Karl Knausgaard - Some Rain Must Fall

‘It was,’ I said. ‘But I made a terrible blunder with Ingvild, that was the only downside.’

‘Really?’ he said. ‘I didn’t notice. What happened?’

He poured coffee into a cup, added a drop of milk and sat down. I blushed and looked out of the window.

‘I took her up to the room on the second floor and tried it on with her.’

‘And?’

‘She didn’t want it.’

‘That can happen,’ he said, stretched for another slice of bread and buttered it. ‘It doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Except that she didn’t want it then. You were probably a lot drunker than she was, that could be the reason. It could have been too early. You don’t know each other that well, do you?’

‘No.’

‘If she’s serious, and by that I mean really serious, she might not want it to happen like that, at a party.’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘All I know is that I made a big, big blunder. Now I’ve scared her off. I’m sure of that.’

Yngve placed a piece of ham on the bread, sliced a bit of cucumber and raised the sandwich to his mouth. I poured coffee into a cup and took some sips.

‘What are you going to do about it then?’

I shrugged. ‘There’s nothing I can do.’

‘What’s done is dung and cannot be undung,’ he said. ‘Yes, a poor one, I’ll admit that. Sorry. But I had a good one this summer, we ordered some shrimps, they came in a bowl and went in a flash.’

‘Ha ha,’ I said.

‘You have to meet her again, as soon as possible, and then you have to apologise to her, it’s as simple as that. You’re sorry and it wasn’t like you.’

‘Yes.’

‘Can’t you invite her down here? Ola and Kjersti are coming at two. I’m going to make waffles. That would be the perfect setting.’

‘Do you think she’d come here again after last night? I don’t think so.’

‘We can drive up and collect her. You knock on the door and invite her, say I’m waiting in the car outside. If she says no, well, that’s not the end of the world.’

‘Are you up for it?’

‘Absolutely.’

An hour later we got into the car and drove downhill to Danmarksplass, turned right at the crossing and headed for Fantoft. It was a Sunday, the traffic was minimal, there were already little patches of yellow in the green mountains on both sides of the valley. Autumn was here, I thought, tapping my fingers on my thigh to the music.

‘I’ve written some lyrics for you, by the way,’ I said.

‘Oh, fantastic!’

‘Yes, but I don’t think the lyrics are that fantastic. That’s why I haven’t shown them to you. I wrote them more than a week ago.’

‘What’s the title?’

‘ “You Sway So Sweetly.” ’

He laughed.

‘Sounds like good pop lyrics, if you ask me.’

‘Mm, maybe,’ I said. ‘And now I’ve told you they’re done, you’ll have to see them too.’

‘If they’re no good you’ll have to write some more, won’t you.’

‘Easier said than done.’

‘Are you a writer or aren’t you? I only need a few verses and a chorus, then I can finish the songs. Easy enough for a man like you.’

‘I’ll do it then.’

He indicated left, we entered a large square in front of some high-rise buildings.

‘Is it here?’ I said.

‘Haven’t you been here before?’

‘No.’

‘Dad lived here for a year, did you know that?’

‘Yes, I did. Leave the car here and I’ll pop up to her place.’

I knew the address off by heart, so after a bit of confusion I found the right block, took the lift up to her floor, went down the corridor until I saw the right number on the door, concentrated for a few seconds, then rang the bell.

I heard her footsteps inside. She opened the door, and when she saw me she almost jumped backwards with the shock.

‘You?’ she said.

‘I’d like to apologise for last night,’ I said. ‘I don’t usually behave like that. I’m really sorry.’

‘Don’t apologise,’ she said, and suddenly I remembered that was exactly what she had said the previous night.

‘Would you like to come with me to Yngve’s? He’s going to make waffles. Ola and Kjersti, they were at the party last night, do you remember, they’ll be there too.’

‘I don’t know …’ she said.

‘Come on. It’ll be nice. Yngve’s outside now. He’ll drive you back afterwards as well.’

She looked at me.

‘OK then,’ she said. ‘I’ll just change into something more suitable. Hang on a minute.’

Yngve was waiting outside, leaning against his car smoking.

‘Nice to see you again,’ he said with a smile.

‘You too,’ she said.

‘I’ll sit in the back,’ I said. ‘You go in front.’

She did, pulled the safety belt across her chest, clicked the buckle into place, I looked at her hands, they were so attractive.

Not much was said on the way to town. Yngve asked Ingvild about her studies and about Kaupanger, she answered, asked him about his studies and about Arendal, I slumped back against the seat, glad to avoid responsibility for the conversation.

Every Tuesday evening, right through our childhood, Yngve or I made waffles. It was something we were good at, it was in our blood, so for me that afternoon, eating waffles in the sitting room and drinking coffee, was not as strange and un-studenty as it was for the others, quite the contrary, the waffle iron was one of the few objects I had brought with me from home when I moved a year ago.

As in the car, I let the conversation flow without me. Sitting at the table with Yngve, Ola, Kjersti and Ingvild, after what had happened the night before, I had everything to lose. The other three were more experienced; if I said anything it might be stupid and my inexperience would appear in flashing lights before Ingvild’s eyes. No, I said as little as possible, mumbled I agree once or twice, nodded now and then, and I smiled. I interspersed the conversation with the odd question to Ingvild, mostly just to show I was thinking about her and it was important to me that she was there.

‘Put on a record, will you?’ Yngve said. ‘And I’ll make some more waffles.’

I nodded, and while he went into the kitchen I knelt down by his record collection. I saw it as a test, it was decisive which music I chose, and in the end I plumped for R.E.M.’s Document. By mistake I put on the second side and realised what a terrible mistake I had made just as I sat down, next to Ingvild.

Oh, no, what was that he sang, to the one he loved?

I blushed.

She would think I had chosen this song to tell her. Face to face. This is for the girl I love.

She must think I’m an absolute prat, I thought, looking out of the window so that she couldn’t see how red-faced I was.

And on it went, to the one he’s left behind.

No, no, no. Oh, how embarrassing!

I glanced at her, to see whether she had noticed.

She hadn’t, but if she had and thought I was sending her a secret message, would she show it in any obvious way?

No.

I took a sip of coffee, wiped up the small dark seeds of the raspberry jam with the last piece of waffle on the plate, put it in my mouth, chewed and swallowed.

‘Excellent waffles,’ I said to Yngve, who had come into the room at that very moment.

‘Yes, I used lots of eggs this time.’

‘The way you t-talk!’ Ola said. ‘Anyone would think you were a c-couple of old b-biddies.’

I got up and went to the bathroom, rinsed my face with cold water, avoided looking at myself, dried my hands and face on the towel hanging there, which smelled faintly of Yngve.

When I went back in, the song had finished. We sat for another half an hour, and when Ola and Kjersti were about to go I said that maybe it wouldn’t a bad idea if we went too, in fact I had a lot on tomorrow, and Ingvild said, yes, she had too, and five minutes later we were in Yngve’s car again, heading at full speed for Fantoft.