Tore Renberg - See You Tomorrow

‘What?’

‘Last man standing. Two metal songs called ‘Last Man Standing’.

‘What?’

‘Hammerfall. Bon Jovi. You’ve a lot to learn. And I’ve a lot to do.’

Rudi takes out his mobile. He feels buoyed. He may have shot off at the mouth a bit, but first and foremost he’s aware of having done a good deed, offered a little inspiration to a working man in his daily toil, in a business on the way down.

Text message. From Cecilie.

‘No, for fuck’s sake!’

The guy behind the counter clears his throat. Rudi looks up.

‘Christ, if it’s not one fucking thing then it’s another.’ He draws a deep breath then exhales slowly. ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘Sometimes you’ve just got to suck it up, like the man said. No, you take away a man’s car, you take away his freedom. So it’s a good thing to have a friend with a van. Okey-doke! Rudi signing out.’

At which point he sets off, more agitated than when he arrived, out the doors of Platekompaniet, in the direction of Hospitalsgata. By Havana department store he catches sight of the beggar who had been sitting outside 7-Eleven and, reaching her in a few quick steps, bends down into her terrified face, tears the paper cup out of her hand, plucks out the five kroner he gave her a few minutes earlier and scatters the rest of the small change she’s received on to the cobblestones. ‘Seriously,’ hisses Rudi, ‘didn’t you understand a word I said? I just ran into a real working man and here you are!’ Rudi spits on the ground. ‘I despise you,’ he whispers, ‘you and everything you represent.’

Rudi leaves the beggar and strides past Ostehuset Café. When he reaches the car he sees a parking ticket for five hundred kroner under the window wiper. He rips it into pieces and gets in. He feeds the CD into the player, taps forward to ‘Viva La Vida’, leans back and closes his eyes.

I used to rule the world?

Rudi stops the CD. Presses the back button. He listens one more time.

I used to rule the world.

And then?

Seas would rise when I…

What is it he’s singing? Rudi rewinds.

Seas would rise when I … gave the word.

Now in the morning I sleep alone.

Rudi opens his eyes wide. He tightens his grip on the wheel. Cecilie. All this skincare. The thing she said about his cock. The puking. Something’s up. Something’s fucking wrong.

‘God,’ he whispers, a thickening feeling in his throat, ‘is my girl sick? Is there something wrong with her?’

The first time she saw him, Veronika thought he looked like a wolf.

They’d talked about it a lot. It was important to Mum that she was happy enough to take it on too. It’s not something I want to push on you. No, of course not, said Veronika. It might be a nice experience, don’t you think? Yeah, sure, said Veronika. Like having a big brother? Yeah, said Veronika. He knows that you’re deaf. Okay. He says it doesn’t bother him. Right. It’s nice to be able to help someone out, isn’t it? Of course, Mum. But, thought Veronika, there’s no doubt you could use the money. You work for the health services, Mum. We live in a block of flats. She googled it. Idealism is nice and all but you don’t say no to 13,000 a month.

Child Welfare’s response was positive. It wasn’t a big drawback, then, that Inger was a single mother? No, on the contrary, it might be advantageous, they believed. Foster children have often had such bad experiences with parental relations that it can actually be a good thing for them to have fewer adults to deal with. With regard to the boy in question, they were sure it wouldn’t be anything other than good for him. It was no easy matter finding a suitable home for a sixteen-year-old, and it was only made more difficult by the fact that the boy could admittedly be a hard nut. He was intelligent. He was talented. But he had been through some things. He had what they referred to as baggage. They made no secret of the fact that this would be the third — assuming they said yes, of course — the third foster home Daniel William Moi had had in under two years.

Mum listened to the Child Welfare Officer. She attended meetings, she took walks with her best friend and talked about what was on her mind. After a while she was able to meet the boy concerned. Mum came home, sat down in the kitchen with Veronika and painted a picture of a boy who was strong, had lots of wonderful qualities, a boy who could at times be unpredictable but who was vulnerable, sensitive and intelligent. A boy who’d been through a lot and was in need of a place to stay until he turned eighteen. A stable environment. Preferably with someone who has experience of looking after others. Mum didn’t say what she or Child Welfare meant by that, but Veronika picks up on those kinds of formulations. She knew they were comparing her to Daniel. As though the facts that she was deaf and he was a foster home kid had something to do with one another.

‘He’s a fine boy,’ said Mum, on the day last of autumn when they were on their way to meet him. And then she shot her that teasing smile of hers, the one which always draws people in, before she said: ‘And he’s very handsome, very .’

Veronika shook the case worker’s hand and looked at the guy in the chair across from her. He was really tall, probably one ninety. He was wearing black clothes and sitting with his arms folded. This isn’t going to work, she thought. He didn’t even acknowledge me. He’s not saying a word to anyone. Veronika saw Mum and the case worker smile at one another. She read their lips and understood how in agreement they were, but the one who really mattered, Daniel William Moi, just sat there looking like a wolf.

He’d obviously made his mind up beforehand not to say a word and not to look at anyone. But Veronika didn’t think he ought to get off so easy. ‘That’s a funny name you’ve got,’ she fired in when there was a short pause in the conversation between Mum and the man.

She knew how taken aback people could be when they heard her voice for the first time, so hollow and strange. But in that meeting it was as though that stupid voice gave her an advantage. ‘William,’ she continued, snickering. ‘Did you add it on yourself? To sound like a prince?’

Mum shot her an angry look.

‘It’s a cunty name,’ Daniel said, finally piping up.

‘I’m practically deaf,’ said Veronika, ‘I can hardly hear a thing. But I’m good at lip-reading, so if you want me to understand what you’re saying you need to look at me, and if you’re bothered to, you could learn sign language.’

Veronika felt her lips tingle as she spoke. He was terribly, terribly beautiful. His eyes narrowed, took on a yellowish tinge; he opened his mouth and enunciating each letter slowly said:

‘I-t-s-a-c-u-n-t-y-n-a-m-e.’

Mum shifted uneasily in her chair. The case worker smiled, in an accustomed manner, and said: ‘Veronika is no shrinking violet, I see. That probably suits you, Daniel.’

‘I need a smoke,’ said Daniel, his eyes still on Veronika; she felt he was going to devour her. ‘Are we done here, or what? C-a-n-I-m-o-v-e-i-n?’

Veronika kept her gaze fixed on him and said slowly: ‘W-h-a-ti-s-w-r-o-n-g-w-i-t-h-y-o-u-r-v-o-i-c-e-d-o-y-o-u-h-a-v-e-s-o-m-e-so-r-t-o-f-s-p-e-e-c-h-i-m-p-e-d-i-m-e-n-t?’

A few days later Daniel William Moi was standing at their door. He arrived with four large bags, a drum kit and a moped. Inger had signed the contracts, she’d also been informed by the social worker that she needed to exercise caution where his past was concerned — he didn’t like people bringing it up. Advice she also impressed upon Veronika. Inger welcomed him, tried to make him feel at home as best she could and Daniel appeared to like her manner; in any case the situations that Child Services had warned them about never actually arose. Veronika’s and Daniel’s interactions continued being confrontational in style, their exchanges cheeky and in your face. She ventured closer and closer every day and before long she took his chin between her finger and thumb, turned his head to face her and said: ‘I need to see your mouth when you’re speaking to me.’