Kjersti Skomsvold - The Faster I Walk The Smaller I am

I tap Rolf on the shoulder. “Excuse me, I’m from the Norwegian Broadcasting Corporation,” I say. “Can I ask you a few questions?”

The walker swerves on the asphalt. “What’s this about?” Rolf asks.

I get confused and don’t know what to say, and then it hits me that there’s no point in trying to make friends with him, because it’s Mathea Martinsen who needs a friend, not Einar Lunde. The attention I’ve now drawn to myself is as meaningless as the life cycle of the banana plant, but since Rolf is looking at me questioningly, I can’t just stand here, and the only thing left for Mathea Martinsen to do is to figure out how I’m going to reconcile myself to dying.

I make a fist with my right hand and hold it up, now it looks like a microphone. “Eins, zwei, eins zwei,” I say and tap on it with my left index finger. I know that Einar Lunde has a much easier time talking to people than I do, so I clear my throat.

“Have you made peace with death?” I ask and extend the microphone to Rolf.

Rolf looks at me for a long moment and it nearly gets awkward.

“Ah,” he says and glances around, probably looking for the hidden camera. “Now I understand.”

He leans forward. “When it comes to death, I’m ready and willing,” he says laughing into the microphone and accidentally spraying it with saliva.

I dry it with the sleeve of my dress.

“But aren’t you afraid?” I ask.

“I’m more afraid of living than dying,” he says. “You stop fearing death when you’re my age.”

I don’t ask how old he is, in case he’s younger than me.

“To tell you the truth,” he continues, “I’m looking forward to giving up. Aside from the basic necessities, I’ve given away everything I own, and if lightning should strike here and now, I’d shout: Come and get me, I’m ready to go!”

“You might be disappointed,” I say. “You’re standing next to a lightning rod.”

Rolf’s eyes wander again, then he clears his throat. “I have to go,” he says. “I had to leave the senior center, even though I was having such a good time, to go to a doctor’s appointment. They take my blood pressure every week. High blood pressure is life-threatening for us old people, you know.”

But all I know is that this day has been too much for me. My “last chance” leaves me behind, and it’s just all too much. And I can’t cry. So I run. I run as fast as I can, past Rolf, across the bridge, and up the hill toward the woods. All I can see is the grass at my feet, but suddenly there’s Åge B. I’d completely forgotten him.

I look at Åge B. and he looks through me to the trees on the other side.

I wait for him to ask. Dark clouds gather overhead, a drop of water hits me in the eye, and all I want is to die laughing. I don’t need to laugh. I need to cry. But I can’t do that either.

I stand with rain falling on my neck, my dress clinging to my body, and I wonder how close you can come to crying without actually crying.

He doesn’t ask me anything.

“I don’t think life is any good,” I say, and start to walk off.

But then Åge B. says, “Life isn’t supposed to be good.”

“What?” I ask, stopping mid-stride.

“Who said life’s supposed to be good?” but he doesn’t say it like it’s a question, and he doesn’t look at me.

“Isn’t life supposed to be good?” I ask, still flabbergasted that he’s talking to me.

“No,” Åge B. says. “It’s supposed to be hard.”

“But why?” I ask.

“That’s just the way it is,” Åge B. says.

“Oh,” I say and fall silent.

Even if I haven’t managed “good,” I’ve certainly managed “hard.” And maybe it’s good enough that I’ve done the best that I could. Maybe at least it’s enough.

“Do you feel better?” Åge B. turns his head and looks at me through his wet hair.

“Yes,” I say.

“Good,” Åge B. says.

“Good,” I say.

“Oh, and just so you know,” Åge B. says and glances at the lace pattern on my hat, “I can see your skull.”

DESPITE THE TERRIBLE THUNDERSTORM and the people making noise outside, I’m asleep as soon as I put my head on the pillow, and when I wake up it’s morning.

I get up and bring in the mountain of newspapers from the doormat. The Groruddalen newspaper is lying there with the back page facing up, it says that Caretaker Leif has managed to catapult the co-op to victory in the “Groruddalen’s best” contest. And this despite the fact that I’ve asked God every night to let us come in last. There’s going to be an awards ceremony, and Leif is asking the residents to dress in yellow, which is the new co-op color. I think of my apricot wedding dress, it can almost pass for yellow. The awards ceremony is taking place today, there’s going to be a band (who likes band music anyway?) and the first hoisting of the building’s new yellow flag. We don’t even have a flagpole, but I guess Leif hasn’t noticed.

I carry the newspapers into the kitchen, dump them on the kitchen table and squint at the sharp light coming from the kitchen window. And then I see it — a flagpole right in the middle of the yard. During the night, they erected a flagpole on the exact spot I buried my time capsule. There’s a mound of dirt on one side, and I think of the piece of paper with my telephone number that I put in the box. The only thing I put in the box.

I flip to the obituaries. The heart that beat so hard for us all, the eyes that gleamed so tender, have stopped and dimmed to the sorrow of all, you’ll always be in our memories. I cross out the last few words and write “ you we’ll always remember .”

I see that someone named Al will be buried in the Haugerud cemetery at eleven o’clock. That works fine.

I go to the bathroom to get ready. My wedding dress fits perfectly. The only thing I take with me is the sandwich bag full of teeth. Before I go, I stop and look around the apartment. It could’ve been worse, I think.

My neighbors are gathering around the flagpole, it’s so high there’s probably snow on top. They’re looking at the sky while they listen to Leif tell them loudly how lightning struck twice, one bolt after the other, and how it rained down wood splinters. I look up and see that the finial is missing, the top of the pole is black and there’s a furrow running down the side. I leave the yellow gathering and disappear around the corner of our building. I’m apricot now but I can’t think of anything to rhyme with apricot.

I enter the church which looks like a swimming hall. I don’t ask for whom the bells toll, they’re tolling for me. I sit in the first row, that’s a good seat. While the pastor is talking, I realize that the word “burial” can be separated into “bury” and “Al.”

A lot of the congregation is crying, and I suspect they’re not crying for Al, but for themselves, and because before they know they’ll be in Al’s situation someday. No one envies Al his situation.

I cry too.

“Niels was taken from us his first day of retirement,” the pastor said. “What meaning can we find in that?” He looked out over the pews, there weren’t many people there and no one had an answer. I sat in the second row and wondered who Niels was. It didn’t feel like the pastor was talking about Epsilon.

The Central Statistics Office had finally said enough was enough, and Epsilon and I were going to be together all day every day. We took a walk in the nice weather. As we were passing the parallel bars, I said that now that the earth was spinning again, I wanted to do the same. “That’s crazy, Mathea,” Epsilon said. “You’re no spring chicken.” He didn’t know I was just joking. “But the nice thing about retirement is that you can start living life,” I said. “I don’t remember ever doing anything else,” Epsilon said. “So you don’t even want to give it a try?” I asked. “No,” Epsilon said. “You’ll be my hero if you do it,” I said and kissed him. “No, stop that,” Epsilon said. But I knew he didn’t mean it. What he actually meant was “do it more, do it more.” So I did it more. “Parallel bars aren’t dangerous,” I said and quoted his words back to him: “The probability that we’re going to die is less than ε, if ε equals a microscopically small quantity.” But Epsilon just shook his head. So I took his hand and neither of us said anything else. We turned toward home. I felt the cool spring breeze against my cheek, and the bright sky in my eyes, and then I felt his hand slip out of mine.