Karl Knausgaard - Some Rain Must Fall

She rotated her glass, pursed her lips, looked up at me with her head at an angle.

‘Are you going to have a Christmas break? Or will you send your presents?’

‘I’m going to my mother’s on the twenty-third. I’ll stay a week.’

‘I’m heading north tomorrow,’ she said. ‘My brother’s giving me a lift.’

‘Does he live in Bergen?’

‘Yes.’

Nothing was left of what we had between us on the first evening and night. Everything was inside me.

‘When are you coming back?’ I said.

‘At the beginning of January.’

That was a long time. Anything could happen. She might meet someone up there, some guy she hadn’t seen for ages, and she might get together with him.

The longer I sat next to her, the worse my chances were. She had to start understanding something.

We chatted about the radio, normal things, everyday life, as though we were just two Student Radio employees having a beer together.

She looked at her watch.

‘I’m meeting my mother and sister soon,’ she said. ‘They’re doing their Christmas shopping as well.’

‘You go and do that then,’ I said. ‘I’ll see you after Christmas!’

We left together, stopped in Torgalmenningen, she was going left, I was going right. She stood with her bags in her hands. I should have given her a hug, there was nothing wrong in that, it was absolutely natural, we’d just had a beer together, but I didn’t dare.

‘Happy Christmas,’ I said, clumsily raising my hand in the air.

‘Happy Christmas, Karl Ove,’ she said.

Then we each went our own way, me up over Høyden and down to Møhlenpris, to Yngve’s flat, which he shared with a girl he had studied with. Fortunately she wasn’t at home.

‘How’s it going?’ he said. ‘Anything happen after the party?’

We were in the sitting room, he was playing ‘My Bloody Valentine’.

‘I went home with her. Nothing happened, we just chatted. I’ve met her again now, in Wesselstuen. I’m so in love I don’t know what to do.’

‘Is she?’

‘I’ve no idea! I wasn’t able to say a single sensible word to her. Do you know what I told her?’

He shook his head.

‘I complimented her on her ears! Can you imagine that? What lovely ears you have! Of all the things I could have said, I chose that.’

He laughed.

‘I’m not sure that was so stupid. It’s original at any rate!’

‘What shall I do?’

‘Ring her again? Go out again? If something’s meant to happen, it’ll happen of its own accord.’

‘So that’s your opinion: it’ll happen of its own accord?’

‘Yes.’

‘Anyway, she’s going home for Christmas tomorrow. I won’t see her until January. I was thinking of writing her a letter. What do you reckon?’

‘You can do that, can’t you?’

‘And buying her a Christmas present. I want to surprise her. And I thought of buying something that would make an impression. Not a book or a record and so on, something else. Something personal. But I can’t think what.’

‘Ear warmers, of course,’ Yngve said. ‘Then you can write that you chose them so that she would take care of her beautiful ears.’

‘Excellent!’ I said. ‘I’ll do that. Could you come shopping with me tomorrow afternoon? Perhaps we can buy a present together for mum while we’re at it.’

And that was what we did. I wandered around town with Yngve searching for ear warmers. They weren’t exactly common, but in the end I found a pair. They were dreadful, covered in a kind of green fur, but it didn’t matter. I had them gift-wrapped, spent the following evening writing a letter and sent everything up to Molde.

Mum noticed something had happened the moment I stepped inside her door.

‘Have you met someone?’ she said.

‘Is it that obvious?’ I said.

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘It’s nothing yet,’ I said.

‘I’ve got a Christmas card from Gunvor,’ she said.

I looked at her.

‘To be honest, that’s over. You’re welcome to stay in contact, but for me it’s all over.’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘I just thought it was nice she remembered me. What’s the name of the girl you’ve met?’

‘I’ll tell you if it gets off the ground.’

Mum seemed tired, she was pale and didn’t have the energy she usually had, I could see that, just setting and clearing the table was an effort.

On Christmas Eve she unwrapped Kjartan’s present and her face went white.

‘What have you got?’ I said.

‘A wreath,’ she said. ‘I’m sure he meant to give me a nice Christmas wreath, but he’s sent me a funeral wreath. The type you give at burials.’

‘There’s nothing symbolic in it,’ Yngve said. ‘It doesn’t mean anything. He’s just made a mistake. It’s typical of him.’

She didn’t answer, but I could see it had affected her and she did think it had meaning.

After we had opened all our presents and had eaten biscuits and drunk coffee I went up to the study and called Tonje.

‘Hi!’ she said. ‘Thank you for your present! That was really nice.’

‘So it did arrive?’

‘Yes, it came today. I was wondering if I dared open it with all the others there. After all, I didn’t know what you had bought me. But I did anyway. They all had eyes like saucers. “Who’s Karl Ove?” “Why has he given you ear warmers?” ’

We chatted at length. All her friends had come home for Christmas, she said, they went out or they visited each other and were still close even though it was five years since they had left gymnas. She also told me they’d had lots of snow there and her three brothers had been clearing the roof all morning. I could visualise it all: the house, which was at the top of a hillside with a view of the whole town and the fjord beneath and the mountains behind, from what she said, and her three brothers, who in my imagination had taken on fairy-tale roles, they looked the same, stuck together and worshipped their little sister.

Going down to the sitting room afterwards, I missed her so much it was almost unbearable. I had never imagined that happiness could hurt so much.

Between Christmas and New Year I went back to Bergen to put together some programmes. Tonje returned at the beginning of January, I rang her and invited her to dinner at my place.

Yngve usually made spaghetti carbonara with bacon, leeks, blue cheese and cream, it was simple and good, I wanted to try to make it. I didn’t have a dining table, so we would have to eat it on our laps on the sofa, that would have to do. If we met in town, we would just be sitting at a table and chatting, here it felt a bit freer, I could stand up and cook, serve her wine, play my music. There was room to move here.

Yngve suggested I put some white wine in the sauce. I followed his advice, but when I tasted it, only minutes before she was due to arrive, it was sweet and tasted horrible. I called him.

‘What shall I do?’

‘Pour in more wine. That helps.’

‘Hang on a minute. Don’t go away.’

I poured more wine into the sauce. Stirred it, tasted.

‘Now it’s even sweeter! Oh, hell, this is a disaster! She’ll be here soon!’

‘What sort of wine is that?’

I read him the name.

‘Doesn’t mean a thing to me. But it is dry, is it?’

‘Dry?’

‘Yes.’

I scrutinised the label.

‘It says it’s semi-dry. I thought it would be good if it wasn’t very sweet.’

‘No wonder the sauce is sweet. You’ll have to pile on the salt and pepper and hope for the best. Good luck!’

He rang off, I sprinkled some salt and pepper on the sauce, tasted it with my little teaspoon again and again.

The bell rang.