Karl Knausgaard - Some Rain Must Fall

He was twenty-one years old and was going to make his debut. It was fantastic. And he had opened up literature for me. He had been so selfless, he never kept anything to himself, he didn’t carefully guard his writings, he didn’t hold back any insights, Espen was never like that, he had always shared everything and it wasn’t to be generous, to create a good impression, to do a good deed, but because he was like that, he bubbled over with enthusiasm he wanted to share with me.

Was I going to begrudge him his debut?

I wished it for him with the whole of my heart. If it rankled it was because it threw me and my life into such stark relief.

‘How does your summer look?’ he said.

‘I’m working at Sandviken Hospital. Then I might go to Kristiansand and visit my dad. Yes, and I suppose I might spend a few weeks in Jølster. And you?’

‘I’m definitely going to Oslo. And then I’ll have to find myself somewhere to live.’

‘Why?’

‘Haven’t you heard? We’ve been given notice. They’re going to demolish the house.’

‘What?’

‘Yes, we’ve got to be out by the summer.’

‘Oh shit. That is bad news.’

‘Shall we look for a place together?’

‘You mean share a flat?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why not?’ I said.

I had been given a month’s contracted work at Sandviken and they seemed to be pleased to see me on the ward — well, not the patients, they were as indifferent as ever, but those working there — and I slipped back into institutional life as though I had never been away. I printed the short story about the man with the suitcase and sent it to Vinduet without much optimism, and stopped writing because the job was taking too much of my energy and because I didn’t feel like it. Gunvor was working in her village, so on my free evenings I mostly sat at home reading. I went on the town a few times with Yngve, we also had a couple of sessions with the band, but it was all half-hearted. In the two years we had been together we had played Hulen twice, Garage once, we had recorded a demo and performed one song in a proper studio, which appeared on a record of selected Bergen bands, and that was good, but if we wanted to go any further we had to invest more time — go all out — and no one really wanted to do that, it appeared.

One night I couldn’t stay in, the summer weather was too overpowering, staying in and reading seemed unhealthy, so I went out, through the park and down to Café Opera. Yngve’s friend Geir, whom I didn’t know but who had rented my flat while I was in Iceland, was there, I bought myself a beer and joined him and his friends. It was a weekday, not very busy, but a couple of girls I half-knew from the first year at university came in, I chatted to them, one was blonde and good-looking, I’d had my eye on her before, she was one of those who gladdened my heart when I looked around the reading room, for no other reason than that she was lovely, so when Café Opera closed and I was in my most upbeat mood, I invited almost everyone there — Geir, one of his friends, the two girls and six Africans — to a party at my place, I still had some tax-free booze left. I didn’t know the six, but I had spoken to them in the café and thought they might not know that many Norwegians, perhaps they hadn’t really got into life here, and asked them if they would like to come to a party so that we could chat and drink some more. The one I spoke to nodded and smiled, yes, thank you, that’s kind of you. As we drove through the warm light night, however, it wasn’t the Africans who were on my mind but the blonde girl, and she, sitting on the other side of the rear seat, must have been thinking about me because when we entered, after I had paid for the three taxis, and sat down to drink — the crowd at Café Opera had seemed small, but they filled my flat, when had there last been eleven people here all at once? — she looked at me, asked me what I was doing now, how I was, what I really thought about the first year and about them.

‘About you?’

‘Yes? You seemed so arrogant.’

‘Arrogant? Me?’

‘Yes. You were the one who had read Dante and had been to the Writing Academy. One of the clever ones.’

‘Clever? I knew nothing.’

She laughed, I laughed, we went into the kitchen, she leaned against the wall, I propped up the worktop, we chatted but I was hardly listening to what she said and a moment later I leaned over and kissed her. Went closer, held her, squeezed her to me, she was soft and good and not unwilling. I whispered that we could go to the room next door. It was Jone’s, but he was in Stavanger, and we sank into his huge water bed. Oh, she was wonderful. I lay on top of her, she had her arms wrapped around me, then I heard a movement behind us and turned.

It was one of the Africans. He was watching us in the semi-darkness.

‘You have to leave,’ I said. ‘We want to be left in peace.’

He didn’t move.

‘You can’t stay here, as I’m sure you know,’ I said. ‘Will you please leave the room?’

He didn’t move.

‘Don’t take any notice of him,’ she said. ‘Come here to me.’

I did, and it was soon over. When I rolled over onto my back the African was on his way out of the room.

‘That was quick,’ she said.

Was she being sarcastic?

No, she was smiling and stroked my cheek.

‘I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,’ she said. ‘Shame it was so short. But I’ll be off now. It’s late. See you.’

She left, I fell asleep, and when I woke up, with a pounding headache, the flat was empty. The two bottles of schnapps were gone as well as the wallet I had left on the hat shelf.

That was all my money.

I sat down and rested my head in my hands.

Why had I done it? Why, why, why?

The guilt I felt was boundless. The shame burned in me from the moment I woke to the moment I fell asleep. The thought of what I had done didn’t leave me. It was always there.

This was hell. Being torn into pieces by remorse, this was hell. And it was my own fault, it was me who had done it.

Why, why, why?

I didn’t want this. I wanted to live a calm, quiet, warm and intimate life with Gunvor, that was what I wanted, and it ought to have been easy to achieve, it wasn’t black magic, it was something everyone was capable of and always had been. Gunvor, was she unfaithful? Had she ever been?

No, of course not.

Had she ever thought of being unfaithful?

No, of course not.

She was decent, sincere, honest, kind, good.

She must never find out what had happened.

The blonde girl had said she would be working at a hotel in Hardanger that summer, I rang the next day and got through to her. I had dreaded this, it was degrading and humiliating, but I had to do it, there was no way round it.

She was happy to hear my voice.

‘Hi!’ she said. ‘Thanks for last night!’

‘That’s why I’m ringing,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a girlfriend. She mustn’t find out what happened. Can you promise me you won’t tell anyone? Can you promise me it’ll stay between us?’

She went quiet.

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Are you ringing to tell me that?’

‘Yes.’

‘OK,’ she said.

‘OK?’

‘Bye.’

‘Bye.’

I waited several hours before ringing Gunvor, I wanted the conversation with her to be as pure and uncontaminated by what had happened as possible.

Of course she was pleased to hear from me. Of course she missed me. Of course she was looking forward to us seeing each other again.

I had known I wasn’t worthy of her. But I clung on. I lied, and the distance between us grew, although she was unaware of it. I hated myself, and I should have finished it, not for my sake but for hers, she deserved better.