Tore Renberg - See You Tomorrow

Her eyelids keep slipping down. Her chest rises and falls, and Sandra wants so badly to sleep. Put her arms on the desk, form them into the shape of a heart, lay her head on them and slip into the heavy sea. Sea? Yes, Lord, you are mine. Her cheeks are warm, like she’s been watching TV for a long time, and her fingers are heavy, like her arms have been hanging by her sides for a long time, and her head is woozy; is it Thursday? She forces her eyes open, smiles listlessly at Malene who’s just turned around in her seat further up the classroom. Are you there? Her jaw muscles, it’s as if they’re missing. Is it Thursday today? Or is it Wednesday? Is it maths, is it English? Yeah, English with Frida Riska. Hi, Frida. To talk too much. Everyone understand? The difference? Or is that proving too much of a challenge for you all? Sandra feels queasy now, there’s discomfort in her stomach and chest and she’s so unbelievably tired. Must be Wednesday. Fingers are so heavy, eyes are so slanted, cheeks are so warm: once. Today’s paper. Has something happened? She can’t remember any more. Wait. Wasn’t she in an accident? Yeah. With Daniel? No. Once. No, he loves me and I love him: youandme. Was she? My bright boy, I will serve you the rest of my days, because that’s how love is: yes. Once they came. A peal of thunder across the sky, you could feel the rumble beneath your feet. They came from the forest. They were sons of Lucifer, because they were naked, and in their arms they bore the severed limbs and small hearts they had gathered from the sons and daughters of man. A little distance behind them, the daughters of Lucifer came, also naked, also promising fire and torment. Yes. Blood ran down their thighs, from between their legs. These fingers are so heavy. Thursday? Meandyou, Daniel. My bright boy, your bright mouth. Sandra thinks she needs to throw up, throw up and fall asleep at the same time, as if that was something that went together, she ponders sluggishly, throw up and fall asleep. Once they came from the forest. Daniel. My Daniel. For what could be right here in this world if love was not right? What would speak the language of truth if love did not? Warm up our church, light this candle. I have to sleep now. I really have to sleep.

‘Sandra?’

‘Hello, Sandra?’

‘Sandra!’

‘Oh my God!’

‘Frida! She’s not breathing!’

‘Get help!’

‘Sandra?’

‘Malene! You need to tell me the truth now! Malene! What happened earlier? Malene!’

The white van pulls out on to Hillevågsveien. It has a red logo on the side with the motto, Mariero Moving — Your problem is kein Problem. Four people are sitting inside, all dressed in the company’s light blue overalls, the motto of the firm written diagonally across the backs of each.

Rudi, Tong and Jan Inge sit in the spacious front seat, in that order, and Cecilie sits behind smoking.

Rudi turns the large steering wheel, but he doesn’t feel at ease. The oxygen inside the vehicle is too thin. It’s not like before. Tommy Pogo stresses him out. He still hasn’t shown up. And the atmosphere in the van, that’s also stressing him out. Is something funny going on? It’s about time Tong started loosening up a little. Understandable if he has got some issues, maybe it was rough being inside this time, even for a rock-hard fucker like Mr Korea, but isn’t he going to say one single thing?

Get released from prison, come home to your best mates — your Norwegian family — and don’t utter a bloody word. Here we are throwing our arms around him, hugging him, putting beer on the table, breaking out chocolate chip cookies and doing one thing after the fecking other, but the guy is behaving as though we don’t exist. It’s not natural.

‘Ah well, Tongi!’

Rudi makes an expansive gesture as they go around the roundabout by Strømsbrua Bridge.

‘I’d say you must be overwhelmed to see the old stamping ground again, eh? The city of Stavanger, best place on earth! Yessir! Everything’s the same as it was, apart from even more internet, and the financial crisis giving the globe a good seeing to from behind, not that it affected us, people have more than enough money for all the break-ins we could ever imagine—’

Rudi speaks extra loudly and in the back seat Cecilie giggles, albeit slightly nervously. Jan Inge smiles too, but Tong just stares straight ahead. A sheen coming off his jet-black hair. No movement from him at all, as though he isn’t even breathing.

‘Well,’ Rudi tries again, ‘anyway, it’s good to have you back again, because heh heh, I don’t think we’d manage this piano without you!’

No reaction at all from the great warrior. Is he a zombie? Is it just Rudi who thinks this is weird? Cecilie? Jani? Hello-o? This can’t be put down to morning tiredness; this isn’t Cecilie when she wakes up snapping like a hammerhead shark. Is he just going to sit there like a fighting fish?

Rudi gives Tong a nudge as they crawl up Tors Gate in Våland. ‘Hey, Tongo man. Time you came out of the freezer now. Come on, bushman. Hey, yellow peril! It’s us! Your people! Did somebody die? Did you get a letter from Korea, someone calling you son, all of a sudden? Come on. Out with it, caballero !’

Silence. The Hiace turns on to Furras Gate.

It’s pointless. Rudi nods to himself. Fine. No one can say he hasn’t tried to be the life and soul of the party, as Gran used to refer to him. Or the clown, as she also used to call him.

‘Here we are,’ Jan Inge says, pointing to a white wooden house on the left hand side. ‘Thirty-nine.’

Rudi slows down and pulls in slowly to the kerb. They open the doors and a bent, old woman appears by the gate.

‘Everyone behave themselves, now,’ Jan Inge says, ‘and we leave with our flawless reputation intact. As usual.’

He takes a step towards the elderly woman. She’s wearing a blue dress, has wavy, white hair, glowing cheeks and strong blue eyes.

‘Ludvigsen?’

She’s a small woman, must be over seventy years old, and even though she doesn’t look like she was ever as tall as a tree, she must have shrunk a little as well.

‘Yes, that’s me,’ she says smiling. ‘Splendid you could come, yes, let’s see now, the piano is in there. I don’t know how you intend to do it, but anyway it’s to go to my daughter’s. I don’t have the space for it any more, or rather I do, but I don’t feel I can really have it here any longer, so I thought—’

‘You know what,’ Rudi says, dazzled by the beautiful old woman who in every way reminds him of Gran, ‘you know,’ he repeats, bending down to her, ‘this will be no problem.’

‘That’s our motto, all right,’ says Jan Inge, taking charge, ‘ your problem is kein Problem .’

‘Such lovely young people,’ says the elderly woman and shows them to the living room. She offers Tong a rather wary glance, but Cecilie notices and gives her an extra large smile.

‘Oh, there’s not a pick on you,’ the old woman says, ‘you need to eat, girl.’

Cecilie laughs. ‘I eat plenty, so I do, just have a fast metabolism.’

‘Ah,’ the old woman says, ‘I’ve always wanted a fast metabolism, but it wasn’t my lot in life.’ Then she lowers her voice and leans towards Cecilie: ‘Constipation. Takes three days.’

Rudi makes a brief attempt to follow the indistinct conversation before heading for the living room, Jan Inge and Tong following behind him. The grand piano, which he quickly estimates to be close to seven feet in length, is standing in the centre of the room. There are high ceilings in the old house, but lots of tricky little corners.