Tore Renberg - See You Tomorrow

He waves his big hands in front of him in the darkness.

Focus, like Jan Inge says, you need to focus, Rudi. Don’t talk too much. Don’t get lost in thought.

He takes long strides up towards the rock where he’s arranged to meet Pål. He catches sight of him when he’s halfway up. Rudi comes to a stop and studies him. There’s no immediate recognition. Of course the guy had to have a dog. He needs to start saying it to people. Dogs prohibited . Pål looks worn out. His shoulders are slouching, his hands are nervous and his face is sad. He can’t say he recognises him.

Rudi continues on and Pål catches sight of him. Rudi gives him a firm nod and assumes his sternest look, Pål raises his hand and gives him a lopsided smile.

‘All right?’ Rudi halts.

‘Yeah, hi, I’m På—’

Rudi glances quickly left and right. ‘No,’ he says, grabbing Pål by his jacket. ‘No, we can’t stand here. Come on.’

‘Okay…’

They walk down the hill, cross the path and break off into the woods. The dog barks. Rudi hears Pål breathing nervously beside him and lifts his hand up in the air as a signal to remain silent, while continuing to pull Pål after him. He looks intently toward the tree trunks ahead.

‘Can you make your dog shut up?’ Rudi hisses. ‘Or do I have to find a stone to beat his head in with?’

Pål bends down quickly to the dog, whispers in a commanding voice: ‘Zitha! Quiet!’

Rudi mutters to himself, annoyed. They cross the road and enter the small forest on the far side, which seems less inviting, less frequented, and after a short time Rudi points toward the substation.

‘There,’ he says. ‘Behind that.’

‘Okay?’

‘The hum from the substation,’ Rudi says. ‘Away from prying eyes.’

They tramp through the undergrowth, towards the graffitied brick wall. The substation emits a steady, monotone sound. They stop. Rudi smiles sideways and says:

‘Påli dude. I was thinking about you earlier today. You say we’ve met before? In the old days? Did you massage J-J-Janne D-D-Dobro’s melons? Did you live on the same road as Tommy Pogo? Did I steal comics from you? Did I beat you up under the street lights by Tjensvoll Shopping Centre?

Pål looks down. ‘Eh, no, eh, it—’

‘No?’ Rudi clicks his tongue. ‘No?’ he laughs. ‘Yeah, they were the good old days. That was what made us men, eh?’

‘I…’ Pål clears his throat. ‘I lived here when I was small. Or, I mean. I still live here, and … yeah, I, or, everyone knew who you were of course, or the Tjensvoll Gang, who all of you were rather, and eh, what all of you, y’know, did—’

‘You’re struggling a little. Were you afraid of us?’

‘Eh…’

‘Were you?’

‘Everyone was.’

‘Heh heh.’

‘The whole area was, we—’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Rudi interrupts, ‘old times. Now our paths cross once again and you’ve gone grey, my friend, but have I? Heh heh! Can’t say I remember you. Okay, Pål, focus. The ball’s in your court, we don’t have any unfinished business, I haven’t beaten you up, you’re not out for revenge and I’m guessing you don’t want to invite me round for dinner? Heh heh! And if you do, then I’ve only one thing to say — Rudi ain’t no homo! I’d cut my own head off before I’d take a cock up the hole!’

Rudi jabs Pål hard in the chest.

‘No,’ he says, inhaling what feels like a kilo of air, while thinking that people can say what they like about fresh air being the best thing there is, but when you’ve quit smoking you know what the real truth is. ‘No, you don’t get much of a laugh if you’re not up for a laugh. So Wally, the dog whisperer, what will we do?’

‘Eh …. well—’

Rudi places his hand on Pål’s shoulder. ‘Nervous? Okay, listen to me. Breathe in. And out. And in. And out. This is what you discover the older you get. All people — almost all, there’s always an almost — that’s the thing. This is what I want to teach my kids, if I have any. All people — almost all — are okay. They might look like inside out goatskin, but they’re okay. Come on, Kåli, you need to breathe here! In, out, in, out! Yeah. Repeat after me, Tåli: All people — almost all — are okay. There’s something for you to think about.’

Rudi stops himself. Focus. He takes his hand off Pål and straightens up. Scrutinises him. Just a regular guy. Not much else to say. Could do with a bit more facial hair, maybe. Shy looking.

‘So. Pål. Fagerland. What is it this fudgepacker has got on his mind? Have you got a woman, Fåli?’

‘Eh … no…’

‘No? Thought as much. You’d know to look at you. Yeah, I can see how things might be tough. If I didn’t have—’

Rudi clears his throat. How many times has Jani said it: No names. No stories. Nothing personal. He’s said it a billion times.

‘Anyway,’ Rudi says, ‘one day the ladies are going to come knocking on your door too. And that’s when you need to start … yes, so anyhoo … Pål. Fagerland. What is bothering this guy?’

Pål shifts his feet.

‘Spit it out, Gåli. And remember to breathe now.’

Pål gulps. ‘The Ace of Spades,’ he whispers, glancing up at Rudi.

Rudi begins slowly to nod. ‘I see,’ he says, in recognition. ‘Double up or quit?’

Pål looks down at the tall grass. ‘Yeah,’ he says softly.

‘Double stakes or split?’ Rudi raises his bushy eyebrows.

‘Yeah,’ whispers Pål.

His shoulders drooping over. His eyes, so scared looking. Standing there, slouched over. The dog’s leash hanging slack from his wrist. His meek, embarrassed voice. Is he crying? Jesus, this guy is in a bad way.

Rudi starts removing his jacket. He pulls the sleeves back the right way round and hands it to Pål. Then Rudy takes off his sweater, which he also hands to Pål. And even though it’s beginning to get very cold, he pulls off his T-shirt. Then turns his back to Pål.

‘See?’

‘Yeah…’

‘What do you see?’

‘Well…’

‘You see that it says Motörhead?’

‘Yes,’

‘Good.’ Rudi turns and takes back his clothes. ‘So now you know.’

‘I can’t get out of it,’ he hears Pål say while he puts his clothes back on.

‘Staying up at night?’

Pål nods.

‘The internet?’

Pål nods again.

‘That’s what’s wrong with the world today,’ Rudi says, and spits.

Pål looks at him. ‘So I was thinking … I don’t know, maybe it’s a stupid idea but I’ve got into a situation which I can’t manage to, y’know, debt collection and…’

‘I know, you don’t need to explain. Go on…’

‘And then I came to think of you and him, what’s his name, Jan Inge, and—’

Rudi lifts both hands. ‘Whoa! Stop! No names. Erase! Rewind! Dude, no names!’

‘Okay, no names, but you two came to mind, from the eighties,’ Pål says, his forehead sweaty. ‘I have two kids. Two girls. I’ve done something stupid. I…’

‘Yeah?’

‘Well, I—’

‘Yeah?’

‘I need a million.’

‘A million?’ Rudi laughs.

‘Yeah.’ Pål nods and looks down at the undergrowth.

‘Listen,’ says Rudi, slapping Pål on the back, ‘sorry I’m laughing here, but … I mean … you need a million , and—’

Pål’s eyes brim with desperation. ‘Help me,’ he whispers, a lump in his throat. ‘Help me, please. I have two daughters—’

‘Yeah, don’t they have a mother?’

‘Yes, but it’s … it’s complicated. I’m up to my neck in this…’ Pål pauses, swallows, before looking up at Rudi: ‘I’ve no place to go. Please, help me. I’ll do anything.’