Tore Renberg - See You Tomorrow

Malene puts her head to the side.

‘Honey,’ he says, ‘everything’s going to be fine.’

She can feel his breath in the room. Soon he’ll steal around the corner, soon he’ll come and lick her face. Veronika straightens up on the sofa beside her mother. They’ve been lying beside each other for almost two hours. Neither of them have stirred, nor said much. Sweetheart, you must never do that again. No. Do you promise me? Yeah. You’ll tell me, won’t you, if anybody does something bad to you? Yes. You’ll let me know, won’t you, if Daniel seems dangerous?

Her mother has stroked her hair, taken her hand and entwined her fingers in her own. They’ve breathed in and out together. Watched an episode of CSI: Miami. And now the wolf is here. Veronika doesn’t know how this day was born or how it is going to die. She doesn’t know if it’s been a horrible day or a fantastic day. She’s proud and she’s embarrassed, she feels whittled, she feels sharp. But he’s here now.

Veronika runs a hand through her hair: here is Daniel. He’s been to see his slut of a girlfriend. Has he licked her face? She fixes him with her eyes.

Daniel smiles. Not so much self-assurance.

‘Do we have anything to eat?’

Her mother shakes her head, shrugs, takes a deep breath.

‘No, there’s not much, I’m afraid. Some bread, maybe. You’ll have to take a look.’

He nods, doesn’t meet her eyes and walks to the kitchen.

Are you scared, Daniel? You held me close, you caressed me and you put your arms around me. But you don’t want me. You’re letting me down, Daniel William Moi. Don’t you know who you want?

Veronika gets to her feet. She signs the word for ‘eat’ and makes her way towards the kitchen. On her way she tucks her T-shirt into the waistband of her trousers so the material is taut over her breasts.

There he is. Standing with the knife in one hand. His other hand on top of the bread. He’s slicing it. She opens the fridge, takes out the ham slices, as well as the butter, and places them on the worktop. Then she stands beside him. He smells of outdoors, he smells fresh, doesn’t smell of his slut girlfriend. The blade of the knife flashes in his sinewy hand and slices through the bread. Daniel cuts slowly. Veronika moves a tiny bit to the side, her body just barely making contact with his. Daniel doesn’t move.

Hm? Can you feel this?

He doesn’t move. A vein appears in his neck. He clenches his jaw, his teeth grind. Veronika reaches for the ham, allows her forearm to brush against his.

Daniel doesn’t move. She can hear his breath, she thinks she can see claws growing out of his paws. She can see his mouth opening, fat glistening on his lips, his tongue slipping out between his teeth. His head turns in the direction of the living room, she reads his lips: ‘Y-e-a-h-w-e-a-r-e-j-u-s-t-f-i-x-i-n-g-o-u-r-s-e-l-v-e-s-ac-o-u-p-l-e-o-f-s-a-n-d-w-i-c-h-e-s-h-e-r-e-t-h-a-t-s-f-i-n-e.’

She catches his eye, mouths: ‘I-a-m-n-o-t-y-o-u-r-l-i-t-t-l-e-s-is-t-e-r.’

His ears stand on end, his snout narrows. He mouths: ‘W-h-a-t-a-r-e-y-o-u-t-h-e-n?’

She takes his hand and presses it against her crotch. She mouths: ‘I-a-m-w-h-a-t-y-o-u-n-e-e-d.’

His lips move towards her, kiss her.

That’s what I thought.

I see your yellow eyes.

Nothing is settled yet.

Veronika feels his hand, slipping around her pubic bone, and feels the fingers of his other hand gently stroking the cuts on her face. She gives him her tongue.

‘Jesus fucking Christ.’

‘Huh?’

‘Shitshitshit!’

‘What?’

‘Holy mother of God.’

‘Huh?’

‘Tampon!’

‘Huh?’

‘Tampon!’

‘Where?’

‘There!’

‘Where? I can’t—’

‘There!’

‘Huh, where?’

‘There, for fu—’

‘I’m telling you, I can’t see—’

‘By the shop!’

‘Oh.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Oh holy fuck.’

‘That’s right.’

Rudi and Jan Inge have stopped at the edge of the woods, Rudi feels his adrenalin pump as he points down towards the shop on the corner, at the man standing there.

‘Oh no,’ says Jan Inge in despair.

‘Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no.’

‘Has he seen us?’

‘Youcanfuckinbetyourasshehas,’ says Rudi. ‘I can feel his eagle eyes on us.’

Jan Inge wipes his forehead with a clammy hand.

‘Tampon.’

‘Tampon.’

‘Pogo.’

‘Tommy.’

Rudi spits and grates his canine teeth against one another. ‘That’s torn it, like my Dad, that badger used to say. And you know how seldom I mention him, or any of the other voles in my family. What the hell is Tampon doing here? Doesn’t he live on Mosterøy?’

‘He must be working so, you gobshite.’

‘Don’t call me things like that, Jani. It’s hurtful.’ A line forms between Rudi’s eyes. He doesn’t dare take his eyes from the man standing on the corner. ‘Working?’

‘How would I know,’ Jan Inge hisses, ‘what a guy from Mosterøy is doing in Madla. It’s a free country.’

‘Sure, all too free. Jesus!’

‘Keep it down, he’s looking at us,’ Jan Inge says. He’s speaking with the voice of a thinker now. The voice of a leader. Rudi finds that reassuring. ‘Look at him,’ Jani continues, ‘look at him standing there trying to psych us out.’

‘Pogo. Jesus fucking Christ.’

‘Please,’ says Jan Inge. ‘Not God and not His Son. You know I don’t like it when you’re profane.’

‘Sorry, it’s that foul mouth of mine. I’ll never get shut of it. You know as well as I do that if there’s one person who respects the Lord, it’s me.’ He shakes his head slightly. ‘Look at him. Standing there staring at us. That bloody beard and all. He was really young when he first got facial hair, did you know that?’

‘No?’

‘Oh yeah. Must have been in sixth class.’

‘That is young.’

‘Was a hard bastard, Pogo. None of us saw it coming.’

‘Jan Inge gives Rudi a quick glance, ‘The force?’

‘Rudi nods. ‘One day he’s laying into Ullandhaug-Remi with a nail-bat — you know Remi’s back was never the same? One day he’s laying into Remi with a nail-bat behind the greasy spoon, because he happened to glance in the direction of Elisabeth from Springarstien, and the next thing he’s applying for—’

Jan Inge nudges Rudi in the side. ‘He’s on the move.’

Rudi blinks rapidly. ‘Andwhatarewegoingtosaywearedoinghere? We’re screwed now, amigo.’

‘Not so fast,’ says Jani, irritably. ‘Smile.’

‘Hm?’

‘In the name of Saint Catherine of Siena — smile! And let me do the talking.’

‘Youcanbloodywellbetyourlifeonit. And I hope you have a good explanation as to why we’re here. Leadership — now.’

Rudi puts on his broadest smile, but he gets the feeling it’s no more convincing now than when people ask him to smile for a photograph. ‘Shit,’ he whispers as he watches Tommy Pogo approach. ‘He’s kept away for months — you’d almost think he’d been on paternity leave or quit the force, and then he shows up here.’

‘Shut it. Smile. And let me do the talking!’

‘Yo! Tampon!’

He’s only a few metres away from them. Tampon keeps himself in great shape. He’s so in form and fit-looking it’s almost threatening, thinks Rudi. A healthy mind in a healthy body, as Granny used to say when she saw Rock Hudson on TV. Look at that. The beard covers up his harelip. The bright, blue eyes. The tanned, healthy skin. The shiny hair. Guy’s got muscles coming out of everywhere. Impressive looking, there’s no getting away from it.