Tore Renberg - See You Tomorrow

Rudi nods. He folds his arms.

‘Anything,’ Pål whispers.

Rudi puts his fingertips against one another, all ten of them, and begins pacing restlessly in front of Pål while he speaks.

‘Firstly: It’s sad, what’s happened to you. You’ve done something stupid. Secondly: You’re not alone, this happens the best of us. Thirdly: You’re looking for a solution. That’s good. Fourthly: You’re a Motörhead man. I appreciate good taste. I like that we’re cultural brothers. Do you like Coldplay? No, Rudi’s just kidding with you. Heh heh. Sorry. Back to the game, to put it like that. Fifthly: You think we can get our hands on a million?’

‘Yeah, I…’

‘Do you or don’t you?’

‘I … I don’t know what I think. I don’t know what you … I just remember … in the old days, when you were in the Tjensvoll Gang … people said that…’

‘And what makes you think I don’t work as a gardener now, or crochet tea cosies?’

‘Huh?’

‘Go on,’ said Rudi. ‘Go on.’

‘I’m sorry if I … I just thought … is there anything I can do to get hold of a million? Then I had the idea of calling you.’

‘Ah, Påli. Is there anything I can do to … you’ve got the right attitude, maestro. You’ve got in touch with a good company, I’ll give you that. You’ve realised that there’s something called expertise. You have what Jani calls intuition. But is there anything I— ’

They hear a rustling behind them.

‘Down!’ Rudi puts his hand on top of Pål’s head and pushes him down into the bushes. He turns round as quick as a flash, peers back into the woods. ‘Down!’ he repeats. ‘And keep the dog quiet!’

Oh, sweetbabyjesus.

‘Rudi, you rotten pimp!’

Cecilie comes storming through the undergrowth. Her eyes are bright red with anger, tears have run down her cheeks, blackening them with smeared make-up, and what is it she’s carrying?

‘I hate you!’

She comes to a stop just in front of him, with something in her hands — what the hell is that?

‘Chessi, what the hell do you think you’re doing?!’

She throws it at him, what the fuck is it? He brings his arms up to catch it, a hedgehog!

‘What are you playing at? Have you lost it completely? I’m at work, twatmuff! At work! You know bloody well that this is unacceptable, what do you think Jani’s going to say? I take you out in the Volvo to get a little fresh air, toss five hundred kroner bills your way and you can’t manage to sit still for five little minute s, you barge in with…’ He throws the hedgehog onto the ground. ‘You need to fucking get yourself tog—’

Cecilie’s lips quiver. She sniffles, goes down on her knees in front of the animal. ‘Rudi,’ she says, her breathing fitful, ‘it’s a hedgehog. And you just drove right over it.’

Rudi bends over and hugs her. ‘It’s okay now. Rudimann is here. I didn’t do it on purpose but you can’t—’

She frees herself from his arms, gets to her feet and takes a small step backwards. Points towards Pål who appears behind them, his features contorted in a expression of fright.

‘Who’s that?’

Rudi clasps his hands round the back of his neck and sighs. ‘Yeah, this is…’ He stops himself. ‘This is someone I’m working with.’

‘What a lovely dog…’

Cecilie goes down on one knee. She stretches her arms out to the dog. It sniffs its way over, snout to the ground, and enters her embrace. Pål stands nailed to the ground. Not so strange, thinks Rudi, people are usually slightly taken aback when they first meet Chessi.

She gets to her feet. Puts her hand out towards Pål.

‘Cecilie,’ she says, in a high-pitched voice, shaking the hand of the stranger. ‘Cecilie Haraldsen. I’m Rudi’s woman. Such a cute dog, what’s its name?’

‘Zitha,’ says Pål, ‘she’s called Zitha.’

‘Zitha, yeaaah,’ Cecilie pats the dog across the snout again, gives Pål a pleasant look. ‘So, what are the two of you working on then?’

Something seeps into her expression. Her forehead furrows slightly. ‘But … have I … have I seen you before?’

‘No, don’t think so,’ says Pål. ‘No.’

Cecilie nods. ‘Just thought I’d seen you before.’

Jan Inge is not going to like this. Cecilie doing as she pleases. Flirting with this Pål guy. Bollocks, thinks Rudi, snapping after his thoughts. Get thee behind me, Satan. She’s my whole life. She’s the twisted light, she’s canary-yellow happiness.

‘Okay, Chessi,’ he says, ‘now you’ve shown us the hedgehog, are you satisfied? Pål’s got troubles, you understand? He’s got two daughters, and a mother, their mother that is, but it’s complicated, and I think you’re just complicating it even further now. Can you head back, so as we can finish off our meeting here?’

Are you out there, Dad?

Malene is standing on the loading ramp behind the shop. She knows it’s at rest but it feels like a boat that’s rocking. She’s conscious of the stinging in her ankle as she lets her gaze gather what she has in front of her, the houses, the high-rises, the woods, the sky, as though her eyes were somehow magic and could capture everything; the people in the buildings, the forest behind the school, what’s happened and what’s going to happen.

Dad, what are you up to?

Malene feels a dull thumping from the pulse in her ear. It makes her think of the tension just before a gymnastics competition, her feet on the mat, her body fully concentrated. She feels like she has her dad’s shoes in her hands, even though she knows she doesn’t. She feels she’s standing in the bathroom folding her dad’s jeans, even though she knows she isn’t. She feels like she’s sitting in her dad’s lap, even though she’s fully aware that she’s standing on the ramp.

Tiril lights up another cigarette behind her, the nauseous smell of it drifting her way. She hears her sister shift her feet in irritation.

‘Well? Are you just going to stand there staring? Hey? Lol?’

Malene doesn’t reply.

Once when she and Tiril were small, Dad fell off the garage roof and broke his arm. Malene had noticed a dead magpie lying up there. A dead bird? Dad would take care of that. But he’s clumsy when it comes to that sort of thing. He’s not that kind of man. Dad is the type of man who lets the screwdriver slip and gashes his hand, he’s the type who stumbles when he goes on top of a garage roof. Malene can remember Mum shaking her head and laughing as they drove to the hospital. She did that a lot, Mum, laughed at people. Always so sure of things, Mum, so sure about everything. Thought people just needed to pull themselves together, thought that everyone had to take care of themselves. That’s how she goes on when she rings from Bergen: Everything all right, Malene? And then, before Malene has the time to answer: Good, that’s what I thought. Or: How’s the ankle? And then, before Malene has a chance to answer: It’ll be fine, you’ll soon be back on the mat.

Malene was terrified. She can remember the smell in the car as they drove to the hospital. She couldn’t take her eyes off Dad’s arm, dangling by his side.

‘Hey, Maly? That thing I asked you about. Do you think it’s true? Y’know, about choosing, between the light and the dark?’

Malene doesn’t reply. She knows she’s a girl who’s one metre sixty-two with high cheekbones and a slender figure, a girl without a best friend, who sometimes feels alone, but never feels lonely. She knows she’s a girl who reads books and listens to ‘Payphone’, ‘Hot N Cold’, and ‘Rolling in the Deep’, a girl who likes to feel her body sail through the air. She knows she’s a girl who’s never had a boyfriend, who’s never bunked off school, who’s always done her homework and taken things one step at a time. She knows that one day she’ll marry a man who won’t allow himself be henpecked, who’ll carry her as though she were a queen. She knows that one day she’s going to leave this town, travel to Bergen or Oslo, and study there. And she knows she’ll come home every Christmas. She knows she’s cautious, but she knows she’s courageous. She feels that if a fire is burning someplace then it’s her job to fetch the water.