Tore Renberg - See You Tomorrow

Yoga Yani.

Not a bad idea, he thinks, feeling he might have arrived at something. And that’s what he likes most of all. Think, think, think, result, result, result.

Complaining, that’s easy.

Who gives us positive individuals attention?

It’s important to look at things in a positive light, like Dad said so long ago, when Cecilie was crying her eyes out at the airport. ‘Come on, kids,’ he said. ‘Houston’s not a million miles away. A hundred years ago it took weeks to get to America. Think about all the people who left, think about all the emigrants!’

Indeed.

Yoga Yani has thought about the emigrants many times.

For the simple reason of his father having uttered that sentence out at Sola Airport, Jan Inge is pretty knowledgeable when it comes to the emigrants. And it’s true what his father said, the world has changed.

But for the better?

Jan Inge isn’t sure.

Wouldn’t it be better if it still took weeks to travel to the other side of the globe? Then folks might think things over before they headed off to foreign climes, where the food they eat and the language they speak is completely different, and left lots of heartbroken people in their wake.

1982. It was the year Time magazine named the computer Man of the Year. The war was cold but Jan Inge’s thirteen-year-old heart was warm: in February the house in Hillevåg had got a video player. With a mother in the graveyard and a father in the oil business a horror escapist was born. Jan Inge spoke in hushed tones to the guys in the video shop, got hold of uncensored versions from the golden age of the last ten years and watched videos until his head grew large, dark and replete. He became acquainted with the thinking of Dario Argento, Wes Craven, Tobee Hooper, George Romero and John Carpenter, he watched Amityville Horror, When a Stranger Calls, The Brood, Suspiria, The Shining, Night of the Living Dead, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Friday the 13th and Last House on the Left.

While Cecilie was at school he sat on the sofa at home, pulled the blanket over his knees, brought the bag of crisps closer, his watery blueberry eyes shining in the light of the TV screen, and they loved one another, horror and Jan Inge, and he often had the feeling that he wasn’t watching the movies as much as the movies were watching him. And loving him. He watched zombies come at him, watched deviant murderers raise their axes, degenerate rednecks slaughter everything they came across, watched frightened girls light up the screen and scream down the house, multicoloured lights and the jaws of the abyss open up.

Two years prior to Jan Inge and the video player finding one another they’d lowered Mum into the earth. And thank goodness for that. She was an animal. Brought kids into the world and ended up a dunghill stinking of liquor. She would have fit right into a horror movie. Mom from Hell. Hellmom . Life brightened up when she disappeared, and it was at its brightest when the video recorder and Jan Inge were alone in the house. He has a lot of good memories from that time. Cough a little in the morning, struggle with the asthma, get Dad to ring school and tell them Jan Inge has to stay home. But then came autumn 1982 and one day Dad came into his room, stood in front of his Jaws wallpaper and announced that new times were here, and these new times were lubricated with oil. The company was sending him to Houston.

‘But I’ll be back every fortnight,’ he said, giving Jan Inge’s hair a tousle, ‘everything’s going to work out just fine, so it is.’

And then came the day at Sola airport.

Cecilie was ten.

Yeah. Ten.

Jan Inge can remember her asking him to put her hair in pigtails that morning. He told her he didn’t know how. But she showed him and out in the hall Dad ran back and forth with suitcases and bags, ties in his hands, his passport in his breast pocket and his toothbrush in his mouth. A few hours later they were standing in the departures hall, Cecilie with her untidy pigtails, both of them with their hair wet from the morning rain and their father trying his best to explain to them that this is all going to work out just fine, so it is. He opened up the doors to that big, warm smile of his, threw his arms out wide to show them how easy things can be in the world, and he said: ‘Jan Inge is a big boy. He can make your school lunches for you, Cecilie. And then Dad will be home in a few weeks.’ Their father clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and winked at them. ‘The two of you will manage this,’ he said. And that was when Cecilie began to quiver and shake all over and then started screaming and shouting so loudly that Dad got embarrassed, and Jan Inge couldn’t help himself either, so he began to howl as well, like a little kid.

That was when Dad added the thing about Houston not being a million miles away and to maintain a positive outlook and think of all the emigrants in the olden days.

A few weeks later he rang up and said it would take a little longer before he was able to get back home, and he reiterated that Jan Inge had to be a big boy now and think positive, that no big boy ever suffered from having to look after a house and a sister. On the contrary, he said, if he’d found himself on his own when he was thirteen, what a dream that would have been.

Up with the lark. Up with the light.

Another scintillating day in the wealthiest city in the world.

Jan Inge wheels blithely over the worn lino. The sun is showing up the dirt on the kitchen windows, where some kids have scrawled ‘cock’ on the pane with their fingers. Jan Inge sits in his pyjamas, smiling; that’s kids for you. He turns the wheelchair and veers towards the fridge, opens the door, his mind falling into new exciting thoughts while he reaches for the sliced meats, cheese, jam and juice.

What a night.

After watching Three on a Meathook and taking what he likes to think of as ‘internal notes’, he trundled out on to the veranda. The evening chill surged to meet him and he let his thoughts move slowly as he allowed his eyes drift from the light of one star to the next in the deep sky. The problems he sometimes feels are almost tangible seem to have blown away. The whole 120 matter, the fear of Rudi and Cecilie contriving to move, the issue of them needing an extra car, or two, the job Rudi was checking out in Gosen Woods, Tong getting out on Friday…

He fell asleep. A solitary individual in the world. Resting in front of the cold, starry sky. A criminal life. The David Toska of petty crime. But a life all the same. His chin hanging down. His head slumped to the side on one shoulder. Some saliva at the corner of his mouth. Laid bare in front of nature. Deep meditation. Cosmic intelligence. An airplane passing high up in the dark, night sky. Red lights blinking. A neighbour putting the rubbish out on the road below.

These kinds of things. Just like a poem, all of them.

I, a child. Yoga Yani and the universe.

Jan Inge was awoken by voices floating in the air in front of him:

‘Is he asleep?’

‘Oh, has he wheeled himself out here?’

‘Oh Jesus, I’m dying for a smoke.’

‘So why don’t you start again?’

‘Why don’t you just quit?’

‘Did he manage to get out here all by himself?’

‘I could see you liked that Pål dude.’

‘What do you mean, I liked him?’

‘Christ, I really want a smoke right now.’

‘Are you sure he’s asleep?’

‘I’m only saying, you liked that Pål dude.’

‘Just look at him, would you?’

‘Are you going to that face … treatment … thing tomorrow?’

‘Mhm.’

‘Nice.’

‘Mhm.’

‘You’ll be one sexy bitch after it.’