Naïve Super (15 page)

This city makes it easy to think about big things. I am thinking about Paul’s book. It confuses me. The only question that really counts, must be this one: are things getting better or are they getting worse? That goes for me, and it goes for all human beings, animals, and for the whole world. And all this stuff about what’s going to happen in a billion billion years really just doesn’t concern me. I suddenly realise. It might be egotistical, but I am more concerned about what’s going to happen while I am alive than about what’s going to happen afterwards. Thinking about this is an enormous liberation. The thought comes to me while my brother and I are throwing frisbee in Central Park. We’ve been throwing for a long while. We keep moving further and further apart. My brother has bought a very good frisbee. It’s heavy and stable. Sometimes I feel I could throw it as far as infinity. Now I’m throwing. Now my brother’s catching. Now my brother’s throwing. Now I’m catching.

It’s been several minutes since either of us dropped the frisbee on the ground. My brother is very involved. He runs as fast as he can. He’s jumping and throwing himself all over the place. His eagerness is affecting me. I am thinking I will never stop throwing things. I am thinking that I believe in cleansing the soul through fun and games.

It is evening and my body is tired from all the playing and walking. I am really pooped.

Like I used to be when we got home from skiing trips when I was little. And I’ve got a blister from the frisbee. It’s on the outside of the right index finger. In a while I will pop a hole in the blister, clean it and put a Donald Duck plaster on it. There are lots of Donald Duck plasters in the bathroom cupboard.

My brother asks me if I am happy with my day and I say yes. I tell him I want to play more tomorrow. He smiles at me and says there’s a good boy. He says I must wean myself from all the scary thoughts. Forget all that stuff about space, he says.

Now he is serving me Japanese take-away and turning on the TV. Today it’s about a boy who used to be skinny when he was in high school. The girls didn’t think he was particularly cool and when he asked the prettiest girl in class to a party, she said no.

Now a few years have passed, and the boy has become totally different. He has a moustache and muscles. He is running around on stage showing off his big biceps. The audience is cheering. And he has a girlfriend who is prettier than the prettiest girl in class used to be. And the girl who was the prettiest girl in class is also coming on stage. Now she’s sorry. The show is about the fact that looks don’t count as much as what we’re like inside.

I think Americans are a little dumber than I am. My brother thinks so, too. I’m sure Dad does as well.

This is what I have seen today:

I feel I am on a high. For the first time in a very long while I have a feeling that anything can happen. This morning I woke up thinking everything could happen, that things would just come to me, and that they would be good. I haven’t felt this way since I was little. It could be this city that’s doing it. It could also be my brother. For a while I thought he wasn’t quite as friendly as I am. Now I don’t think so any more.

He is a good guy. He wishes me well. We’ve spent a lot of quality time together these last few days.

We’ve been throwing frisbee and running on the grass. We’ve talked about what things were like when we were little, and arrived at the fact that they were different. Things were simple, big, but above all different. And sometimes things were better than they are now, and other times they were worse. My brother thinks claiming that everything used to be better is a dead-end street. But different is a word he enjoys. And last night I got him to hammer.

We switched the TV off and sat talking. About girls. My brother has been a bit vague about girls for a while now. He both wants and doesn’t want them. I tell him he can’t do that. He can’t both have a girl and not have her. Not at the same time. At least not unless she is willing to both have and not have him.

He told me about the last girl he went out with. It looked as though they were going to go all the way. But then my brother changed his mind and ruined it all. And the worst thing is that he never quite understood why he did it. It was just a feeling. He thought things might be better with another girl. It was OK as it was, but it might be even better. With someone else. Then he walked out. And now he regrets it. Every day.

After he had said that, he became all quiet and sat there for a long time just shaking his head. I felt sorry for him. I fetched the hammer-and-peg and placed it carefully on the table in front of him. Then I gave him the hammer, and when he took it and gave me a puzzled look, I nodded slowly. Then he started hammering. In a quiet and uncomplicated rhythm he knocked all the pegs down and turned the board over several times. Neither of us said anything. I felt we were really close while he was hammering.

Today we are walking by ourselves a little. My brother on his side and I on mine. We’re going to meet later on, but both of us felt that it could be good to be alone for a while.

I am sitting on a bench looking at all the people. It’s good for me to see so many other people who are not me. That there are so many others. I feel affection for them. Most of them are doing the best they can. I am also doing the best I can.

I see quite a few who aren’t so well off. People who are poor or sad. We ought to be nicer to each other. Not just in America. People all over the world ought to be nicer to each other. Now I am getting up to start talking to people who walk by. Many of them ignore me, but some talk back. I ask them what means something to them.

Some say
love.

Some say
friends.

Some say
my family.

One says
music.

One says
cars.

One says
money,
but I can tell he’s a sarcastic twit.

One says
girls.

Two
say boys.

Several say both
friends and family.

Some say they don’t know.

I also ask whether they think it will all be all right in the end. Several of them just shake their head at my question, but of those who reply, half of them say yes and the other half no. I wonder whether this is representative of the remaining population.

I buy a milk shake and slurp down the contents while I walk. My new shoes are super. Nikes are super. This city is full of product names. Partly because there are so many billboards, but also because many companies have offices here.

Now I am walking past the Rolex building. I ask the doorman if it is possible to go inside and look at watches, but he says the only thing they’ve got in there is a workshop. It must be an enormous workshop. But he treats me politely. Maybe I look like I could afford a Rolex.

Now that I have become aware of them, I see billboards everywhere. It’s very strange, but I am emotionally attached to the following companies and products, and some of them I have come to love outright:

It’s not just about advertising. Several of these companies make products I’ve never seen advertised. I associate them with something good without having any idea why. Some sympathies I have inherited, naturally. REMA 1000 for example. Dad loves REMA 1000. He buys everything there. Even his sleeping bag. But Statoil and Massey Ferguson? I have no idea where I got them from. Either their marketing is so clever that it creates a false idea that I am coming up with it myself, or my personality is more open to certain product names than it is to others. Maybe it has to do with the fact that it is easier to choose once and for all than to be confused every time you buy something new. I’ll probably never buy a tractor, but if I do, it’s going to be a Massey Ferguson. That’s just the way it is.

I am writing a card to Lise asking her what kind of tractor she’d buy.

As I sit on a bench finishing off my milk shake, I have an idea. It is a business idea. These capitalist surroundings are inspiring me. My idea is a telephone service. I want to look into the possibilities for creating one. But I want it to be nice. Most of these telephone services are gross and unpleasant. They appeal to the dark side in us, to people like Kent, my bad friend. They appeal to our urges and our fear of loneliness. I want to create a telephone service with a difference. A pleasant one. A help-line for people who just need a little break. For people who, for a few minutes, need to feel that the world is good. I’m going to ask Børre to sing The Owl and the Pussycat on tape. It’s a good song.

I am going to open a premium-rate 829-number, pay Børre a one-off fee, maybe a thousand kroner, and then I’ll advertise in a national newspaper and charge those who call twelve or fifteen kroner a minute. It could make me some money. And I feel certain that such a service will fill a gap. That there’s a market for it.

We all have our melancholy moments. Days when the feeling of meaninglessness creeps in and we sink into cynicism and sarcasm. Days when we stop believing in love and that everything will be all right in the end. At moments like those it would be a blessing to hear the frail and unsteady voice of a child singing a sweet song. If such a telephone service had existed already, I would have been an active user myself. Maybe I would have already made it through this tough spot.

A warm, friendly telephone service. I am creating a niche. And if it works, I’ll expand with more songs. Goosy Goosy Gander, Old McDonald Had a Farm, Hickory Dickory Dock. The list is long.

I want to mention this to my brother. Maybe he can throw in some start-up funds, and if it takes off, I’ll pay him back generously. The idea is not to get rich. I don’t need much for subsistence. I just want to be OK, and then I’d like to have a decent watch.

If the surplus were to become significant, I could donate money to a charitable organisation. I am very happy with this idea. It’s strange that I had to go all the way to America to think of it.

I have taken a bicycle helmet. It is a nice helmet. Blue. The first thirty minutes I was very pleased that I had finally acquired a helmet. And I was looking forward to showing it to Børre. But right now it’s not so pleasant any more. The whole thing is a bit bad. The helmet isn’t mine. I have taken something that doesn’t belong to me. My brother quickly made it very clear that he didn’t want anything to do with the helmet, but that he wouldn’t interfere with my choices. I am thinking about my grandfather and his story about the apple tree and the boys.

I feel like a shady person. Weak, even.

Taking the helmet came so naturally. I think that’s what scares me. My brother and I were coming out of a big museum where we had been looking at stuffed animals and objects from all over the world.

I was excited, talking about dinosaurs and whales and African mammals. I was also talking about a big, black man who had asked me to take a picture of him in front of the big brown bear from Alaska. He knew everything about bears and had great respect for them. He had told me that if I had to crash-land a plane in Alaska, I’d have to stay far away from the brown bears. You see, they can run at 35 miles an hour, and kill a man with a single blow.