Bjarte Breiteig

Forward

The letter came in August, by which time we had almost stopped waiting

for it. Elisabet stood by the plum tree and thinned out the unripe fruit.

She smiled at me as I came through the gate with the post. It had been a

sunny summer and we had spent the holidays in the garden, for the most

part each with a book, and she had bleach lines on her temples because

of her sunglasses. I gave her the letter, which I had already opened, and

while she read it I lifted a branch and began to remove some plums at

random. They were the size of acorns and hung closely together under

the soft leaves. I threw them onto the compost heap, one by one, as I

picked them off. As early as Monday, said Elisabet. Yes, I said. It doesn’t

say how long you’ll be there, she said. They talked of a week, I said, but it

depends, of course. When I turned round she looked the other way and I

knew she was going to cry. I watched her as she went across the lawn to

the kitchen door. She was wearing tight, old trousers that I had not seen

for a long time, and her waist was bare. The feeling of lust pricked me.

 

On Sunday evening she drove me to the station. I was there early. It had

begun to grow dark and the scattered lamps were lit as we stood and

waited. People passed with rucksacks and suitcases which they carried

onboard the carriages. At the front, by the engine, stood some men in

overalls who stowed goods from a truck in through a large hatch. Elisabet

had folded her arms across her chest. It had been close that day, but the

evening was chilly. I said that the best she could do was to sleep as much

as possible. Tor, she said. I put my arms round her. I felt how thin she

was. I’ll go onboard now, I said. She nodded. I took the suitcase, climbed

onboard the train and went back towards the sleeping cars. I had a place

in a two-berth cabin. There was no one there when I arrived but there was

an unfamiliar toothbrush in a plastic glass on the shelf below the mirror. I

pushed my suitcase into the baggage shelf by the door and went over to

the window. Elisabet still stood on the platform. It took a while before she

caught sight of me. She walked along and stood directly outside and it

looked as though she wanted to say something. I signalled to her that the

window could not be opened. She nodded. She rubbed her bare upper

arms. We looked at each other for perhaps a minute. Then she lowered

her gaze, turned around and left.

 

I hung the suit jacket on a peg by the window, locked the door and lay

down on the lower bunk. After a while my thoughts began to fade and

I dozed off. I could not have been out for long when I was awoken by a

man who stood bent over me touching my arm. Excuse me, you are lying

on my bed, he said. He pointed at his ticket, which he held up in front

of me. I got up slowly so as not to become dizzy. It had become dark in

the compartment and the train had begun to move. I had barely stood

up before the man grinned and began to slap me on the shoulder. But

of course, it’s you, Tor! he said. I looked at him. He had a pale double

chin which bulged over his shirt collar and he smelt faintly of alcohol.

There was nothing I recognized about him. Don’t you remember me? he

asked. No, I said. It’s Wimp. He looked at me expectantly. Wimp? I said.

He laughed a little. That was what you all called me, he said. I said that

I didn’t remember any Wimp, he must have mixed me up with someone

else. No, no, no. He tapped me on the chest. You are Tor, right? Yes, I

said. Yes, then we know one another, he said. With that he lay down on

the lower bunk, as I had just lain. He put his arms behind his head and

looked at me. His shirt had wet patches under the arms. So you don’t

remember the big boy in Class C? he asked. No, I said. The fat boy that

you all called Wimp? I did not answer. I looked out of the window. A town

glided by and people played football on a flood-lit pitch. But I remember

you well, said Wimp behind me. Tor with the blond hair. Tor with the BMX

bike. Tor who showed his behind when the bus went past. So now you’re

going to Sweden? he asked. Yes, I said. Business? I shook my head. I

need an operation, I said. And you have to go all the way to Sweden?

he asked. I turned round. He lay there smiling. I saw that there was

something familiar about him after all, but could not place him. He pulled

out a hip flask out of his trouser pocket, took a gulp and then held it out

for me. It was warm after being against his leg and violently burnt my

throat when I drank it. I gave the flask back to him, lifted the suit jacket

down from the peg and took my time about putting it on. Wimp’s hand

gripped around the bar that was there to stop people rolling out of the

bunk. Are you going? he asked. I need a beer before I go to bed, I said.

He winked at me. Of course, he said, of course.

 

It was a modern train with doors that slid open before I had chance to

touch them. People sat reclined in the seats, with gazes that turned aside

when I caught them. There were no passengers in the restaurant car. I got

a beer and sat myself at a table by the window. While I drank, I starred

through my reflection and out into the darkening night. Perhaps it was the

heat, or that I had not eaten for some time, I don’t know, but the alcohol

worked straight away. I finished the beer and bought myself another one.

Sometimes the train suddenly twisted and gave me the impression of

gliding, and for the few seconds it lasted, I closed my eyes and imagined

I was flying across the landscape. Half way through my third beer, the

phone began to vibrate in my inside pocket. I took it out, but was so out

of it that I just sat and looked at her name on the display and thought

that a conversation would not bring us closer to one another. When it

had stopped ringing, I switched the phone off and put it back into my

pocket. Aren’t you going to answer it? asked a voice behind me. It was

Wimp, who had come in and stood by the counter. The waitress glanced

at me over a stack of plastic-wrapped muffins. She was about to pour

him a beer. I said: I’m not always in the mood to talk. Wimp got his beer,

paid and sat himself down at my table. So you don’t want to talk to your

wife, he asked. I leant forward in my chair. You obviously know a good

deal about me, don’t you, I said. He shrugged his shoulders. There isn’t

always that much to know, he said. I drank my beer. He did the same,

and I could see our dim reflection in the window; we both had grey suit

jackets and the same hair colour. He said: By the way, it’s quite normal for

the unsuccessful person to remember the successful person, and not the

other way round. I asked: So, do you see yourself as unsuccessful? Yes,

he said. He looked straight at me. He leaned right back in his chair and

held his glass steady on one leg. Do you know, he said, I used to admire

you. Why? I asked. He shrugged his shoulders: You were self-confident,

the girls liked you, all that sort of thing. But one day I stopped, he added.

Admiring me? I asked. He nodded.

 

It was the year everyone had kites, said Wimp. Do you remember? There

were kites everywhere you went. As soon as there was the smallest

breath of wind, up they came from car parks and football pitches. I

nodded. I remembered that. There had been an epidemic that spread over

the area and disappeared again as quickly as it had appeared. People

had bought kits by mail order from Japan and Korea; big box kites with

flags and pennants, while others constructed their own in woodwork

class. Wimp remembered my kite well. It was the best kite he had ever

seen. It was made of real parachute silk, the fabric was completely black

and it resembled an enormous bat. I had almost forgotten it, but now the

memories came flooding back as Wimp spoke. One day when there was

a fresh breeze blowing, my kite had got caught on a crane, which at the

time stood on the hillside below the school, and the string had become

snagged at the top. Wimp described the group that had formed at the

base of the crane, how excitedly they stood there while I climbed over

the safety barrier and up the narrow ladder in the centre of the support

column. I climbed up past the driver’s cabin and up to the point where the

ladder stopped. There they could see me lie flat out and begin to crawl

along the arm; but I had only gone a short way before I lay motionless.

Then panic began to spread on the ground. They thought I had fainted

and would fall off at any moment. They started to shout to me. Tor! they

shouted. Tor, Tor wake up! They starred at my face, which was only a

small, white dot. Finally someone ran off across the hillside to tell the

adults.

 

Wimp took a mouthful of beer. I realized that I was smiling. Were you all

really afraid? I asked. Of course, he said. But you can bet I envied you.

Imagine having a whole group of people standing there calling to you.

And how we cheered when you came down, even if you hadn’t got near

the kite. He lowered his voice and looked towards the dark window.

The following day it was blowing a fresh gale, he said. And it was then

he decided: He would do that which I had not done. At dusk he stood

by the crane again, all on his own this time. It was growing dark, but far

above he could see how the kite blew in the wind and tugged at the line

so that the whole crane vibrated. In his pocket was his army knife, which

he would use to cut it loose. He told me of how he had set off upwards

and felt the wind take hold almost immediately. He was quite a fat slob

in those days, so it was a bit of an effort and his hands quickly became

numb on the cold steel. Spread out below him were the houses, their

lights and the bridge where the cars drove in a steady stream. The school

yard was lit by blue-white lights that threw small patches over the asphalt

and he could see the secret place, behind the rubbish container, where he

used to go and hide. The whole thing seemed so small and pitiful. When

he reached the driver’s cabin he climbed in to rest for a while. A half-full

coffee mug was standing there, which he dropped out of the door and

watched as it slowly fell and bounced against the ladder steps and bars

before disappearing into the darkness. Then he climbed the last bit before

beginning to crawl out along the arm. The wind forced cold tears from the

corners of his eyes and he imagined that the rest of us were standing at

the foot of the crane and were afraid and shouted to him that he should

turn back. But never in his life would he turn back. He crawled across the

great void between the bars and felt how the arm swayed more and more

the further out he went. It was further to the end than he had thought and

when he finally got there his arms were completely exhausted from the

strain. He lay there and watched the kite. It resembled an angry dragon as

it threw itself back and forth in the darkness, while the stretched material

fluttered and crackled. There was a tear in one side and that was what it

was that made it so noisy. It was as though it suffered, said Wimp, and

took another mouthful of beer. Suffered? I said. He nodded and blinked

his eyes a few times. He told me of how he had shakily got to his feet on

the bars while he held on to the upper beam with one hand and took hold

of the line with the other. But when he was going to pull the kite towards

him, he found that the wind was too strong and eventually he leaned

himself on the upper beam, wrapped the line round his hand a few times

and cut it off just below where he was holding it. At that moment he felt

how powerful the kite was. It was stronger than any person and he let

go of the knife and clung onto the line with both hands, knowing that he

could be tipped backwards at any moment.

 

While Wimp talked the waitress had cleaned the tables and now she was

about to close. She flashed the ceiling lights to make us leave. Wimp sat

and starred down at his empty glass. And then, I asked, what happened

then? He looked up at one of my shoulders. What happened was that

I started to believe in God, he said. So you’re a Christian? I asked. He

shook his head. God is not God, he said. He wanted to say something

more. It was stuck somewhere inside him, and he lifted his glass to

his mouth but discovered that it was empty and so put it down again.

And then you stopped admiring me? I asked. He nodded. Since then I

have never really admired anyone or anything, he said. I looked out of

the window. Somewhere above us the power line sparked and lit the

landscape up for a moment. I caught a glimpse of a forage harvester that

stood abandoned in a field and a stone wall that disappeared into the

darkness. A conductor came through the carriage and stopped in front of

us. Is one of you Tor Karlsen? he asked. It’s him, said Wimp and nodded

towards me. There’s a telephone call for you, said the conductor. I asked

if it was anything serious. He did not answer, but gave me a friendly look.

You can come with me, he said. I glanced at Wimp before I went, but he

did not meet my gaze. He just sat with his head bowed and rubbed a

reddish rash on his neck.

 

I followed the conductor forward through the train. He unlocked a door

with a key that he had hanging on an extendable cord, and we went in

through a dark goods room. In a glass-walled enclosure sat a uniformed

man, watching a video with a listless expression. Innermost in the room,

a sliding door stood half opened to the driver’s compartment and a

telephone hung by the side. The conductor smiled and turned away. I put

the receiver next to my ear and said hello, but no one answered. Elisabet,

I said, what is it? Then her voice was there. It was the darkness, was all

she said. Is it the same now? I asked. She asked why I had switched

my telephone off. It was the battery, I said. I heard her breathing in the

receiver. In the driver’s cab a red-haired man sat leaning back in his

seat and talked to someone who was out of my field of vision. It looked

comfortable in there. In front of the train the lights cast a ghost-like gleam

on the rails which ran on and on in the darkness. Suddenly they twisted

over to one side and the train went rushing into a bend while it emitted

a blast. What was that? said Elisabet. Just the train, I said. Oh, she said.

I thought it was a siren. I asked if she was in the living room. She was,

and I knew where she was sitting: in the leather chair with a rug pulled

over her, while she starred at the drawn curtains. I told her that I had met

an old acquaintance. She wanted to know who it was, and I said that it

was Wimp. Wimp? she said. That was what we called him, I said. Was he

someone you bullied? she asked. I don’t know, I said, I don’t remember

him. He remembers me, but I don’t remember him. Elisabet sounded

despairing: Oh no, she said, that’s your memory again. I said nothing.

Why did you bully him? she asked. I noticed that I was irritated. I don’t

know, I said. I really don’t remember. Oh Tor, she said. Relax, I said, it is

quite normal that you forget those who... Those who what? she asked.

No, I said, nothing. I began to talk about something else. I asked how she

had got hold of the number out here, what she had said to be able to talk

to me. She did not answer. But you must have said something, I said.

I said that you were sick, she said. I said that perhaps we would never

meet again. But Elisabet, I said. She began to cry. I didn’t know what else

to say, she said. Well, I said. It doesn’t matter now. We’re not superstitious

either, are we? I tried to laugh. It is so dark here, she said crying. No it’s

not, I said, it’s just that you see it that way, you know that. That Wimp, she

said, you must apologize to him. Yes, I said. Promise? Yes, I said. Tor, she

said, do you love me? Elisabet, I said. She laughed a little and sniffled into

the receiver. After a while I said: I am going to go now. I love you, I said.

Then I put the phone down. I sat by the telephone for a while, just in case

she rang back. Inside the driver’s cab, the red-haired man put his hand on

a lever and pushed it forwards. The train’s speed increased. He noticed

that I stood watching and he nodded to me. Everything OK? he asked. It’s

just my wife, she’s a little..., I said. He smiled. It’s like that, you know, he

said and pushed the sliding door to.

 

I went back to the restaurant car. The lights were out and a shutter had

been pulled down over the counter. There was no one there. I went further

back, through the carriages that now lay in darkness and into the sleeping

compartment. Wimp was not there. The hip flask lay on the pillow and

there was a red sports bag on the floor in front of the sink. I sat down on

his bunk, leaned back against the wall and took a gulp from the flask. I

stayed sitting there, but Wimp did not come back, and eventually I must

have fallen asleep, as the next thing I remember was that it was light

outside, that I had a headache and that the quilt was damp from the

brandy. I got up and rinsed my face with water from the feeble stream in

the sink. My gaze fell on Wimp’s toothbrush. Freezer tape was wrapped

around the handle to give a better grip. The sight of it made me uneasy

and I decided to take a walk towards the front of the train. I went all the

way forward to the engine without seeing Wimp and on the way back I

checked the toilets as I passed them. I tried the exit doors to see if they

could be opened while the train was moving but they could not, and

neither could the windows. The passengers had woken up and little by

little began to gather in the corridors. I went back to the sleeping car

and stayed there on Wimp’s bed until the train arrived. Outside people

streamed out onto the platform. After a few minutes there was a knock

on the door. It was the conductor who said that he was just going round

checking that everyone was awake. I asked if he had seen anything of the

big man in the suit jacket who I had talked with the evening before. He

thought about it, but could not remember having seen him. He must have

got off at one of the stations along the way, he said. I nodded. He must

have done, I said.

 

It felt right to take Wimp’s baggage with me. I put the toothbrush and the

hip flask into the bag, which turned out to be empty, with the exception

of a whiplash collar made of plastic and foam rubber. Then I took the

bag and my own suitcase and went out. An escalator brought me up into

the arrivals hall, where the sun was already shining in through the large

glass windows. Outside on the steps I stood and looked up the unfamiliar

streets, where people hurried past. I went down to the taxi rank and

climbed into the back seat of the first car. To the hospital, I said.