Naïve Super (10 page)

New day. I’m waking up now. I’ve been sleeping for a long time. Lise doesn’t have a boyfriend. I drink a glass of water while I think about that.

She was glad that I called. We went to a cafe. First we had Cokes, but then we started drinking beer. And we talked about a lot of things.

I said Lise looks a little like the Alanis sitting in the passenger seat wearing a red sweater. But I said Lise is even prettier. She enjoyed hearing that. She wanted to look like Alanis, but she also wanted to be even prettier. It was a compliment that hit the spot.

Lise has a good voice. I just want her to talk and talk. And she’s got a cute little gap between two of her front teeth, and hair that’s neither long nor short. She told me what she likes doing.

She enjoys swimming and going for walks in the woods. She likes fruit, and she enjoys photographing people who aren’t aware that they’re being photographed.

She thought Børre was my son. Of course she did. I told her I don’t have a son. And no daughter, either. Not even a girlfriend.

I said I was tired of pretending things are different from the way they are. I said I didn’t think we ought to sit and nod at each other and say that we think such and such literature is exciting, or that such and such a film is an important film. We can talk about that later, I said. I told it just the way it is.

I figured, should she think I’m an idiot, better if she did so now, sooner rather than later. She didn’t think I was an idiot. I’m quite sure about that. She asked if I was always this earnest, and I replied that it was my first time. She also asked if I was desperate. I said no. I said that for once, I wanted to get it straight.

Then I told her about the ball and the hammer-and-peg and Paul. That’s when she began to see what I was talking about. She also used to have a hammer-and-peg as a child, but she couldn’t remember whether it was a Brio one. I made her write a list. On a napkin.

This is what used to excite Lise when she was little:

When the cafe closed, we walked through the Royal Park. I went home with her and we drank a cup of tea. She showed me her camera. And some of the pictures. Large colour pictures.

When I left, she gave me a hug which, in retrospect, I think may have come extremely close to being a kiss. It was probably a hug. But it might have been a kiss.

Today I’ve received three faxes. The first two I don’t have a problem with, but the third one is scary. If I’m not careful, I’ll stand a chance of losing what little foothold I’ve gained.

The first one is from Kim.

He’s seen a badger. He wanted me to know. He has drawn a picture of it, and he says it was something between a large cat and a small dog. His supervisor was visiting him up there. They were sitting outside late at night drinking wine, and it was she, the supervisor, who had seen the badger first. But Kim saw it as well. He seems proud to have seen a new animal. I am happy for him.

The other fax is also from Kim.

He’s written a list of things that make him happy. I don’t remember whether or not I faxed him my list. Maybe he’s done this completely by himself. Nothing could be better.

This is what makes Kim happy:

The list is such a long and appealing one. I’m a little envious. Kim has a better grasp on life than I do. But I’m getting there. One day I’ll be there as well.

The third fax is very disconcerting. It’s from my brother. He is thanking me for having bought the Volvo. He wants to do something in return. Something for something. My brother’s decent that way. But what he is suggesting is making me nervous. He is offering to buy me a trip to New York. For a week. He’s already there, and he says we can live in an apartment owned by some friends of his. In Manhattan. I want to avoid making a decision about the contents of this particular fax. I take the ball and go down into the courtyard. I’m throwing now.

I had pictured spending the last couple of weeks before my brother came home taking it easy. Hammering and summarising my situation. Cementing that little trace of security that I had after all managed to construct. But then this fax came and ruined the whole plan. I had almost become calm. I had attained a kind of peacefulness. I can only dream about that now. New York. It sounds scary. Overwhelming. I am afraid of being overwhelmed right now. That city seems too big for me.

There are many reasons why I shouldn’t go. Lise is one of them. I am meeting her later today. And maybe other days. I don’t know what New York is like, but I can hardly imagine that it would be better than Lise.

I also feel I am in the process of getting a grip on things. If I go, I might jeopardise that. It is unnecessary to seek more confusion than what I already have. Besides, I’m expecting a reply from Paul. I’m sure he’ll reply soon. And then I’ll know a lot of things. I’d rather know those things than go to New York. In a few minutes my brother’s going to call. I don’t look forward to that. I have to say no.

Now he’s calling.

He insists I come to New York. It surprises me that he is insisting. I have never heard my brother insist before. We can have fun, he says. And according to him, many things indicate that I would benefit from some exposure. Getting out into the world. I tell him it’s really not a good time. I say no, but my brother thinks a no is out of the question.

For once I mustn’t think a single thought, he says. Just buy the ticket and get on the plane. He says he’ll be giving me pocket money as well. In addition to the trip. It’s actually quite a generous offer. But all the people, the noise. I’m nervous.

I ask him if he couldn’t give me something else. Maybe a watch. A Rolex. I do want a watch.

Never, my brother says. He says a Rolex costs fifty thousand, and that he wouldn’t have agreed to buy one even if it cost a thousand.

The point is, he wants to give me the opportunity to get away.

Things happen when you travel, he says.

What things? I ask.

Perspective, my brother says. And he tells me I mustn’t be afraid. He’ll be there. My own brother. He’s going to take care of me.

Perspective? I say.

Lise is wearing a red sweater. We’re sitting on the grass, drinking mineral water and eating baguettes with chicken salad. It’s almost sunny. I’m saying it’s strange when you meet someone. That it’s a new planet.

I am saying that I tend to dream my way into relationships. It happens by itself, in no time at all. Suddenly I’ve thought it all out. I picture her in all possible situations, I picture the house we could be living in and the places we could be going on holiday. And this is happening without me even having talked to her. It could happen while I’m walking down the street and meet the eyes of a girl passing by.

Lise asks me whether I’ve been thinking like this about our relationship. First I hesitate a little and say no, but it is very clearly untrue, so I say yes.

Lise smiles and says she didn’t think I had any plans. I tell her there’s a difference between plans and dreams. When I ask her if it bothers her, she shakes her head and gives me a little hug.

I tell her my brother has invited me to New York. Lise is excited. She thinks I ought to go. I say that I had already thought about spending less time sitting at home, and instead going out more and meeting people, but that this was a bit sudden.

I am afraid of being overwhelmed. Lise reassures me. She has a theory about New York. She says there are two things that can happen there, and that it’s up to me to decide which.

The first possibility is that I put aside all reservations and take it all in. Like a child. The other option is to keep a distance and pay attention to the little things, try to find recognisable features. Organise and compare.

The first option can lead to becoming overwhelmed. The other one could lead to observations, contemplation and fun. According to Lise. Besides, she thinks becoming overwhelmed can have its advantages. I ask her what she means by that. She thinks that with time, it can provide some perspective.

Perspective? I say.

Now Lise is touching my arm and telling me again that she thinks I ought to go. I like it when she touches my arm. I’d almost consider going just to let her know I appreciate being touched.

She says she can’t see why I shouldn’t be able to continue hammering and throwing the ball when I get back. I should allow myself this opportunity to get away for a while. Maybe I’ll see things differently afterwards. It sounds so right the way she says it.

Now my brother’s calling to insist some more. He says sun, he says Central Park, he says good things to eat and drink, he says Empire State Building.

Sights, I say with contempt. What would I want with sights?

My brother says the important thing is not the city itself, but that the two of us are together. Brothers should sometimes be together and do nice things, he says.

I think that’s a good attitude to have. But New York is probably far too big.

Isn’t New York far too big?

My brother thinks it’s suitably big.

I ask him if he is overwhelmed.

He says no.

I ask him if he has ever been overwhelmed or if he’s afraid of becoming so.

He says no again.

I ask him if we couldn’t rather drive across America in a car.

No.

I ask him if I can bring Lise.

He asks who Lise is and I explain.

He says no.

I ask if I can have a Rolex.

No.

Then I ask my brother what he believes in.

Come on, he says.

What do you believe in, I say.

What do you mean? he says.

What do I mean? I’m asking you what you believe in, I say.

In life? my brother asks.

What else? I say.

You’re not kidding? he says.

No, I say.

He thinks about it.

I believe in market forces, he says.

Those free ones? I ask.

Yes.

What kind of thing is that to believe in? I say. That’s just crap. Who needs market forces?

My brother says it isn’t crap.

Whatever.

What else does he believe in?

He believes in friendship.

Good.

He believes in love.

Honestly? I ask.

What? my brother asks.

That you believe in love, I say.

Of course it’s true.

I tell him I didn’t think he did.

He asks whether it makes a difference.

I say yes.

I ask whether New York is mostly content or mostly form.

My brother says form, he says I’d have to create the content myself.

I ask him why he thinks I would benefit from going.

He says new places, new thoughts, perspective.

You’re sure about this perspective thing? I say.

Positive.

There is a moment’s silence.

Then my brother asks whether I give up.

Yes, I tell him. I give up now.

Have a safe flight, he says.

Thank you, I say.

I’m going to America.

I’m going to let it rip.

I stand for a long while looking at the hammer-and-peg.

Maybe it’s cowardly of me to take it.

But New York is probably not the most hammer-conducive place in the world.

People who live there probably have completely different ways of releasing tensions.

Why should I hammer and make a fool of myself in New York?

On the other hand, I don’t want to pretend I’m any tougher than I am. That could easily cause harm.

I weigh the board in my hand.

It weighs next to nothing.

I don’t have to use it. It’ll be a support just to have it in the rucksack. To know it’s there.

And should I feel the need to hammer, I’ll have it right there with me.

I could also go without the hammer-and-peg, and just buy one if things get tight. But that’s risky.

I don’t know how big Brio are in America. Maybe they don’t have hammer-and-pegs there. In which case I risk bottling up plenty emotions.