A House in Norway

by Vigdis Hjorth

  She was finished. She had had her vision.

  It felt as if she had climbed a huge mountain and was now suffering from altitude sickness. She saw double, her fingers were bleeding, her clothes hung limply on her body. She folded the finished tapestry like North African carpet salesmen fold carpets into small squares, which tourists can take on planes as hand luggage, and put it in the woodshed; if it got stolen, then it was because it was meant to be. She wanted it out of sight and out of her fingers, she didn’t want to know about it any longer. She cleared her studio of thread, fabric and buttons. Sat weakly on her bed. Drove to Fredrikstad and walked on cobblestones to the square in the old part of the city and looked at the statue of King Frederik the Second, who founded the town, the first Norwegian town to be named after a king. Tried to go for coffee in the cafés she had frequented in the summer, but was unable to. That is to say, her legs carried her, but she didn’t follow. She went to church, played at being a tourist, but felt constantly on the verge of tears; her bleeding fingers weren’t her only problem. She wanted to get fitter, but after the smallest climb she would be exhausted and breathless and the winter light hurt her eyes, which were red already. It helped a little when dusk fell, earlier and earlier in the afternoon, as did the wine, which after half a bottle would steady her, and she would write postcards to old friends. One day she bought a warm scarf and snuggled up in it, that helped, she bought gloves, they helped as well, she thought she ought to buy some Christmas presents, but she wasn’t well enough for that. On the day the Christmas decorations were put up in the streets and the lights turned on so the fortified city resembled a jewel at the bottom of the sea, she wandered around for a long time before she drove back to the cabin and made an entry in her diary where she hadn’t written anything since the day she set out. I’m done, she wrote. I did my best. I’m going home tomorrow. And the next morning she carried the tapestry from the woodshed to the boot of her car and piled dirty laundry on top of it, said goodbye to her studio, the alcove where she had slept and the kitchen, and in particular to the obliging elderly couple who asked if she had got a lot of work done. Maybe, she said.

  Then she drove off and once she was on the motorway, it was soon all just a dream, thank God. She kept her eyes on the road, low and lethargic, she knew she was dressed, but she felt naked. She went through the motions, ate a meal at a motorway service station, there was no reason not to eat there, she would get no pleasure from it anyway. She didn’t take the scenic route along the fjord, but the main road through demanding tunnels, staring at red lights from the cars in front of her, she carried on driving as it grew darker, as it grew colder. When she emerged from the Opera Tunnel it was snowing, she would be home in twenty minutes, and then what? With her windscreen wipers on maximum in the fierce snow, she approached her home, turned off the motorway and reduced her speed to forty kilometres per hour, then to thirty; it was late evening and there was no traffic. There were no lights in the windows of the houses, but in a few places fairy lights on bushes and trees. It was a question of taking it slowly. She rounded the bend; there was her house, no lights on. There was snow, but not so much that she couldn’t drive all the way up. She parked next to the Pole’s car and turned off the engine. She heaved a sigh of relief, got out and unlocked the door. Everything was in order, she was home. She walked from room to room, turning on radiators, sensing how unbelievably tired she was, yet overcome with the kind of exhaustion that makes it impossible to sleep. Not that she had to go to sleep right away because there was nothing she needed to do tomorrow. That was the hope in which she placed her trust. That once she went to bed, regardless of the hour, regardless of how late it was, she would be so drugged by the wine that she would fall asleep, and that once she was asleep, she would sleep so soundly and for so long that when she woke up the next day, no matter what time, this vile aftermath would have decreased in intensity. She opened a bottle of red wine and lit a fire in the fireplace. Brought in her luggage and dirty laundry, downed a big gulp of wine, put a load of washing on and sat in front of the fire to warm up. Drank some more before she went outside again and carried the tapestry inside and left it in the basement. Sat down in front of the fireplace again, unable to sleep, drinking in order to pre-empt this unbearable restlessness. She went outside to look for the letter boxes, they sat in slush and snow next to her neighbour’s rubbish bin; large envelopes that contained her mail, which had been retained by the post office and had now been delivered as she had requested, were sticking out of her dented, green letter box. She brought them in and drank more wine in front of the flames while she sifted through them. Letters from the bank, a newsletter from the National Landlords Association, bills, more bills, a couple of postcards and an envelope with her name in handwriting on the front, but no stamp.

  Halvøya 15/11-2012

  Alma.

  Absolutely not agree about meter because place 6,500 kroner contract to live with shock and warm water. Want to remind you that two years ago, I took rent and take 1000 kroner per month for electricity! You must change the contract. You wrote in the contract that the apartment is 50 m2. I measured and apartment is 37 m2! 6 years I place you in 50 m2, but the apartment not these measures. Besides 6 years I have mouse in the house! Many times I tell you this! Grey mouse in the kitchen, there are holes in the floor. You call a builder to cover holes. Two weeks letter boxes lie on the ground, is probably your responsibility. And another thing. 6 years snow clearing your property. That is your duty!

  Slawomira

  That is your duty was underlined twice. Alma was totally caught off guard. She had expected a text message and not got one; had imagined that once she was home, she would have to chase up the Pole. She had assumed that her tenant would opt for the shared meter solution. It had crossed Alma’s mind that she might need to get an estate agent in to assess the apartment and that the estate agent might not agree that she could increase the rent by as much as a thousand kroner. In which case she would have to accept that. Yes, if the estate agent believed that six thousand five hundred was the correct rent, the rent would have to remain six thousand five hundred. It was a long time since the apartment had last been decorated, so it wasn’t unthinkable. The Pole lived very cheaply compared to what others charged for flats of the same size in similar neighbourhoods, but Alma had noticed when she searched on www.finn.no that flats available to rent looked more modern than hers. She hadn’t been inside her own apartment since dropping off the smoke alarms a few years ago. No, she wasn’t prepared for accusations, for such an aggressive tone, exclamation marks and two lines under what was Alma’s duty. How dare the Pole lecture Alma? She was being supported by the council and social services, which had found her a job and a nursery place and made sure that her car didn’t break down, and now she thought she could come to Alma and tell her what her responsibilities were! What did she know about Alma’s responsibilities, about a landlord’s responsibilities? It wasn’t Alma’s responsibility to clear the snow, she had never heard the like, or maybe it was? If the Pole was so unhappy with the situation, so unhappy with Alma, she was free to find somewhere else to live or she could go back to Poland. She wanted to ring the National Landlords Association to find out about her responsibilities, but their office was closed, of course it was, because it was night. She had to call someone, talk to someone, she was completely distraught, the Pole hated Alma. The Pole’s resentment had built up and now it was spilling out. And that bit about responsibilities. She definitely hadn’t come up with that off her own bat, she must have talked to someone about it, and Alma had a mental image of the other Poles to whom she must have complained about Alma, exposed Alma, talked about Alma’s short-comings, useless Alma, who didn’t rake up the leaves in the garden, who undressed on the front steps, she imagined the other Poles arming the Pole with their considerable knowledge of tenants’ rights, telling her that she had Alma over a barrel because of breaches of contract, snow clearing and mice and lying about the
square metres. She ran down to the chest of drawers and found the big ring binder where she kept the paperwork concerning the house, leafed through it frantically and at first she couldn’t find the floor plan that listed the measurements, but she found it eventually. And the apartment measured 47.5 m² and that didn’t include the terrace or the shed, so the Pole was in the wrong, but Alma would bet that she wouldn’t tell the other Poles that when she found out. She would only tell them the things that Alma was doing wrong, it was a betrayal. Ridiculing Alma, depicting Alma as a liar, as irresponsible, when she lived cheaply in Alma’s apartment and had access to a large terrace and a parking space and Alma had helped her in her hour of need, and put up with Alan being imprisoned and her staying in the women’s shelter. Blaming Alma for things which the Pole knew that Alma couldn’t help, showed the Pole’s lack of solidarity and ingratitude. Alma had bought mouse poison, she had bought mousetraps, it wasn’t Alma’s fault that the Pole had a mouse phobia and was too scared to use them. What more could she have done? And she had never heard anything about any holes in the floor. And was Alma not allowed to travel abroad in winter, did she have to stay at home so she could clear snow from the drive for the Pole? They didn’t have a strong man to do it for them, or a snowplough, Alma couldn’t afford one, the Pole must surely know that, know enough about Alma’s circumstances to realise that. She read the letter over and over, drank more wine and grew increasingly angry and out of control. And why should she be blamed for that business with the letter boxes? What could she have done? There were no longer any trees left to which they could be attached; she couldn’t provide a permanent solution until those stupid road works were over. She drank more wine, desperate to call someone, to talk to someone. Her tenant was clearly looking for flaws in Alma, adding up her flaws and Alma had many, that much was true, and now they would be used against her, she had been exposed, she felt violated, she felt challenged, but she intended to defend herself, a deep urge to defend herself welled up inside her, directed at the writer of this letter, these accusations, the Pole and the other Poles she had un-doubtedly written it in collaboration with, just as hopeless at Norwegian as the Pole herself, and now she had made an enemy of Alma. But no one was forcing her to rent from Alma, if she believed Alma to be so negligent; if that was how she really viewed Alma, she was welcome to see how easy it would be for her on a cleaner’s salary to find somewhere else to live in this neighbourhood, and why didn’t she just go back to Poland, if she was so unhappy, no one was stopping her. Alma knocked back more wine and worked herself up, especially about the letter boxes and was unable to stop herself from taking action, she couldn’t hold it together, she was beyond sleep, she re-read the letter over and over and lost her composure and sent a text message to the Pole telling her to move out and giving her two months’ notice as per the contract, but it was no use, she still couldn’t sleep, she lay awake tossing and turning, then she started to regret the text message because it was written on impulse and in anger and while she was drunk and in the middle of the night, she had been unable to help herself, she hadn’t been in control, and that had now become apparent to the Pole. At seven o’clock in the morning and on the verge of tears, she rang her boyfriend, who at first had no idea why she was calling, she had to go back to the beginning and he wasn’t really interested in her problems, she could hear that, but mostly surprised at her agitation. She told him about the letter about the rent increase and the shared meter, before she read him the reply from the Pole, but it was so clumsy and muddled and she had to account for the background to each sentence and still he didn’t seem to understand why she was so upset. He asked her to calm down and keep her cool and consider her next move, and she told him about the eviction text message she had sent, and he said that had been a mistake and exactly the kind of thing she must avoid, and she screamed that she knew that, but what was she going to do now? He didn’t reply immediately, seemingly overwhelmed by the strength of her reaction; it’ll probably sort itself out, he said after a pause, but now she didn’t dare to go out all day, she shouted, for fear of bumping into the Pole and she had no food in the house, she cried, she was a prisoner in her own home! She heard him take a deep breath because he had no idea what to do and when he eventually said something, it was that she should make an effort to calm down and make sure to behave professionally. Call the National Landlords Association to make enquiries and adhere strictly to the advice they gave her. But Alma had heard about disputes dragging on for years, about tenants who stayed put for years even though the landlord wanted them out, who stayed put despite not paying any rent because such cases were obviously not prioritised by the police and couldn’t be resolved in ways other than through laborious and bureaucratic processes that went on and on, and even if contrary to her expectations they found in Alma’s favour eventually, the Pole would be unable to pay her debts after months of unpaid rent and this would mean additional legal work for Alma, at which she was useless, and which she couldn’t afford to pay others to do, while the Pole would undoubtedly be helped by the council or given free legal advice for poor women who didn’t own property, while Alma owned property and was entitled to vote. And since no deposit had been paid, the Pole had nothing to lose, but everything to gain in a conflict with Alma, and she might decide to trash the apartment in revenge or just for the hell of it, while Alma was rendered impotent after advice from the National Landlords Association, forced to pay for the Pole’s hot water because they shared the hot water tank, and if she removed the fuses in the apartment to avoid having to pay for the Pole’s heating, she would in all likelihood be reported to the police and would appear in a bad light in a subsequent court case because she had taken the law into her own hands.

  Exactly, her boyfriend said, and took another deep breath, that was the reason she had to act professionally and maintain her composure. She could hear that listening to her saddened him, her drama and her stream of consciousness outburst, her emotions directed not at him, but elsewhere, he hadn’t known that she was capable of such passion. She had been gone for weeks and when she finally called him, it wasn’t to offer a declaration of love, but this? He didn’t take the situation seriously, she concluded, he didn’t realise the gravity, she thought, but what was she going to do about the text message she had sent last night? Write her an apology, he said, and ask her to ignore it. And though it went against the grain, she did it, she wrote to apologise for her late-night text message. Her tenant must have read it now because she could hear water running through the pipes, so she must have got up and probably checked her phone, but she had yet to reply because she didn’t reply to such things, and this gave the Pole the moral high ground; Alma felt that her night-time texting served only as further evidence of her instability. The Pole would show it to the other Poles, who would roll their eyes and assure the Pole that she had right on her side, that she could beat Alma. But at least she had apologised, that was one good thing, she had sent an apology. Even though the Pole probably wouldn’t show Alma’s apology to the other Poles because she would only ever show them Alma’s bad points and Alma wouldn’t get the chance to give them her side of the story. The pipes clonked and gurgled, Alma’s hot water gurgled, the Pole showered for ages and when the gurgling finally stopped, Alma turned off the light and lay in darkness and heard them go outside and get in the car; when it started and they drove off, she sneaked a peek from behind the curtain and saw the red brake lights before it disappeared. At nine o’clock precisely when the National Landlords Association’s helpline opened, she called and explained her dilemma. She told them about her own formal letter and read aloud the reply from the Pole, but it made no sense to outsiders, so again she had to provide background information for each point about mouse phobia and road works, and the lawyer on the other end, employed by the National Landlords Association for the purpose of assisting landlords with legal questions, listened patiently and was probably used to dealing with irate landlords on the phone because although Alma
kept telling herself to stay calm, she wasn’t entirely successful. When Alma had presented the case as she saw it, he said that the content of the tenant’s letter was irrelevant and had nothing to do with the rent increase. But how should Alma counter it? He said that she ought to write a letter stating she was willing to discuss all points raised by her tenant, but that the most important thing for Alma was to establish whether her tenant accepted the rent increase and which of the proposed solutions she preferred. Yes, Alma would do that, she would do that straightaway; she just had one final question. Was it the landlord’s responsibility to keep the drive clear of snow in the winter? The lawyer from the National Landlords Association said the rules in this area weren’t clear because they applied to maintenance issues and snow clearing could hardly be classified as that. Exactly, Alma exclaimed. And the lawyer from the National Landlords Association said that items such as snow clearing should be spelt out in the tenancy agreement, which should state who was responsible for what. Yes, Alma would draft a new agreement this instant.