Yours Until Death (10 page)

I didn’t see exactly what he meant. But I could imagine. Because I’d seen her.

‘So I went around for months, gnawing on this secret of
mine, this love, until suddenly one day I … We were working late. I’d been to dinner with a client and we’d split a bottle of wine and so I was a little – the way wine makes you sometimes. As if you could float. Right?’

‘Right.’

‘And I suddenly felt we were so close there at her drawing board. So I said. Very carefully. You know, Solveig, I think I’ve fallen in love with you. Well, maybe just a little bit, I said – just to keep her from taking it the wrong way.

‘And she looked at me. Searching. The way some women do when you say things like that. As if they’ve got to read the lies or the truth in our faces. And then she said: are you? And her voice was so soft. So soft. And later when I had to leave, I wanted to give her a little hug and she came to me. And I kissed her throat and smelled her hair. And in a split second our lips met and she didn’t turn her face away, but I left the room in a daze and never even shut the door behind me.’

He tilted his head and looked wonderingly down into his empty glass. ‘And then – then, as a matter of fact, a whole year went by and nothing else happened. It’s the truth, Varg. I tried to get over it. I thought – you’re in love with her but she doesn’t care about you. Why should she? She’s happily married and has two kids and anyway you’re – married. And you have a child.

‘And I had no idea then. In my wildest dreams I couldn’t imagine that a woman like S-S-Solveig could feel anything at all for me. But she did.

‘Then there was one autumn. A long slow wavering towards a certain point. It was clearer and clearer to me she was for keeps. In my head. I was obsessed by her. She was all I could see. My work began to suffer. I knew that. I couldn’t
concentrate
. Routine saved me. I started making mistakes. Once we
nearly lost a client because of it. But it didn’t seem to matter – as long as she was there all the time and we were together. Just as long as we could go on working together.

‘And in all those months we never once talked about what had happened. What I’d said. We became better and better friends. I don’t think I’ve ever been such good friends with anybody. Man or woman.’

I filled his glass from mine and he looked gratefully at me from the other side of the Atlantic. ‘But then one day …’

‘One day?’

‘Then one day. It was late. We’d worked overtime. Had to finish a project. It was just the two of us, alone in the office. When we wrapped it up, we sat and talked. I mean, she sat. I was standing on the other side of the drawing board. We each had our cup of coffee. I don’t remember what we were talking about. The only thing I remember is that I thought: Now Jonas. You’ve got to tell her now. The time’s come.

‘But I couldn’t. Couldn’t get it together. Couldn’t express all those feelings inside me because – just seeing her sitting there. And then she lit a cigarette. And then she said: I don’t smoke very often. It makes me feel – wild. And I said: wild.

‘And I reached over and stroked her cheek. And she blushed and then she reached over and stroked my cheek. With the back of her hand. And I sort of fell apart, Varg. Melted.

‘I leaned across the drawing board and took her face in my hands. I could feel her cheeks against the palms of my hands. I laid my face against hers, against her hair, her wonderful soft hair. I kissed her ear, her cheek, the corner of her mouth and I could feel those soft lips trembling … And I sighed, Varg. I sighed like an old woman.

‘Solveig, I said, you’re a good person, you are. Solveig. She
looked at me with those big bright eyes of hers. Said: do you think so, Jonas?

‘I said: if you can believe this, I don’t think I’ve ever … It’s been years since I’ve felt about a person the way I feel about you, Solveig.

‘I kissed her. Her ear, her cheek. But not her mouth. Not really. She turned her face away. I said: you like me a little bit, don’t you? I like you a lot, Jonas, she said.

‘I kissed her some more. I’m glad you’re here, Jonas, she said, but it can’t go any further. Not today.

‘I stroked the hair away from her forehead, her eyes. I said: what I feel isn’t physical. Not that way. It’s romantic. Like being young again. Sixteen. Seventeen. I want to be good with you. Kiss your mouth. And I looked at her mouth, at her soft beautiful lips, narrow but open. At that mournful yearning lower lip. If you know what I mean.’

I knew what he meant. My lower lip looks like that too. Just before I cry.

He went on. ‘She smiled. Shyly, I think. And she said: I’ve also … I say so many stupid things. I’m impulsive. Much too impulsive and I’m an emotional person. I need to be tender too. With others …

‘She was holding both my hands with hers, Varg. And she was looking totally at me. And it was as if her face filled the whole room, as if the only thing in the whole universe was that beautiful face framed by that hair. The thin little nose, the dark blue eyes. Almost black. That trembling mouth. The soft round cheeks, that chin … Solveig. Solveig.

‘And I knew it then and I know it now that I love her, and that I’ll always love her no matter what. And I’ll never stop loving her …’

He searched the room as if he were looking for someone else he could love. Share his tender feelings with. Sit and talk with for hours. But the only other person he found was an
investigator
. Not one of the most expensive but not the cheapest either. A listener.

‘Then we heard somebody out in the hall,’ he said. ‘We broke away from each other, fumbled blindly for our coffee cups, lifted them to our mouths and sat a decent distance apart. And the door opened and someone came in …’

I waited for the rest of it. ‘Who came in?’

‘Her husband.’

It had begun to get dark outside and the waiter had given up trying to stop us. He brought us two fresh glasses and I was one hundred per cent certain this day would end just one way: two quick aquavits and then down with the window-blind. I’d already had problems finding my way to the men’s room and back.

‘Did I tell you about her husband a little while ago?’ Jonas said.

‘I can’t remember,’ I said. I had the feeling he had, just before I’d started forgetting.

‘Reidar Manger,’ he said. ‘But he’s not from Manger. He’s from somewhere down south. Kristiansand, I think. He’s a postdoctoral fellow – God, the jargon they use, Varg! – he’s a postdoctoral fellow in American literature. One of those
pasty-pale
guys who sit up late and write doctoral dissertations about Hemingway but who’d pass out cold if they saw a live trout. But he’s okay. I’ve always liked him. Except “always” is an
exaggeration
because I haven’t met him that many times and “like” is a complicated word. If you …’

‘Right. I know what you mean,’ I said.

‘Right. Right.’ He was talking much more slowly now and his head hung a little lower. But otherwise he could have been completely sober. I’d stopped noticing the other customers. We were the only ones there now. The two of us and a woman named Solveig. 

‘You said her husband showed up.’

‘Right. Right. Nice guy, Reidar Manger. We spent a couple of hours one evening talking about
The Sun Also Rises
. I’d only read the first half. He’d read the whole thing a hundred times. So we came out even. But we never agreed.’

‘Agreed about what?’

‘About the last half. The part I hadn’t read.’

‘I know what you mean. I’ve read it myself. But he showed up – that day.’

‘He didn’t say anything. He didn’t do anything. I don’t know if he could tell anything had happened. If he’d wanted to act like Hemingway he could have tried knocking me through the window, but it would have cost him a couple of cracked knuckles.

‘He’d stopped by to pick her up on his way home to his books, and we sat and broke the ice over coffee. Oh, yes. We poured a cup for him. But it was hard to keep things going. I didn’t dare look at her. And if I’d looked at him he might have thought I fancied him. You know how these specialists in American literature are. They see homosexuality in everything. They’ve read
The Great Gatsby
and all the critical studies. You know. And
Huck Finn
and all the rest of it.

‘So. After a while we went our separate ways. They went out to Skuteviken and I drove that long way out there to – my family. When I got home I was beat. Had to lie down. I was exhausted. Beat up. Legs shaky. She told me later she’d felt the same way and had had to go for a long walk on Fjellveien. By herself.

‘The next day, just as we were about to go home, she handed me an envelope. And then she left. I still remember almost word for word what she wrote.

‘My dear good friend. Where feelings are concerned – I’ve never been especially good at expressing myself in words so I really do admire you because you can say all these beautiful things to me. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you for a single second since yesterday. As you said yourself – it’s just the way it happens. For me, too. I truly hope we can meet in other circumstances and whenever we can. Take care
. And then the signature:
a hug and a kiss from a good friend
. And a PS.
Please tear this up into a thousand pieces.

‘I could tear it into a thousand pieces and I could jump on it and I could burn it to ashes. But I’ll never forget the words of the most beautiful letter I ever got.’

He shook his head for emphasis. ‘Never. And that’s how it got serious. How we got to be more than just good friends.’

We drank. Then I said, ‘And then what happened, Jonas?’

‘Then what happened? Everything happened. We began meeting after work as often as we could. Went somewhere for a cup of coffee. Sat. Talked. Played with one another’s fingers. Just talked.

‘We did meet one evening. I had the car and we drove – it felt like a long drive – up to Fana Church. Parked. And walked along the road. We kissed for the first time. I mean, we really kissed.

‘And it was like kissing a little girl and a grown woman at the same time. A little girl who openly and freely kisses you on the mouth without really knowing what she’s doing to you. And a grown woman who knows exactly what she’s doing.

‘A few weeks later she invited me home. Her husband was at a seminar in Oslo and I got there after the kids had gone to bed. They have a little wooden house which they’ve
completely
modernised on the inside. And we … we sat and talked
and drank tea and listened to music – it felt like hours – and we kissed like teenagers who’ve just discovered another human being. And we really hadn’t thought – we never planned to – we didn’t mean to … but it got the best of us and we … well, we made love. We made love.

‘We began on the living-room floor and went on to the bedroom. Believe me, Varg, I’ve never been with anybody that way before. I never would have believed she’d be that warm, that passionate. And when she arched under me like a white bridge and let all her joy and pain out into the room around us … I can’t find the words for things like that.’

No. There aren’t words. I knew what he meant. And some people never find the things like that. Not ever.

‘It’s simply gone on,’ he said. ‘We’ve got closer and closer. We haven’t been able really to be together very often – not that way, I mean. Maybe once a month. Sometimes every other month. Sometimes not even that often. But afterwards, we’ve lived off those times for weeks. Whenever we’re together, there isn’t anybody else. It’s just the two of us.’

‘Did you keep it a secret?’

‘You’d be amazed how long. As far as I know, it still is. Unless – but I don’t know if – I don’t think Wenche’s said anything to him. At least he hasn’t given Solveig any reason to think he knows. But I couldn’t hold out in the long run.

‘Wenche. I could pretend, play-act in a way as long as there really wasn’t anybody else. But after I met Solveig and it got serious – it was impossible. I ended up feeling as if I were cheating when I was with Wenche. Being untrue to Solveig. Know what I mean?

‘I wasn’t a husband or a father any longer and finally, finally I just gave up. Told Wenche I was moving out. And when she
asked if there were somebody else I said yes, and when she asked who, I said … Well. It was stupid. But I told her.

‘And then I moved out. Followed by curses. Weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth. The whole scene. It was a
beautiful
exit. The whole building must have heard it. She stood out on the balcony and screamed at me as I stumbled down to the car, sat behind the wheel and drove off. After that we only met at the lawyer’s. And at the settlement.’

‘And Roar?’

‘I’ve hardly seen Roar. We haven’t come to a custody
agreement
yet. I’ve wanted to postpone that. I can’t stand any more confrontations.’

So he couldn’t either. ‘No,’ I said. ‘That’s why I’m here. To save you and Wenche from any more confrontations. It was the money …’

‘Solveig,’ he said. ‘She hasn’t wanted. We’re still together. But she hasn’t wanted to go all the way yet. Move out. It’s okay. She’s got two kids. I’ve got just the one. The relationship between Reidar and her isn’t the greatest but they manage to get through most days in one piece, and she does have two kids to think of.

‘And even though she denies it, I’m not sure her feelings for me are as strong as mine for her. Anyway, I’ve given her time. I can wait. I’ve waited for her since I was a kid, and I can wait longer. You always have a dream girl, right? And when you finally do meet her, really meet your dream – right away you feel as if you have all the time in the world. You have your life before you and you can afford to wait - if she’ll just finally come to you.’

‘In the last street of the last city of all? Yes. I know what you …’ I’d seen her.

‘So now you know the dirty little story of my adultery, Varg. Two people who met too late – three kids and two marriages too late. Two people who loved each other outside the pages of the programme and after the show was over. The others? They’ll only see the surface. They’ll pin it on the usual sex thing.

‘But it wasn’t that. It’s been my big love. If the big love exists anywhere outside those novels they write for teenage girls. Later on it did become erotic, yes. And I’ve never had it so good with another woman. That way. But it was erotic. It wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t. I never told her that we screwed or fucked because we never did. We made love instead. We made love …’

He looked at me as if I were going to object. But I wasn’t about to. I had seen her. And she’d smiled at me.

‘I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.’ He looked reproachfully from his glass to mine. ‘I’ve never talked about it with anybody else. Before now. Nobody else besides Wenche. And I tossed her Solveig’s name. Like bait. To give her
something
to snap at before she threw me out.’

He looked sadly at nothing. ‘It’s been a little iffy recently. Along with the practical problems. It’s one thing supporting your son and your – Wenche. Another thing entirely getting on your own feet again. Adulterous husbands don’t qualify for support. You have to find a flat and that’s not cheap today. And you’ve got to put something in the flat. Something to sleep on, to eat off, to hang your clothes on – or in.

‘So say hello to Wenche for me and tell her I’m sorry. Sorry about everything. From the moment I stumbled into her life. Tell her that I’m sorry I haven’t done anything about the
insurance
yet. But I will. Tell her – tell her she’ll get the money tomorrow or the day after. Tell her I’ll come out and personally deliver all of it to her. For her long and faithful service in the
Betrayed Bedfellows Brigade, etc., etc., etc. Just say hello from Jonas and tell her Jonas is sorry. Okay, Varg?’

I was tired and I was drunk. ‘I’ll deliver the message,’ I said. ‘I’ll tell her I’ve come straight from the whale and Jonas is sorry. I’ll tell her that.’

I was too tired and too drunk to say any more.

We paid for our last two pints and sat for a while. Mainly because we couldn’t stand up.

When we finally did, we sort of joined ourselves together on the way out. Like Siamese twins. The doorman held the door for us and we lurched out on to the pavement.

We stood there, swinging and swaying like two young lovers who can’t stand to say goodbye. ‘Where are you going?’ I said.

‘Prestestien,’ he said. ‘But I need a taxi.’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘you’ve got a choice between the statue of Holberg and the fortress.’

‘I’ll try the fortress,’ he said. ‘At least it’s in the right direction.’

‘Well. Have a good crossing.’

‘You too. Which way are you going?’

‘To the heights,’ I said.

He looked at the sky. The grey cloud cover had peeled away and you could see stars between the shreds. ‘Up there?’ he said.

‘Not that high up,’ I said.

Then he thumped me on the shoulder.

‘Remember the Alamo, Reidar,’ he said.

I didn’t have time to react to his suddenly calling me Reidar.

He’d already gone. He went weaving along Bryggen. An advertising executive in a suit with a briefcase in his hand and a coat over his arm, a man with a tattered reputation and a
vulnerable
love somewhere inside him. One of the many who’d landed on the wrong planet in the wrong century. One of the many …

I turned and headed the other way. I could see that lonely light in my office window across Vågen. Two floors above the cafeteria on the second. But I couldn’t cross the market to turn it out. It could shine until tomorrow. Like a beacon in the night. A secret message to all shipwrecked souls.

I walked towards the heights instead. Up towards the fire station at Skansen and the endless high plateaus. Up towards two quick aquavits and the window-blind. Nothing else was waiting for me. I didn’t need anything else.

Not today. Not tomorrow. But some day. Some day.