Tore Renberg - See You Tomorrow

Malene stretches out her injured foot. It’s unstable. Can’t rely on it any more. Behind her, Tiril puts out her cigarette.

‘Of course you can,’ says Malene, without turning to look at Tiril.

Then she whispers into the darkness, low enough for her sister not to hear her: ‘It’s Malene. Are you out there? Please. Talk to me, Dad. What is it I haven’t noticed? Tell me what to do.’

Only a matter of moments stand between Daniel and that addictive experience: entering a girl. Up until now it’s been a pounding desire, stronger for every day. Envisioned and borne by turbulent currents in his body, raging rapids, which no power can halt, so cold they burn. When he’s felt it rise, he’s often thought about just going out into the dark, seizing hold of the first girl he sees, dragging her into the forest, throwing her down, peeling her clothes off and drilling a hole in her. He’s closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, felt how the power can’t be overcome, how it’s that which is God. Sparks fly within him, the flash of a million sledgehammers falling on blazing iron, a roaring noise in his head. It’s not evil, nor good, but it’s real. The earth’s crust needs to split, light must be torn, knock-kneed girls need to quiver and glisten, sing and die and be hunted like wounded animals across the great darkness.

What is it that the sight of her breasts does to him? Why do they set off such raving hunger, why must he press his lips against them, why must he cup them in his hands? What is it the sight of her closed eyes gives rise to in him? No, they’re almost closed, the lids are quivering over her eyeball, like someone at the moment of death, a slightly moist twinkling under the arched lashes. Look at her lips, slightly parted, what is it they do to me? What the fuck is it you do to me?

No one can see them. They’re hidden away in an empty wood, now nobody can get in their way. He stares at her. Sandra pulls down the zip on her jeans. She hooks her thumbs into the waistband, lifts her behind, and begins to wiggle free of her jeans while jerking her hips to and fro.

Daniel gasps.

Now she’s lying there glistening, now she’s lying there glowing.

She’s only wearing panties. She spreads her legs.

Daniel breathes through his nose, his chest is pounding, the oxygen in his head diminishing, he sets his jaw. Her legs are apart, her knees slightly raised. He kneels down, then bends over her, his palms resting on the soil and weeds.

‘Take off your clothes.’

She whispers.

‘Daniel, come on, take off your clothes.’

She opens her eyes slightly, liquid gold runs out. Her voice takes hold of him, she could have asked anything at all of him and he’d have done it. Daniel’s made up his mind. This is what he was put on this earth for.

‘Say it again.’

She smiles.

‘Don’t smile.’

‘Take off your clothes.’

He jerks back up on to his knees, unbuckles his belt, unbuttons his jeans, feeling no nerves, only the hard warmth. He pulls his jeans down to his knees and sees Sandra’s eyes fall upon him.

‘Oh,’ she says.

Your hands. Touch me.

But she doesn’t. She just lies there. Her eyes have closed. Your hands, he thinks again. Touch me. But she doesn’t. She just lies there. Daniel pulls off his underwear, his erection like a crowbar, then she begins taking off her white panties.

Then she looks up at him:

‘Are you sure it’s your first time, Daniel?’

He blinks confusedly and fixes his eyes on the strange country she has between her legs, which isn’t a flower, isn’t an animal, it’s impossible to say what it is, he only knows he has to get in there. A dog barks not too far off in the distance, but the sound barely registers in Daniel’s consciousness before disappearing again.

‘Wha? Yeah — yeah, why are you asking about that now?’

She pulls him close, her hands move down over his body. She touches him, takes hold of him, guides him into her, pushes a whimper of pain aside, and he begins to move, the wild dogs storm across the fields and he can’t call them back, it isn’t possible to escape this heaven.

‘Like this? Daniel? Like this? Like this?’

Hear about what they did today. Hear about what they’re going to do tomorrow. Fix their duvets a little, lean over them, as though they were still two little tots, give them a hug and a kiss on the forehead. Say goodnight to the girls. Go into the kitchen, clean away the day’s mess. Bread in the breadbin, load the dishwasher, turn it on, check the calendar to see if you’ve forgotten anything, a dentist’s appointment, a parent-teacher meeting. Let Zitha outside to pee in the garden. Into the sitting room, slide down in the armchair, put your feet on the pouf, three remote controls in your lap, flick through the channels, watch an episode of Sons of Anarchy or Breaking Bad . Maybe read a few pages of Michael Connelly or Jo Nesbø. Feel the daylight withdraw, see the wind play with the trees outside, see the moon exposed in the sky, hear the night come with corrosive silence. Get up from the chair, walk quietly across the floor, turn out the lights in each room downstairs, open the door to the basement. Tread gingerly on the creaky first step, go down carefully, set your feet on the cold tiles at the bottom. Go in the door to the right of the laundry room, don’t turn on any lights, the blinds are drawn, sit down at the computer. Turn it on. Hear the humming of the fan increase, feel your neck tense, an effervescent rush in your temples and your pulse ticking in your throat, as you push aside the sick feeling unfurling in the pit of your stomach. See how the cold light of the monitor blanches the room, your fingers on the keys, sometimes catching sight of your own reflection but not allowing your gaze to fix upon it. Do this, just do this, say that it’s soon over, say it’s the last time. Betsson. Oddsbet. Betsafe. Centrebet. Username: Maiden. Password: Zitha. Blackjack, live odds, casino, roulette, poker. Bonus. Win. Raise. Win. Lose, lose, lose. Say goodnight to the girls.

Seen from the outside it’s obvious that it can’t work. It’s so obvious he can’t understand that he’s done it. How long is it since he played his last ever game? A month? No, two weeks? Three days? No. Last night. Last night, he sat in the glow from the screen and played a round of blackjack, adding another few thousand to the debt he’s no longer able to deal with. All the letters, the warnings about repossession, collection agencies, all the bills. He doesn’t open them. He slips them into his inside pocket, takes them with him on his evening walks with Zitha, and makes sure they all end up in the same rubbish bin at the same bus shelter in Folkeviseveien.

No matter how easy it is to see from the outside, that this could never work out, it’s the inside that counts. That’s where we live, where we ache and burn, and that’s where I’ve been, Pål thinks, while he stands there trying to conceal his amazement from Rudi and his girlfriend. They’re a few metres off, Rudi with his arm around her, bending down, talking to her. There’s a hedgehog by their feet.

The inside. That’s where I live, he thinks. The nausea, I’ve become so good at pushing it from me, I’ve learnt to treat it like a ball I can just wrap my hand around and fling towards the horizon. Turn around, smile at the girls. Hi, Malene. Hi, Tiril.

To think he believed it could work. In retrospect it seems ridiculous, before it seemed easy. The kids will stay with you, Pål. You get the house, you get the car, you’ll get child support and double child allowance. You get everything, Pål. You’re going to manage fine . He pocketed his pride and resentment, accepted her money, as he always had done. Pål worked as a case officer for the local authority and it was written all over him: Never going to earn much money. Like it was written all over her: Going to earn a lot of money. And back then, when they started out, nobody could see foresee any trouble.