On this evening, a man dressed in rags sat on a roof singing and he had an incredibly deep voice.
Oul Man Rivå,
he sang. I was humming the song all evening.
Oul Man Rivå,
I sang as I was brushing my teeth,
Oul Man Rivå,
I sang as I was getting undressed,
Oul Man Rivå,
I sang lying in bed and going to sleep.
Mom and Dad had closed the sliding door and were in the living room sitting and chatting, smoking, listening to music, and finishing off the bottle of wine after dinner. Between the songs I could just hear Dad’s rumbling voice and was aware that Mom said something in the pauses, although I couldn’t hear her.
I fell asleep. When I awoke they were still there. Were they going to talk all night, or what? I thought and fell asleep again.
The warm, bright September days were summer’s last burst of energy before abruptly crumbling, and in its place came rain. T-shirts and shirts were exchanged for sweaters and long trousers, jackets were put on in the morning and, when the torrential autumn rain set in, rubber boots and raincoats. Streams swelled, gravel roads were covered in puddles, water poured down the gutters in the streets, bringing with it sand, small stones, and pine and spruce needles. Beach life stopped, people no longer went on trips in their boats on the weekends, and the traffic to and from the pontoons was all about fishing now. Dad also got out his fishing equipment, the rod, the reel, the lures, and the gaff, put on his dark-green oilskins, and chugged to the far side of the island, where some weekends he stood alone for hours, fishing for the big cod that were there during the winter season. It was very appropriate that the swimming class started at this time because there was something unnatural about the thought of swimming in an indoor pool when the sun was baking hot outside. It was every Tuesday evening all autumn, and everyone in the class had signed up. Since Mom left for work before I got up in the morning I reminded her about the course the night before, so that she would remember to buy me a swimming cap on her way home. We should have done it a long time ago, but for some reason or other it hadn’t happened. When I heard her car coming up the hill I ran down into the hall and waited. She came in wearing her coat, carrying a bag over her shoulder, and, on seeing me, smiled a weary smile. No plastic bag from a sports shop in evidence anywhere. Perhaps it was in her handbag? After all, a bathing cap occupied no space.
“Have you got the cap?” I said.
“Oh no, do you know what?” she said.
“You forgot it? You didn’t forget it, did you? The course is today!”
“I did. I was lost in my own world on the way back from work. But you know … when does it start?”
“At six,” I said.
She looked at her watch.
“It’s half past three now. The shops close at four. I can make it if I go now. I can do that. Tell Dad I’ll be back again in an hour, will you?”
I nodded.
“Hurry up then!” I said.
Dad was in the kitchen frying chops. A cloud of cooking fumes hovered in the air above the stove. The lid on the potatoes clanked against the side of the pan with the pressure from the steam. He had the radio on and stood with his back to it, one hand holding the spatula and the other resting against the edge of the counter.
“Dad?” I said.
He swivelled round.
“What?” he said. And when he saw me, “What do you want?”
“Mom’ll be back in an hour,” I said. “She told me to tell you.”
“Has she been here and gone off again?”
I nodded.
“Why? What for?”
“To buy a swim cap. I’ve got my swimming course today.”
The irritation in his eyes was unmistakable. But I wasn’t out of the woods yet. I couldn’t just turn on my heels and go.
Then he nodded in the direction of my room, and I went, glad to have got off so lightly.
Ten minutes later he called us. We slunk onto the landing from our rooms, warily pulled our chairs back from the table, sat down, waited until Dad had put the potatoes, a chop, a little pile of browned onions, and some boiled carrots on our plates before, sitting up straight and utterly still, apart from our forearms, mouths, and heads, we started to eat. No one said a word during the meal. When our plates were empty, except for the potato skins and the bones that had been gnawed clean, we thanked Dad and went back to our rooms. From the whistling I could hear I concluded that Dad was making coffee in the kitchen. After it had stopped, he went down to his study, probably with a cup of coffee in his hand. I lay on my bed reading with my ears tuned to the noises outside the house, the drone of cars passing, and I recognized the sound of Mom’s VW the moment it turned into the road further down, Beetles were unmistakable and, had I made a mistake, nonetheless, I was absolutely certain I was right a few seconds later when it entered Nordåsen Ringvei. I got up and went onto the landing above the staircase. As Dad was in his study, it was the best place to wait.
The door opened, I heard her taking off first her boots, then her jacket, which she hung on the hat stand in the corner, and her footsteps across the carpet in the hallway below, which, as they began to climb the stairs, seemed to merge into the sight of her.
“Have you got it?” I said.
“Yes, no problem,” she said.
“Can I see it?”
She passed me the white Intersport bag she was holding. I opened it and pulled out the bathing cap.
“But Mom, it’s got flowers on it!” I said. “I can’t wear a cap with flowers on it! That’s no good! It’s a woman’s! You bought a woman’s swimming cap!”
“Isn’t it lovely?” she said.
I looked down at the cap with tears in my eyes. It was white, and the flowers decorating it were not just printed on but small, raised plastic imitations of flowers.
“You’ll have to go and change it,” I said.
“Karl Ove, my love, the shops are closed. I can’t.”
She laid her hand on my head and looked at me.
“Is it really that bad?” she said.
“I can’t go to the class with this. I won’t go. I’ll stay at home.”
“But Karl Ove,” she said.
The tears were streaming down my cheeks now.
“You’ve been looking forward to the class so much,” she said. “Surely a few flowers don’t matter that much, do they? You can still go. Then we’ll buy you a new cap for next time. I can use this one. I need one. And I think the flowers look lovely, I really do.”
“You don’t understand anything, do you,” I said. “I
can’t
go. That’s a
woman’s swimming cap
!” I shouted.
“Now I think you’re being unreasonable,” Mom said.
At that moment Dad’s study door slammed. He could scent a scene like this from a range of several kilometers. Quick as a flash, I dried my eyes and put the cap back in the bag. But it was too late. He was already at the bottom of the stairs.
“Well?” he said.
“Karl Ove didn’t like the bathing cap I bought him,” Mom said. “So now he’s refusing to go to the swimming class.”
“What nonsense is this!” Dad said. He came up the last steps and lifted my chin with his hand.
“You’re going to the class with the cap your mother has bought you. Is that understood?”
“Yes,” I said.
“And don’t burst into tears over such trivialities. It’s pathetic.”
“Yes,” I said, wiping my eyes with my hand again.
“Go into your room and stay there until it’s time to leave. Now.”
I did as he said.
“Imagine going all the way back to town to buy it in the first place,” I heard him say as they went into the kitchen.
“But he’s been looking forward to this class for so long,” Mom said. “It was the least I could do. I had promised him. And then I went and forgot.”
An hour later Mom came in to get me. We went downstairs to the hall, I had decided not to talk to her, and said nothing, just put on my boots and anorak. In my hand I had a bag with my trunks, towel, and the swimming cap in it. Opening the door, I saw Geir and Leif Tore waiting outside, each holding a plastic bag. It was getting dark outside, and the air was heavy with drizzle. Their hair was wet; their jackets glistened in the light from the lamp above the door.
They said hello to Mom, Mom returned the greeting, and then she dashed across the gravel with us close behind. She opened the car door, pushed the seat forward, and we clambered onto the back seat.
She inserted the key into the ignition and started the engine.
“Is there something wrong with the exhaust?” Leif Tore asked.
“Yes, it’s an old car,” Mom said, putting the car into reverse and backing up the hill. The wipers dawdled to and fro across the windshield. The headlights lit up the black spruce trees across the road, which seemed to take a step toward us.
“Geir can swim,” I said. Then I remembered I wasn’t going to say anything.
“Very impressive!” Mom said. Flicked the turn-signal lever down and glanced through the right-hand window before turning onto the road and driving off to the next crossroads, where everything was repeated, just the other way around: now the lever was flicked up and she glanced through the left-hand window.
“And you, Leif Tore, can you already swim?” she said.
The roar of the engine rebounded off the blasted rock face on the other side of the road as we struggled up the hill to Tromøya Bridge. The lights at the top of the mast glowed red in the night. If you didn’t know any better you would probably think they were floating in the air, I thought.
Leif Tore shook his head.
“Just a bit,” he said.
The rain-filled gloom had begun to merge the sea and the uplands, I could see as we crossed the bridge. The difference could still be distinguished because the darkness of the land was a shade deeper and denser than that of the calm water, which had a kind of sheen to it. The lights, visible on both sides, seemed to hang in mid air in the far distance, almost like stars in the firmament, while those closest, whose illuminated surroundings could still be made out, were set in the landscape in quite a different way. Green and red lights shone from lanterns or small lighthouses here and there. We drove down to the intersection over the bridge, houses and gardens appeared on one side, industrial buildings on the other, yellow and empty in the light of the headlights, with the dripping tarpaulin of night hanging above. The wipers were racing across the windshield; the rain was heavier now. Leif Tore said Rolf had been in the same swimming class. The teacher was an older woman, in her forties, who, according to Rolf, was very strict. But Rolf said so many things. If he got a chance to pull a fast one on Leif Tore, or anyone else, he took it. I said I didn’t have any goggles with me, but I could see underwater, so it wasn’t a problem. Geir showed us his. They were Speedo goggles with blue glass and white elastic.
“What about your cap?” Leif Tore said.
“My dad’s. It’s a bit big!” Geir laughed.
“Does your dad have a swimming cap? Mine definitely doesn’t. Does yours?” Leif Tore asked, looking at me.
“I don’t think so. What’s the time, Mom? Will we make it?”
Mom raised her left arm and consulted her watch.
“Twenty-five to six. So we’re in good time.”
“Why do only women and children wear caps?” Leif Tore continued.
“They don’t,” I said. “Swimmers who take part in competitions wear them, too.”
“I’m going to get one of those white ones with a Norwegian flag on it the next time we have any money,” Geir said. “Dad promised me today. And then he said I could join a swimming club as soon as I can swim properly. In town.”
“But weren’t we going to join a soccer club?” I said.
“Ye-es. I can do both, can’t I?” Geir said.
Mom signaled to leave the main road, drove up a gravel road leading to an unilluminated school, and parked in front.
“I think it’s over there,” she said, pointing to a low building behind.
“It is,” Leif Tore said. “Because that’s Trond and Geir Håkon over there.”
“I’ll be back to pick you up in about an hour then,” Mom said. “Good luck!”
We piled out of the car with our bags and ran to the entrance as Mom’s green Beetle turned and drove back the way we had come.
The changing room was cold, the floor a greenish color, the walls white, the light in the ceiling shrill. A number of cream-colored wooden benches ran along three of the walls, with a line of hooks above. Five of the boys had come; they chatted and laughed as they undressed. They said hi to us.
“The water in the pool’s cold!” Sverre said.
“Freezing cold,” Geir B added.
“Have you been in?” Leif Tore said.
“Of course,” Sverre said.
I sat down on the bench and pulled my sweater over my head. Stood up and took off my trousers. The faint smell of chlorine filled me with happiness. I loved chlorine, I loved swimming pools, I loved swimming. Geir B, Sverre, and Dag Magne went into the shower naked. Trond and Geir Håkon followed. We had been told in the strictest of terms that we had to have a shower before we entered the pool. I watched them all as they stood at a distance from the shower, stretched out a hand to turn it on with as much caution as if they were dealing with an unpredictable animal, and checked the temperature of the water with the other. Once it was warm enough they stood underneath, all with their backs to the wall. Their hair stuck to their foreheads. I took off my underpants, left my clothes in a pile on the bench, and waited for Geir and Leif Tore to finish. The door opened, four new boys came in, among them John. There was something I didn’t like about being naked when the new arrivals were well wrapped up, so I took the soap and towel from my bag and went into the showers, to the one furthest away, which was one of three that were unoccupied. Geir and Leif Tore came straight after me, fortunately.
Oh, how wonderful it was to stand under the hot water as the room slowly filled with steam! I could have stood there forever. But my skin went so red whenever I showered, especially my bum, which after ten minutes of really hot water looked like the rear end of one of those monkeys with red rumps. It was impossible not to notice or make a comment on, so after a couple of minutes and a quick check of the color of my backside, I turned the shower off, dried, and went into the changing room to put on my trunks. It wasn’t only after a shower that it went red, it also stuck out quite a bit. Dad used to say I had a bulging bum. It was true, and it was important for me that no one noticed and made a comment. That kind of thing spread like wildfire.