Naïve Super (9 page)

Once in a while when I was younger, we would cycle over to some apartment blocks after school. We used to call them the tower blocks. All the naughty kids lived there. Those who had brothers who were older than us and who went to Sweden every Friday to buy firecrackers and wet-snuff and beer. Everyone who lived in the tower blocks had seen porn movies before they reached school age.

There were wild stories about some of the older brothers projecting porn movies in Super-8 format onto the wall next to the mailboxes. Movies where two ladies would spill champagne over a man so that he had to take all his clothes off. Be that as it may. But these blocks had great elevators.

We went there to ride the elevators. It was a high-risk activity. For some reason they didn’t allow us to ride elevators. We weren’t allowed. It was completely unreasonable. Nobody should deprive children of riding in elevators. But all the old ladies would scream and shout and call the police and the janitor would come and chase us. We got a kick every time.

Elevators are brilliant. I’m going to stand here a little longer. The good thing about riding in an elevator as a grown-up is that nobody questions my being in the elevator. Nobody suspects me of just riding the elevator. I look like I’m one of the others.

Now a young woman is entering the elevator. She’s going down. I stand there looking at her.

I ask her if she’s got a boyfriend.

She replies in English that she doesn’t understand.

I ask her in English.
Do you have a boyfriend?

Yes, she says.

I ask whether he’s friendly and does kind things, or if he’s not so friendly and does idiotic things.

The woman replies that the world is more complex than I think, but that to be honest, she must admit that she’s had boyfriends who have both been friendlier and done fewer idiotic things than the one she has now.

She asks me if I have a girlfriend.

I tell her
no, I don’t.

She nods to herself. She seems to feel a bit sorry for me.

When the elevator reaches the lobby, I exit and get on my bike. I’m cycling away from the hotel now.

Still on my way to the Volvo shop, I cycle past the university. I sit down on a bench and look at all the students. They’re zooming past. My days have definitely become different. But in no way do I feel in a position to gloat.

One day when I have more time, I’ll pop by the admin office and suggest that everybody who signs up for the philosophy foundation course be issued a hammer-and-peg along with their syllabus. An agreement between Brio and the university would be beneficial to both parties. Brio would gain valuable publicity, and the university would see a generation of students with perspective and an ear to the ground. In the long run, the entire nation would benefit.

I walk in and sit down in a room where there are lots of computers at the students’ disposal. My password (Vann
⁶
) still works, and I get on the Internet. I think it is over-estimated. It consists largely of information I am better off without. It gives me the sense that many people are in a position similar to mine. That they know a helluva lot, but don’t quite know what to do with it. Nor are they certain

about the difference between what is wrong and what is right.

I’ve found frightening amounts of worthless information in there. For instance, I think I was a little happier before I knew all the organisations of which Norway is a member. Not a lot happier. But a little. Enough so that it matters.

You try.

Norway is a member of the following organisations: AfDb, AsDB, Australia Group, BIS, CBSS, CCC, CE, CERN, COCOM, CSCE, EBRD, ECE, EFTA, ESA, FAO, GATT, IADB, IAEA, IBRD, ICAO, ICC, ICFTU, IDA, IEA, IFAD, IFC, ILO, IMF, IMO, INMARSAT, INTELSAT, INTERPOL, IOC, IOM, ISO, ITU, LORCS, MTCR, NACC, NAM (guest), NATO, NC, NEA, NIB, NSG, OECD, PCA, UN, UNAVEM II, UNCTAD, UNESCO, UNHCR, UNIDO, UNIFIL, UNIKOM, UNMOGIP, UNOSOM, UNPROFOR, UNTSO, UPU, WHO, WIPO, WMO, ZC.

It’s really tiring. Nobody can make me believe that this could be worth knowing, except possibly in a quiz context (at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs Christmas Gala). Never otherwise.

Somehow, knowing that Norway is a member of the Australia Group is stealing my thoughts. I have enough trouble with useful information, never mind being burdened with what is useless.

But many seem fascinated by the fact that this information exists not where we do, but somewhere else. A place that is not here, but everywhere and at the same time always somewhere else. And none of us can be there. Not with our bodies.

It’s a bit exciting to think about. I’ll agree with that. But it’s not damned fascinating. And I look forward to when people will stop saying that it is.

There are two good things about the net.

The first good thing is that one can be surprised, the same way one can be surprised by a newspaper article or a product in a shop, and then one’s day changes a little and one becomes glad.

For example, I was glad when I came across a psychology student asking this question:
From a Lego modelling perspective, what is happiness? How would you describe the feelings that you experience through your involvement in Lego modelling? In your opinion, is there a difference between these ‘happiness’ feelings and pleasure? Does your involvement in Lego modelling help you to attain long term happiness and well as short term happiness?

The other good thing is that one can easily make contact with people all over the world. That’s why I have come here today. I want to try to contact Paul. I want to ask him something. All professors can be contacted electronically nowadays. I feel certain Paul is out there somewhere. I’m doing a search with his name now, and his e-mail address is appearing on my screen. It only takes a few seconds. I’ve got him now. This is what I’m writing:

Here are the questions:

Thank you very much.

When I have finished writing, I press ‘send’ and the computer sends my letter, straight to Australia.

If I were a professor and knew a lot about time and the universe, I would write thorough replies to everyone asking me about something. All professors should do that. I hope Paul is like me. I hope he replies. I need answers.

Before I cycle on, I do something quite cheeky.

I go up to the Meteorological Institute and tell the secretary I’ve come for a roll of fax paper for Kim. She knows very well who Kim is and doesn’t ask me any unpleasant questions. She just asks how Kim is doing. I tell her that he’s very well indeed. Then I get the roll. Simple.

Now I’m standing in the Volvo shop. I’ve been to the bank, and I’ve got almost two hundred thousand kroner in my pocket. I’ve never had that before. The dealer recognises me. I’m telling him I’m quite certain I’ll be buying the green Volvo, but that I’d prefer it if I could test drive it some more. The dealer says I can test drive as much as I want. I have a hidden agenda.

I drive to the shop where Børre and I had ice cream. The note from Jessica is still on the wall, and I take down the telephone number. Then I drive back to the Volvo shop and say that the car satisfies all my expectations and that I want to buy it. The dealer starts messing around with forms, asking me whether or not I’ve organised financing. He wants to see bank guarantees, et cetera. I tell him I’d like to pay in cash, and start pulling thousand-kroner notes out of my pocket. The dealer thinks that’s perfectly all right. He shows me into the back room and we fill in some other forms. I ask him about registration, that my brother would like to have it done before he comes home, and the dealer calls a mate down at the traffic department. They chat for a bit and it becomes clear that the car can be registered as early as today. Camaraderie.

I comment that the dealer looks happy and ask him if it’s because I’m paying in cash, and he says yes. It is only when paying cash that you’re really talking about a purchase, he says. He thinks all the cards and financing systems have alienated people from the original experience of buying. Cash in the hand, now that’s buying.

I don’t share his opinion, but I think it’s good that it is making him happy.

He says I can drive with test plates over to the traffic department. There, his mate will meet me, and everything will be sorted out.

Before we part, I ask him if he knows in which desert the latest Volvo commercial was shot. He doesn’t know. The Sahara, maybe.

Now the Volvo is parked in the street outside the flat. I’ve faxed my brother a brochure about it, plus the invoice. My brother has become a car owner.

I myself sit gazing at Jessica’s telephone number. It is also Lise’s telephone number. I want to call Lise and ask her if she’d like to meet me.

I am sweating. But I feel I have to call. I must do something. It’s time I did something. There are limits to how long I can sit indoors hammering.

They’re strange things, girls. One can’t avoid them. They’re so pretty. And they’re everywhere. They always make like nothing. I like their voices. I also like it when they laugh and smile. And when they walk. They’re also a bit scary. Sometimes I think they know something I don’t. But they’re pretty. And hard to get. It never ceases to amaze me that even the friendliest girls become attracted to the most rotten boys. My only chance is to not pretend.

When I was younger, every youth programme on TV and the radio was about being yourself. About daring to be yourself. Actually, some programmes were about having a place to hang out. But the rest of them were about being yourself. It’s only now that I am starting to get a sense of what that means. Whether or not Lise knows, I don’t know. It’s worth a try.

The likelihood that Lise has a boyfriend is considerable, of course. Why shouldn’t Lise have a boyfriend? She’s both pretty and friendly and becoming a photographer. She probably has a boyfriend. Now I’m calling her anyway.

It’s the father who answers. I introduce myself, saying thanks for the hospitality the other day. He asks me how the Volvo is doing. I ask if I can talk to Lise. He says Lise doesn’t live there. She was only visiting the day Børre and I were there. Lise lives in town. And she has a phone. I take down the number. The father has to repeat the last two digits: 31.

I pace the room in a circle. Breathing deeply in and out. This is a small-scale hell. I hammer a little before I dial the number. It rings a few times. Then she picks up the receiver.

Now I’m talking to Lise.

When we’ve finished talking, I lie on the couch, smiling. It’s exactly as though it just stopped raining. Like it’s been raining and raining, but that it has finally stopped. And everything smells fragrant and the trees are all kinds of green.

There’s something very strange about girls. First they’re not there and everything is a little difficult. But then they’re there, and things become nicer. It happens incredibly fast. It only takes a few seconds before everything is nicer.

I’m meeting Lise in an hour. I’m quite nervous. I want to have a shower now.