by Jon Fosse
Yes, it’s beautiful, he says
Beautiful and white, he says
Everything’s turning white, the trees, the benches, everything, he says
And we’re turning white, she says
We’re turning white too, he says
and then they let go of each other’s hands and he puts his arm around her shoulders and she puts her arm around his back
It just so sad when the snow turns to slush, he says
We have to enjoy it while we can, she says
Yes, while it’s bright and white and lovely, she says
Since it’ll probably rain tomorrow, like usual, he says
and they look at each other and they give each other a kiss
But let’s not think about that, he says
What shouldn’t we think about? she says
About the snow being washed away by the rain tomorrow, he says
And that it’ll turn to slush, she says
That’s how it goes, he says
Yes, she says
and then they go into the playground and he picks up a bit of snow and makes a soft snowball and throws it at her, but misses, and then she picks up some snow and makes a snowball and packs it tight between her mittens and she throws it at him as hard as she can and he ducks and the snowball flies over his head and I stand there in the snow looking at them but they don’t notice me, and I feel how good it is to have stepped out of the car into the fresh air, and then I just stand there and then I see their footprints in the snow, how clear they are in the snow, going along the country road and then turning and going down the path to the playground, and then I start walking the same way and I follow their footprints when they turn and go down the path, the same path I went down earlier today, and I look at the playground and I see the two of them holding each other and it’s like they’re totally swallowed up by each other and I carefully follow their footprints and I see that they’ve let go of each other and she lies down in the snow with her arms at her sides and her legs pointing straight down and then she brings her arms and her feet up, and then she moves her arms and legs down, and then again, several times, and then she’s lying with her feet sticking out and her arms straight at her sides, like she’s frozen stiff, with an open mouth and wide-open eyes, and then I hear him say with fear in his voice that she mustn’t lie there like that, it almost looks like she’s lying there dead, she needs to stand up, he says and she stands up and she says she didn’t mean to look dead and then he says she didn’t really and she says yes well, and she goes over to him and takes his hand
Look how beautiful snow angels are, she says
Yes, he says
Can’t you lie down and make one too? she says
I could, he says
and I walk past the playground and start up the hill on the other side, carefully, step by step, up to the hill-top, and there are no footprints on the path there, I am leaving my own new footprints in the new snow, and then I stop, turn around, and look at them still standing there holding hands and I think it’s strange that they’re so occupied with each other that they don’t notice me, they only have eyes for each other, but if they did see me, did notice me, wouldn’t they be scared, or maybe they’d feel embarrassed? or maybe they wouldn’t care about me being here at all? I think and I see them let go of each other’s hand and he lies down in the snow and does what she did, just faster, with sharper movements, like he’s rushing to get it done almost, and she says no not like that and he stops and she says now it’s her turn, she wants to make a third snow angel, because it’s better with three angels than two, she says, and then he too lies stiff in his snow angel, with feet together, arms at his sides, with wide-open eyes and an open mouth, and she says he mustn’t lie like that, she doesn’t like it, it looks like he’s dead, she says, and just like he didn’t like how she was lying she doesn’t like how he’s doing it, lying there so that he looks dead, she says, so he needs to get up, she says and he stands up and then she again says she wants to make another snow angel, she says, and he goes over to her and they are standing there looking at the two snow angels lying there so pretty, next to each other, one of the angels practically touching the other with one of its wings, but just practically, just almost, or maybe not just almost, yes, the wings are touching each other and she says the snow angels are so beautiful like that that they should just leave them the way they are, she doesn’t want to make a third angel after all, she says and he says that’s what he thinks too, that the two snow angels are so nice that it’s better just to stop with two, that feels right, sort of, he says
Until they get covered in more snow, he says
Or rained away, she says
Yeah, or both, he says
and they take each other’s hands again and walk out of the playground and up the path to the road and I stand there and look at them and he says look, there’s a car there, in the turnoff, it wasn’t there when we walked by earlier, was it, he says and she says she can’t remember if there was a car there before or not, in any case she didn’t particularly notice a car, she says and I stop and stand stock-still for a moment because I don’t want them to notice me, I’m not sure why but for whatever reason I don’t want them to, I think, and then I start down the path again, carefully, taking short steps since it might be slippery, and I go down in my own footsteps that I left there when I went up and I’m looking down and I stop and look up and I see them, she and he are crossing the country road and I see them walk past the turnoff where my car is parked and then I look at the two beautiful snow angels in the playground and then I go into the playground and stop and stand there and look at the snow angels and they are so beautiful, so beautiful that if I tried to paint them it would turn out to be a bad painting, compared to the sight of the snow angels, I think, because that’s how it is, that’s how it almost always is, what’s beautiful in life turns out bad in a painting because it’s like there’s too much beauty, a good picture needs something bad in it in order to shine the way it should, it needs darkness in it, but maybe, can I maybe paint a picture of two snow angels dissolving as they melt away? could I make a picture like that shine? I think and I know at the same moment, at this very instant, right now, that another picture has lodged inside me, it will be there forever, another picture has entered into me that I’ll have to try to paint away, I think, and I notice at the same time that it’s extremely cold now, I really need to get back into my car and then make it to Bjørgvin before it gets too late, so I really ought to get driving now, I think and I see the footprints in the snow, four of them going down, right next to one another, two bigger and two smaller, and four of them going up, right next to one another, two bigger and two smaller, and then mine going down after the four, and my footprints look so lonely, so alone, and so uneven, so erratic, as if I wasn’t entirely steady on my feet, as if I was drunk, or staggering a little, I think, but I’m not drunk, it’s been many years since the last time I had anything to drink, so maybe it’s just my gait that’s become a little unsteady, I think, but anyway it feels like I’m walking steadily and evenly like I used to, or maybe I didn’t use to, I think and I go straight to the car, stamp the snow off my feet, brush snow off my trouser legs, sit down in the car and start it and pull out onto the road and in a kind of stupor I start driving south towards Bjørgvin, but I need to be sharper, because there are no tyre tracks on the road, everything’s white, and I need to stay on the road and not drive into the ditch, I think, and then I see in the light from the headlights the two people I saw making snow angels walking hand in hand and he says it’ll sure be nice to get home now and she says they’ll be home soon
Ales and Asle, he says
Asle and Ales, she says
and I drive carefully past them and I drive farther south and I think that it was so beautiful seeing those two snow angels in the playground, and I’m absolutely sure that I saw what I just saw, it’s not just something I saw in a dream or imagined, what I saw earlier today wasn’t and t
he two of them lying under the black overcoat wasn’t because that was the same long black coat he was wearing just now, I think and it’s a coat like the one I’m sitting in now, I think and I fall back into a kind of stupor without any thoughts, I just drive south and a little farther along I catch up to a car that leaves tyre tracks on the road and then it gets easier to drive, I can follow its tracks, I think and it’s really something, what I’m doing, I think, driving from Dylgja to Bjørgvin and back home and then back to Bjørgvin again on the same day, late, in snowy weather, but, yes, it feels like the only answer, I think, and I fall into that stupor again and I think that the reason I like driving so much is that my thoughts go away, I’m just concentrating on driving and so no thoughts bother me, no sorrows come over me, I’m just driving, no more no less, and time passes and I drive south and I get closer to Bjørgvin and not far up ahead I can take a right and drive down a road and then get to the block where Asle’s building is, in Sailor’s Cove, and I think it hasn’t snowed any more since it stopped snowing at the playground but it was snowing in Bjørgvin too, everything is white and beautiful in Bjørgvin too, even if there are tracks, of both tyres and footsteps, and I think I should ring Asle’s doorbell just in case, even though he’s probably not home, or in any case won’t open the door for anyone, and I turn off the main road and drive down to the building where Asle lives and park on that block and then go over to the front door of the building and press the doorbell button next to his name, and I stand there and wait, but of course no one comes to open the door, and I ring Asle’s bell again and this time I hold the button down for a long time, and then I let go, I stand there, wait, but no one comes, and of course Asle’s not home, I didn’t think he was, he’s probably at The Alehouse, at The Last Boat as it’s called, he’s probably sitting alone at a table there, I think, because he always goes to The Alehouse with all the retired old sailors, everything’s cheap there, and sometimes he buys dinner there too, dinners are cheap and the beer is cheap plus you can get a shot of something stronger for a reasonable price, I think, yes, I don’t believe he ever goes to any other restaurants or bars, not any more, he always goes to The Alehouse, to The Last Boat, so that’s where I’ll go and look for him, I think, and I have my regular parking place not far from there, the car park at The Beyer Gallery, and I get back into my car and start it and think now I’ll drive straight to The Beyer Gallery and it’s almost unbelievable how much Beyer has helped me, I think, not only did he give me my first show in The Beyer Gallery back when I was still going to The Art School, and it rarely or ever happened that anyone debuted there while they were still at The Art School, yes, to tell the truth I was the first artist he ever showed before that artist had graduated from The Art School, yes, that’s what Beyer said, and even more unbelievable was that all the paintings in my debut show sold, and since then it’s been Beyer who’s sold my pictures, yes, I don’t know what I would have done without Beyer, and I remember very well the first time I saw him, it was the first time I set foot in The Beyer Gallery too, it was Ales who brought me there, she’d been in The Beyer Gallery many times, ever since she was a girl, even when she was little her parents used to take her along to exhibitions, and the first exhibition I saw in The Beyer Gallery was of paintings by Eiliv Pedersen, who would later be my painting teacher at The Art School, I think, and ever since my first show at The Beyer Gallery it was Beyer who’s sold my paintings, I think, and he always manages to sell almost all of them, but sometimes, in the first couple of years, I have to admit, they sold for a terrible price, to tell the truth, but most of the pictures sell for a good price now, and there are always a few that don’t sell, the best pictures too a lot of the time, and Beyer doesn’t sell those ones cheap any more, he stopped doing that a long time ago, he’d rather put them in what he calls The Bank, the side room of the same gallery, where he keeps in storage the pictures that aren’t in the show, and Beyer has the idea that the pictures that don’t sell in Bjørgvin might sell in Oslo, because his good friend Kleinheinrich, who runs The Kleinheinrich Gallery in Oslo, likes having a show of my pictures as soon as there are enough of them, so when Beyer has enough unsold pictures sitting in The Bank The Kleinheinrich Gallery shows them in Oslo, eventually there’s enough for a show in Oslo, about every four years, and since then I’ve sold almost all of my paintings, and then Beyer puts aside the paintings that didn’t sell in Olso either because sooner or later he’ll show them in Nidaros, at The Huysmann Gallery, because Beyer knew Huysmann well, he said, Huysmann ran the best gallery in Nidaros, Beyer said, yes, that’s what he thought, Beyer said, and sooner or later there’ll be a show in Nidaros too, I think, and Beyer himself also owns a large collection of my pictures, he’s bought a picture for his collection from every one of my shows, and a few years ago when it was hard to sell my pictures for a good price he bought lots of them himself, and then other people copied him and bought pictures too, Beyer said, no I truly have no idea where I’d be without Beyer, I think, and now I’m going to have another new show at The Beyer Gallery soon, every year I have a show there before Christmas, a kind of Christmas show, yes, that sounds bad but the annual show I have there is just before Christmas, during Advent, because that’s the best time to sell pictures, or in any case my pictures, Beyer says, and by now I have enough pictures waiting in Dylgja for the show this year, because I paint and paint, day in and day out, so now I just have to drive my paintings to Bjørgvin and if I’d thought about it I could have brought them with me earlier today, of course, but that would have been too much, I think and I drive to The Beyer Gallery where I always park my car when I’m in Bjørgvin
You can park in front of the gallery whenever you want, Beyer told me
and I said thank you and then Beyer taught me how to drive out of Bjørgvin from The Beyer Gallery and into Bjørgvin to park in front of The Beyer Gallery, which is located more or less in the centre of Bjørgvin, so that’s where I’ve parked my car all these years, and other than that I never drive into Bjørgvin or any other city, I like driving but not in cities, in cities I get confused and anxious and feel lost and can never find where I’m going and sometimes I’ve gone down one-way streets the wrong way and everything’s a mess, but I did learn how to drive to The Beyer Gallery and how to drive away from it, Beyer met me in Sailor’s Cove once and sat in my car next to me and he told me everything I needed to do to drive in and then we drove into Bjørgvin, to The Beyer Gallery, and then we turned around and drove out of Bjørgvin, and at Sailor’s Cove we turned around and drove back in to The Beyer Gallery again, and then we drove out of Bjørgvin again, to Sailor’s Cove, and then in to The Beyer Gallery again, we took many trips in and out and eventually Beyer said now I should be able to remember the way, and I said that I thought I could, and I could, I think, and having learned how to drive to and from The Beyer Gallery has come in very handy, that’s for sure, and without Beyer’s help I’d probably never have dared to drive into the centre of Bjørgvin, most likely not, but now I simply drive straight to The Beyer Gallery at 1 High Street and park in front of the Gallery, as long as there’s an empty space there, and there almost always is, if not I just sit and wait a little in the car and then a space always opens up, I think, and if it takes too long then I drive out to Sailor’s Cove and turn around and then drive back, and it’s never happened that there wasn’t a space in front of The Beyer Gallery then, I think, and I know the quickest way to walk from The Beyer Gallery to The Alehouse, you just go down High Street for a bit and then down one of the little narrow passages, The Lane, which at its narrowest is honestly no more than three or four feet wide, and when you go down The Lane and out onto the street you see The Fishmarket just a few yards to the left, and then you cross that and take the street to the right along The Bay to get to The Alehouse, and next to The Fishmarket there’s also The Prison, but if you take a street to the right after you get to The Lane and go to the first crossing, then go down the side street a little way, you’ll get to The Country I
nn, it’s on The Wharf itself, with The Coffeehouse on the ground floor, yes, and I’ve taken these streets so many times that on the whole I have no trouble finding my way even when it’s totally dark, I think, now, at night, all the snow that’s fallen is shining, and the streets are partly lit by the light coming from the windows of all the buildings, I think, and I park my car in front of The Beyer Gallery and then go down High Street and then the snow starts falling and it’s not just a flurry, the snow’s really coming down, big wet snowflakes, and I stop, I squint, I run my hands through my hair and brush some snow from my eyes with the back of my hand and it’s unbelievable how hard the snow is falling, now I just want to get indoors, and well it’s not that far a walk to The Alehouse, to The Last Boat as it’s called, and Asle will probably be sitting there, I think and I feel how tired I am, so tired, so if Asle isn’t there I’ll go straight to The Country Inn and ask if they have a room for me, I think and I brush snow off of my hair and eyes again and I walk on and I think that I’m tired, I’m truly exhausted, so maybe I should go to The Country Inn first and reserve a room right away and then go look for Asle in The Alehouse, and if he’s not there I’ll go straight to The Country Inn and lie down, in a warm room, on clean sheets, I think and I keep walking and I start down The Lane and that’s not someone lying in the snow up there, is it? yes it definitely is, it’s a person, that’s what it looks like, I think, yes someone’s there in the snow, covered with snow, with his head up on a little step, facing a building’s front door, a person is lying in the snow that’s falling and coming down on the person lying there and I hurry over to him and it’s him! it’s Asle! yes, Asle’s lying there in the snow! how is that possible? Asle is just lying there in the snow and he seems lifeless, it’s like he’s lying there asleep, it’s like he just fell, toppled forward, and he’s lying there and the snow is falling and covering him and I hurry over and grab his shoulder and shake him from side to side and he says hello, well then, how lucky, yes he’s alive but he wasn’t conscious when I got here and I think what, what happened?
