The Morning Star

by Karl Ove Knausgaard

  But when I slid back the lid of the freezer display and took out a Popsicle, she went quiet immediately. I opened it for her, she put the Popsicle in her mouth and I handed the wrapper to the man at the till, who scanned it. I paid and we returned to the car, and a few minutes later turned back onto the road toward town.

  I parked on the shopping-center roof. We were early, and Åse was still hypnotized by her Popsicle, so I switched on the radio and sat waiting for her to finish.

  I thought about what Helge had said, about everything in the world being the result of improvisation and that the laws of nature were basically just habit.

  Ideas didn’t have to be true to enthuse him, nor even probably true. It was enough for them to be new.

  But what if ideas behaved in the same way?

  An idea was conceived, and when first it was conceived it would occur again, over and over, spreading throughout society, until after a few generations our ideas were so entrenched and habitual that what they conveyed became construed as laws of nature.

  Mum had told me that toward the end of his life my grandfather, on seeing the politician Jo Benkow on the news, had suddenly said, “What’s that damned Jew doing on my television?” She’d been appalled, her father had never before expressed anti-Semitism, nor any other form of racism. Had he held such views all along, but kept them to himself, knowing them to be stigmatizing, only for them to escape him after he had become old and begun to lose his bearings?

  Was it the case that such ideas, with all the prejudice they contained, had been held for so long as to become a part of our fabric, even though we had not conceived them ourselves? Was that why they were so difficult to break down, why new ideas were so infrequent and met with such resistance? But when first conceived, they would occur again, over and over, until they too became galvanized by habit, if not to become laws, then at least possible truths.

  There was hope in that, wasn’t there?

  For the impossibility of changing the course of the world, as like a moth we steered directly into the flame, was only seeming. I thought about saving the rainforests. I thought about banning fossil fuels. I thought about how terribly we treated animals. And if I thought about those things, others would too, and a pattern would form, more and more people would share those same ideas, until eventually they became a truth with which our actions could only accord.

  And precisely because of the nature of ideas, their gathering together in clusters could only make them increasingly inescapable.

  Or was that just idealistic nonsense?

  My mobile pinged. It was Atle.

  Here now, he wrote. Are you on your way?

  With you in five! I typed back, then got out of the car, opened the trunk and took the stroller out, unfolded it and put Åse in it.

  “Look at the state of you!” I said.

  Her face was covered in Popsicle, her dress soaked with it all down her chest.

  I took a handful of wet wipes and washed her face, then lifted her up and sat down on the backseat, planted my feet on the ground and Åse in my lap, pulled the dress over her head, found a clean one among the things I’d packed and put it on her before putting her back in the stroller.

  “There we are!” I said, threading my arms through the straps of the backpack, tucking my own bag onto the storage rack under the stroller and heading for the elevator.

  I could get most of what I needed in the shopping center. The only other thing I had to do was to pick up Helge’s present from the picture framer’s. I could do that while Åse was with my mum, I thought, turning the stroller so that Åse could see herself in the mirror.

  I pressed the button for the ground floor and crouched down beside her as the doors slid shut.

  “Look,” I said, pointing at our reflection. “It’s us! Åse and Mummy. Can you wave?”

  She curled the fingers of one hand together and then opened them again in that incredibly cute way that small children do.

  I chuckled and gave her a kiss on the cheek before getting to my feet again, pushing the stroller out into the ground-floor shopping area and going over to the liquor store where Atle stood waiting.

  He was wearing a pair of khaki-colored shorts, white shoes and a blue shirt. His sunglasses hung from his breast pocket. His hair was slicked back, his beard trimmed short.

  How Helge had produced a son as vain as Atle was beyond me.

  “Hi, Vibeke,” he said, checking me out with a fast look he presumably didn’t think I’d notice, a once-over, lingering for a fraction of a second on my breasts, before stepping toward us and giving me a hug. “Great idea, throwing a party for him!”

  “Yes, isn’t it?” I said.

  Åse stared up at him.

  “Hello, gorgeous,” he said, and smiled at her.

  Inside the liquor store he took a shopping trolley while I pushed Åse round in the stroller.

  “The chef’s instructed us to buy either Barolo or Barbaresco,” I said. “So what if we get seven of each? Will that be enough, do you think?”

  “How many people are coming?” he said.

  “Fourteen in all.”

  “I should think that’ll do, then,” he said. “Which of the Barolos do you want?”

  “This one, perhaps?” I said, pointing.

  “The most expensive?” he said with a grin. “Why not the best?”

  “I like it,” I said.

  “All right,” he said, and took seven bottles from the shelf.

  Why had I asked him of all people to help? I wondered, already dreading the next choice I had to make.

  Maybe it was best just to let him get on with it.

  “I didn’t grow up with wine, so I’m a bit unsure,” I said. “But you realized that, didn’t you?”

  “At least you didn’t take the second most expensive,” he said. “That’s what people do when they’ve got the money, but don’t know what they’re doing. They think going with the most expensive wine is too vulgar. The second most expensive will still be a good wine and nearly as posh, so they reckon.”

  “You can choose, if you want,” I said.

  “I’m no expert,” he said. “But I can do, of course.”

  “We need some dessert wine too,” I said. “And spirits. Gin and vodka and whiskey. I think that should cover it.”

  “Cognac, maybe? He likes his cognac.”

  “Yes.”

  Atle put the bottles up on the conveyor while I got my card out of my bag.

  “He’ll realize what you’re up to, won’t he? If he checks the account?” he said.

  Was he putting me down? Or was that seriously what he thought?

  I put the card in the reader and keyed in my PIN.

  “It’s not the sixties,” I said. “I’ve got my own job. And my own bank account.”

  I put the card back in my wallet and began bagging the bottles.

  “And even if I had used your dad’s account, I very much doubt he’d be checking. It’s not exactly his style, is it?”

  “No, I suppose not,” he said. “He’s not got much control over his finances.”

  Åse threw her teddy to the floor, followed a second later by her pacifier.

  “Are you bored?” I said, picking them up again. She shook her head briskly and I put them away under the stroller.

  “We’re going in a minute,” I said.

  “I’m ready,” said Atle, now with several carrier bags divided between both hands.

  “Perhaps we should put all this in the car before we go on,” I said. “Those must be terribly heavy.”

  “I can do it, save you the hassle with the buggy and everything. Where are you parked?”

  “In the car park on the roof,” I said, and handed him the key. “Right next to the elevator.”

  It struck me that anyone who saw us woul
d think we were out shopping with our little daughter.

  “I’ll go to the florist’s while you’re at it,” I said. “I’ll meet you there!”

  Once he was out of sight, I phoned Helge.

  “How are my two favorite girls?” he said.

  “We’re fine,” I said. “We’re at the shopping center getting a few things in.”

  “Like what?” he said.

  “Like some flowers, for instance. It is your birthday, after all. And Åse’s had a Popsicle, which she liked very much, and now we might just go to a cafe or somewhere. What are you up to?”

  “Nothing much,” he said. “It’s too hot to work, so I’m just hanging around really.”

  “Haven’t you got air conditioning?” I said, pausing outside the florist’s.

  “Yes, yes. It’s the general mood more than anything. Too much summer, it makes a person restless. Anyway, where are you exactly? I could come and meet you. Have you had lunch?”

  “Who has lunch at ten o’clock?”

  He laughed.

  “All right, how about in an hour, then? Can you endure the inferno until then?”

  “Well, I can. Not sure about Åse, though.”

  “We needn’t have lunch just to see each other,” he said. “Where are you? I’ll come right away. I could do with some new shirts. A pair of shorts too, in fact.”

  “Listen,” I said, “it’s not that convenient just at the moment.”

  He went quiet.

  “OK,” I said. “I might as well come clean. I’m busy with something secret.”

  “Ah, I’m with you,” he said.

  He’d be able to guess now, I thought to myself as Atle came out of the elevator some distance away.

  “It’s just a little thing,” I said. “But I can reveal that it’s something special that I think you’ll like. That’s what I’m hoping, anyway.”

  “As long as it’s not a cake in the shape of some church in Malmö,” he said.

  “Was that their surprise?”

  “Yep.”

  I laughed as Atle came up.

  “Did it taste nice?” I said, putting my index finger to my lips.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, it did.”

  “They obviously love you,” I said. “I do too!”

  Everything felt better going into the florist’s. The shop was bursting with gladioli and I bought a big bunch, all white, another that ran through the spectrum of pale pink to deep red, and another that took in yellow and orange, pink and red. And then, for good measure, two bunches of anemones, red, white, purple and blue.

  “You’re certainly going for it,” said Atle, his arms full of flowers as he waited for me to pay.

  “Sunflowers are your dad’s favorites,” I said. “We ought to buy some of those too, even if they don’t really go with these.”

  “What about you?” he said.

  “What about me?”

  “Your favorite flowers.”

  “Have a guess,” I said. “Gladioli, obviously.”

  The assistant wrapped some sunflowers for me too, and after I’d paid for them we went into the supermarket and bought fruit and mineral water. Åse was starting to get unsettled, twisting in her stroller, grizzling increasingly, but she liked going in the car and once I’d got her securely fastened in the child seat she was uttering only happy little gurgling sounds and was quite serene.

  “I think I can manage on my own from here,” I said to Atle after he’d put the flowers on the backseat.

  “No, it’s no trouble,” he said, getting in. “You’ve already got your hands full with Åse.”

  “A bit, yes,” I said with a smile. “Thanks a lot!”

  He put his sunglasses on and looked out of the side window without speaking as we drove off between the big, box-shaped retail outlets.

  I knew rather a lot about him, but everything I knew came from Helge. I had no idea what the world looked like from his own perspective.

  When we got onto the freeway he took his phone out.

  “Looks like we’ve got a serial killer on the loose,” he said.

  “What?”

  “They’ve found the lads out of that band who disappeared. Three of them killed. The fourth one’s still missing.”

  “Oh my God,” I said, checking my wing mirror before changing lanes.

  “They were playing with fire,” he said.

  “Literally,” I said. “Weren’t they the ones setting churches ablaze?”

  “Not them exactly. But they belonged to the same circles.”

  He rolled the window down on his side and rested his elbow on the frame.

  “How about some music?” he said.

  “What do you want to hear?”

  “Something from your playlist. Anything.”

  “OK,” I said, and put the album on that I’d been playing last.

  His hand patted the beat.

  “Beach House,” he said.

  “Do you like them?”

  “I do, yes.”

  We entered the tunnel, and he closed the window.

  “How are you doing back there?” I said, reaching my hand out for hers. There she was.

  “I liked your exhibition, by the way. Very much, in fact.”

  “The Soul and the Forest?”

  “Have you done any others?”

  I laughed.

  “Not on my own, no.”

  “Anyway, it was really clever. I was impressed. And I didn’t even know you then.”

  “Thank you, Atle,” I said.

  A lull ensued. I left the freeway, slowing down as we went up the exit ramp, pulling out into the city streets that were teeming with people, though fortunately not with traffic. Turning into the street where we lived, I felt under the handbrake for the remote to open the garage door when unexpectedly his hand touched mine. It was as if an electric shock went through me.

  “Here it is,” he said, handing me the remote.

  I took it, casting a glance at him at the same time. He was looking straight ahead as if nothing had happened.

  It must have been unintentional.

  “Thanks,” I said, pressing the button and seeing the door twenty meters ahead of us begin to retract.

  “What’s it like, anyway, being married to my dad?” he said.

  I looked at him before slowing almost to a stop and changing down to first to come safely through the narrow entrance into the confined parking area.

  What was he trying to do? Establish some kind of intimacy between us?

  “That would strictly speaking concern only your dad and me,” I said, turning my head to back into our space. Åse looked at me.

  “Mummy!” she said.

  “What was that? Did you say mummy? Did you?”

  “Mummy!” she said again, triumphantly this time.

  “I was just wondering,” he said. “Always interesting to get different perspectives on a person. Especially when he’s my dad.”

  “You’re right, I’m sure,” I said. “Excuse me a second, I just need to send a text.”

  Åse said mummy! I typed, and sent it to Helge.

  Fantastic! he wrote back. That’s your girl!

  I put the phone back in my bag, undid my seat belt and got out, unfastened Åse and gave her a big hug, while Atle opened the trunk and unloaded all the shopping bags.

  “I’ll come back for the flowers,” he said.

  “Great,” I said.

  Upstairs in the apartment I changed Åse, while Atle put the wine and other drinks out on the worktop before going back down again. I just wanted him to leave, but felt out of politeness that I should at least offer him a coffee or something. After all, he’d given up his morning to help me.

  “Where do you want them?” h
e said, appearing in the doorway with the flowers.

  “Just put them down next to the drinks,” I said.

  “Do you want me to put them in water?”

  “I’ll do that myself in a minute,” I said. “You’ve already been very helpful.”

  “It’s no trouble,” he said. “No trouble at all.”

  “There’s no need, really,” I said. “Would you like a coffee before you go? Or something cold, perhaps. Diet Coke? Beer?”

  “I wouldn’t say no,” he said. “To a beer, that is.”

  Åse sat with her music box, opening and closing the drawers one after another. She looked around for things to put in them, picking up a plastic horse that was too big to fit, looking up at me quizzically.

  I wound the key on the back, making the ballet dancer turn to the music that came out. She shut the lid, and the music stopped.

  Atle studied the pictures on the wall.

  “That wasn’t what you wanted, was it?” I said. “You wanted things to put in the drawers!”

  I picked up some small toy animals, some other figures and a few Lego bricks, and put them down beside her.

  “I grew up with these pictures,” Atle said. “But I’ve never really looked at them until now.”

  “Nn,” said Åse, pulling open a drawer.

  I went into the kitchen.

  “Do you like them, then?” I said, stepping past him on my way.

  “Yes,” he said. “The Gustav Aase especially.”

  “The one with the bird?”

  “Yes, it’s amazing, really. I was afraid of that bird when I was little.”

  “I can well imagine,” I said, taking a can of Carlsberg from the fridge.

  The painting showed a great, black bird reaching its head to the sky, its beak wide open, towering high above the people, who were tiny.

  “Here you are,” I said, handing him the beer.

  He took it with one hand. His other touched my upper arm.

  “Thanks,” he said, looking me straight in the eye.

  I stepped back, glancing toward Åse, who was sitting on her knees watching us.

  He smiled, took a sip, and turned his attention back to the picture.

  I couldn’t say anything. He hadn’t done anything. If I said something, he’d say I was hysterical. He was only being friendly.