man who was confident and calm in his movements. Jan Vidar’s father was a good man. He was friendly and interested, but also left us in peace when Jan Vidar indicated we had had enough. He took us on fishing trips, he repaired things for us — once when my bike had been punctured on the way there he had fixed the tire for me, without a word, it was all ready when I had to leave — and when they went on family holidays they invited me. He asked after my parents, as did Jan Vidar’s mother, and whenever he drove me home, which was not so seldom, he always had a chat with Mom or Dad, if they were around, and he invited them over to his place. It wasn’t his fault that they never went. But he also had a temper, I knew that, even though I had never seen any evidence of it, and hatred was also among the many feelings Jan Vidar had for him.

“So it’s 1985,” I said as we joined the E18 by Varodd Bridge.

“Indeed,” Jan Vidar’s father said. “Or what do you say in the back?”

Jan Vidar didn’t say anything. And he hadn’t when his father got there either. He had just stared straight ahead and got in. I twisted around in my seat and looked at him. He was sitting with his head transfixed and his eyes focused on a point in the neck rest.

“Lost your tongue?” his father asked, smiling at me.

Still total silence from the rear.

“Your parents,” his father went on. “Did they stay at home tonight?”

I nodded.

“My grandparents and my uncle came over. Lutefisk and aquavit.”

“Glad you weren’t there?”

“Yes.”

Onto the Kjevik road, past Hamresanden, along Ryensletta. Dark, peaceful, nice and warm. I could sit like this for the rest of my life, I thought. Past their house, into the bends up by Kragebo, down to the bridge on the other side, up the hill. It hadn’t been cleared and was covered with five centimeters of fresh snow. Jan Vidar’s father drove more slowly over the last stretch. Past the house where Susann and Elise lived, the two sisters who had moved here from Canada, and no one could quite figure out, past the bend where William lived, down the hill, and up the last bit.

“I’ll drop you here,” he said. “Then we won’t wake them if they’re asleep. Okay?”

“Okay,” I said. “And thank you very much for the ride. See you, Jayvee!”

Jan Vidar blinked, then opened his eyes wide.

“See you, yes,” he said.

“Are you going to sit in the front?” Jan Vidar’s father asked.

“I don’t,” Jan Vidar said. I closed the door, raised my hand to wave goodbye and heard the car reversing behind me as I walked up the road to the house. “Jayvee”! Why had I said that? The nickname that signaled a friendship I didn’t need to signal; I had never used it before since, in fact, we were friends.

The windows in the house were unlit. So they must have gone to bed. I was glad, not because I had anything to hide, but because I wanted to be left in peace. After hanging up my outdoor clothes in the hall I went into the living room. All traces of the party had been removed. In the kitchen the dishwasher was humming softly. I sat down on the sofa and peeled an orange. Although the fire had gone out you could still feel the heat from the wood burner. Mom was right, it was good living here. On the wicker chair the cat lazily raised its head. Meeting my gaze, it got up, padded across the floor and jumped onto my lap. I got rid of the orange peel, which the cat hated.

“You can lie here for a bit,” I said, stroking it. “You can. But not all night, you know. I’m going to bed soon.”

It began to purr as it curled up on me. Its head sank slowly, resting on one paw, and its eyes, which first had closed with pleasure, were closed in sleep within seconds.

“It’s alright for some,” I said.

The next morning I awoke to the radio in the kitchen, but stayed where I was, there was nothing to get up for anyway today, and I soon fell sleep again. The next time I awoke it was half past eleven. I got dressed and went downstairs. Mom was sitting at the kitchen table reading and looked up as I came in.

“Hi,” she said. “Did you have a good time last night?”

“Yes,” I said. “It was fun.”

“When did you get home?”

“Half past two-ish. Jan Vidar’s Dad brought us back.”

I sat down and spread some liver pâté on a slice of bread, succeeded after several attempts in spearing a pickle with a fork, put it on top, and lifted the teapot to feel if it was empty.

“Is there any left?” Mom asked. “I can boil some more water.”

“Could probably squeeze a little cup out,” I said. “But it might be cold.”

Mom got up.

“Stay where you are,” I said. “I can do it myself.”

“It’s fine,” she said. “I’m sitting right by the stove.”

She filled the saucepan and put it on the burner, which soon began to crackle.

“And what did you have to eat?” she asked.

“It was a cold buffet,” I said. “I think the girl’s mother made it. It was the usual. . you know, shrimp and vegetables in jelly, transparent. .?”

“Shrimp in aspic?” Mom queried.

“Yes, shrimp in aspic. And ordinary shrimp. And crab. Two lobsters, there wasn’t enough for everyone, but we all got to taste a bit. And then, oh yeah, some ham and other things.”

“Sounds good,” Mom said.

“Yes, it was,” I said. “Then we went out at twelve, down to the intersection where everyone gathered and let off rockets. Well, we didn’t, but lots of the others did.”

“Did you meet anyone new?”

I hesitated. Took another slice of bread, scanned the table for something to put on it. Salami with mayonnaise, that looked good.

“Not exactly,” I said. “Mostly I stuck with people I know.”

I looked at her.

“Where’s Dad?”

“In the barn. He’s off to Grandma’s today. Feel like going?”

“No, I’d rather not,” I said. “There were so many people last night. I feel like being on my own now. Perhaps I’ll wander down to Per’s. But that’s all. What are you going to do?”

“I’m not sure. Read a bit, maybe. And make a start on my packing. The plane leaves early tomorrow morning.”

“That’s right,” I said. “When’s Yngve off?”

“In a few days, I think. Then it’ll be just you and Dad here.”

“Yes,” I said. I clapped my eyes on the brawn Grandma had made. Perhaps brawn wouldn’t be a bad idea for the next slice? And then one with lamb sausage.

Half an hour later I was ringing the doorbell at Per’s house. His father opened. He appeared to be on his way out: he was wearing a lined, green military jacket over a shiny blue tracksuit and had light-colored boots on; in his hand he had a lead. Their dog, an old Golden Retriever, was wagging its tail between its legs.

“Ah, it’s you,” he said. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year,” I said.

“They’re in the living room,” he said. “Just go right in.”