Tore Renberg - See You Tomorrow

‘Okay, Pål Wall.’

Rudi hawks and spits.

No, no, no. I should never have done this.

Rudi puts his finger on Pål’s chest, jabs him hard a few times. ‘Listen,’ he says. ‘Don’t worry about it. Woman stuff. You’ll know all about it when you get yourself a lady, Påli—’

Woman stuff?

‘Sorrysorrysorry, daughters? Two daughters? But no wife? Rudi’s not going to stick his nose in. You know all about it. What do I know? Isn’t it the very reason someone like you and someone like me are talking? Woman stuff, it’s a full-time job, man. You smoke? No?’

They didn’t recognise me.

‘Quit a few years back,’ Pål says, and breathes out.

‘Yeah, I quit too. Couple of weeks back. Hell to pay. No. The ladies. Got to have a spine of steel. Love, Snåli. You know about love?’

‘Yeah, I’ve—’

Rudi fixes his eyes on him.

‘I’m a man of love, Jåli.’

That look of his, utterly mad. It’s like he’s going to spontaneously combust and lava’s going to flow out of his head.

‘Never doubt it, not for a fucking minute,’ Rudi says, seething. ‘You can talk all the shit you like about Rudi but he’s a man of love, never ever doubt that. You hear me, Swalli?’

‘Yeah, of co—’

‘Good. I can’t stand talking to people who don’t listen. But. We can’t stand here nattering. Will I tell you what’s wrong with the world today, Wålli? The internet. There you have it. What happened to the human factor? Answer me that, Zålli. The internet. Don’t get me started, brother! The internet, that’s what wrong with the world today. As you well know, my keyboard-clicking friend. And The Good Book, who reads that nowadays? And the family, who watches over them nowadays? Okay, Håli, I’ll tell you how we’ll do this.’

Say goodnight to the girls, Pål thinks, trying hard to hold back the tears. I need to get away from here, this is all wrong, I need to get home and say goodnight to the girls.

‘Tiril?’

Malene is standing on the loading ramp with her arms folded. Her head moving slowly from side to side, like a leaf in a light breeze.

Tiril bites the top off a fingernail and spits it out on the tarmac. She takes out a fresh cigarette, tucks her chewing gum up between her lip and her front teeth as though it were a pinch of snus , produces the lighter, watches the flame light up the darkness before bringing it to the cigarette.

She doesn’t reply. Why should she go around answering people all the time? Amazing how someone’s always pestering you. Everybody’s alone in this world, in case you hadn’t noticed, you’re born alone and you’ll die alone.

‘Something’s up with Dad.’

Malene turns to her. She speaks in a low voice. She has a forlorn expression on her face. Sometimes Tiril wonders if she practises that look, so people will feel sorry for her. Tiril certainly couldn’t be bothered perfecting any bogus expressions of her own, even though she’s the one they should feel sorry for, because she’s the one who’s fourteen, she’s the one with a horrible body, the one without any friends, while Malene gets everything handed to her, just sits there in Dad’s lap being the understanding, talented little gymnast with good grades.

‘I can just feel it,’ Malene says, still speaking in a hushed tone. ‘There’s something up with Dad.’

She can just feel it.

Jesus.

‘Relax,’ says Tiril. ‘You’re so dramatic. He’s out taking Zitha for a walk. That’s what he does every night. Zitha is a dog, she needs to be taken for walks. It’s not Dad there’s something wrong with, it’s you.’

Malene crouches down right in front of her. Tiril doesn’t like it. She doesn’t like it when people get all in her face. It’s like when that Norwegian teacher crops up behind her shoulder, smelling of coffee and asks so veeeeeeeery gently how are you getting on here, Tiril. Just great, Miss, get lost and sort out your own life, on your period, are you?

She blows smoke straight into her sister’s face.

‘You need to quit that, it’s disgusting.’ Malene waves the smoke away with a grimace.

‘No. It’s great. Cancer of the future, pleasure of the present.’

‘Knock it off. Listen to me,’ says Malene. ‘I can feel it, you understand?’

Tiril shakes her head: ‘You can feel it. You know what, I’m so bloody fed up of you thinking you can feel how things are with Dad.’

‘Tiril, stop—’

‘Who do you think you are? Dad’s girlfriend? The way you go round tidying his things, as if he didn’t have his own life, do you think he likes that? Do you think he likes you putting away his Adidas and folding his trousers, I don’t know what you’re thinking, I mean, it’s sick! You’re, like, his daughter! And then you sit on his knee as if you were even younger than me. Jesus, it’s disgusting.’

Malene recoils. Her eyes screw up slightly and the corners of her mouth begin to quiver.

Jesus, now she’s going to start crying.

That is a frigging low girly thing to pull.

She’s never going to be like that, she’s never going to cry unless she’s in real pain. Harshini and Vera both do it as well, they’ve been at it since first class, crying about nothing and then the whole class gathers round them and it’s all poooooor you, Harshini, and poooooor you, Vera. Jesus, it’s not poooooor anyone, or if it was it should be Kia Pogo, she’s actually paralysed, she actually has a reason to think everything’s fucked up. No, it’s just a low, frigging, girly thing to do because they’re weak and don’t have the guts to deal with things themselves. It was cool when Frida Riska tore into them, Vera and Harshini both, went over to them and said: ‘Girls, enough of the crocodile tears. You hear me?’

Tiril gets to her feet. She looks away.

Mhm. There’s the sniffling.

Time for the waterworks now, maybe? Pooooor me who’s always looking after Dad. Pooooor me who does all the housework. Ungrateful you, who just goes round giving out and being pissed off. Isn’t that what you’re going to say?

Malene stands up, grabs hold of Tiril’s arm. She tries to pull herself loose — ‘what are you doing? Are you going to hit me now as well?’ — but her sister clutches her tight.

‘You can say what you want, Tiril.’ Malene looks her in the eyes. ‘You can say what you want about me, we can talk about that another time, when you’ve had a chance to think about it. But this here, this is about Dad. Understand?’

Tiril tears herself free from Malene’s grip. She stares at her while fixing her clothes.

‘Is that so? You think you’re the only one who’s ever right? You think you’re the only one with eyes in their head? Don’t you? That you’re the only one who can think and understand and actually has a brain?’

‘No. I—’

‘No! So quit it and … just quit it! What is it you want?’

Malene looks down. ‘I’m sick of arguing with you, Tiril,’ she says quietly.

Tiril takes a last drag of the cigarette, drops it, puts it out with her foot and dislodges the chewing gum from beneath her lip. She takes a few steps along the loading ramp and looks over towards the school. Some day she’s going to get out of here, and she’s never going to come back. She’ll get away from here, away from Madla, away from Gosen, away from poxy fucking Stavanger.

‘I’m not arguing,’ Tiril says coolly, ‘I’m discussing.’

Behind her, she hears Malene let out a heavy sigh. ‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘Whatever.’

Her hands hang by her sides. Malene stands there with her nice body. And Tiril stands there with her horrible body and a pain in her stomach. Two boys skate by in the car park below. One of them points at the girls and shouts something. It’s Bunny’s little brother and that guy from Haugtassa, Hassan. Tiril extends her middle finger, holds it up to them and shouts: ‘Fucking retard!’