The Half Brother: A Novel

by Christensen, Lars Saabye

  Then Mom got up abruptly, rolled up the parcel, stuffed it into the stove and lit it. I walked part of the way home with Peder. He didn’t say a syllable the length of Church Road. Everything was ruined now. Everything was worse than ever. I turned red with shame at the mere thought of it — my own pyjamas the subject of derision on the dining table. The following day I’d murder all those who knew about it. I’d have to kill Peder too. I walked three steps behind him. This was the end. I could have howled. When we reached Ma-jorstuen he stopped, turned to me and smiled. “Perhaps you can have dinner with us next time,” Peder said.

  Nude

  There was a naked man standing in Peder’s living room. He was standing completely still, his arms folded, and it looked as if he were thinking intently about something, or else about nothing at all. His skin was smooth and golden, his muscles well defined and taut over his tall, thin body — and I didn’t dare take in any more than that. He was naked and standing in Peder’s living room. My first thought was that it must be his brother, but Peder didn’t have a brother, and besides, this fellow was at least thirty years old, so that idea was ruled out. “Quiet,” Peder whispered, and took hold of my arm before I’d so much as said a word. We stood in the hall behind a stand stuffed with scarves, coats and hats. “Mom’s working,” he said, his voice even lower than before. And now I could see her too. She sat in a deep chair by the window, over which the curtain was closed, drawing on a sheet of paper. Now and again she looked up, squinted and held the pencil in front of her, as if she were measuring the height under the ceiling. Then she bent over the paper once more. Now I observed that it was no ordinary chair she was sitting in either. There were wheels on it. It was a wheelchair. The naked man still hadn’t moved a muscle. I held my breath too. He might as well have been dead, dead and magnificent and standing tall. Peder all but leaned inside my ear. “I think Mom’s got a crush on him,” he breathed. “She’s been working for three months on just his face.” He gave a small laugh, and now it was her turn to look at us. “Hi, boys!” she exclaimed, stuck the pencil in her mouth, and came over the floor in her chair. She extended her hand, and I took it. She had a big blanket around her that almost buried her completely. But I remember her great, beautiful head of hair — it was auburn, it glowed and shone, as if she always wore a soft crown. “You must be Barnum,” she said. I nodded. “And you had forgotten that Barnum was to be having dinner with us today,” Peder said, and took the pencil from her mouth. “That I hadn’t,” she laughed. “We’ll have food on the table all right. Look here, Barnum.” She showed me her drawing. “It isn’t finished, but what’s your opinion?” I liked the fine, quick strokes. If you closed one eye and just looked at it with the other, it suddenly became quite different, as if the lines went the opposite way and represented something else entirely But I could see what she’d drawn all the same. The face wasn’t quite right, but the rest was unmistakable. Peder sighed. “Don’t plague Barnum,” he said. His mother sighed too. “I’m not plaguing Barnum. I just want to know what he thinks of it, Peder.” “I think it’s finished,” I told her. She looked up at me in surprise (the wheelchair was pretty low to the ground). “Finished! But I’ve barely begun!” “I think it’s finished all the same,” I breathed. Peder’s mom stared at her own drawing and just kept shaking her head, and I was afraid I’d made a fool of myself or offended in some way. “I’m sorry,” I said. She looked at me again. “I think in actual fact you’re right, Barnum. Perhaps it is done after all.” She turned in the direction of the naked man who was standing there as still as before. “That’s us finished, Alain. But say hello to Barnum before you go.” The man called Alain broke as it were from the floor, as if he’d frozen solid there and was suddenly brought to life again by her command. Slowly he came over to me and clasped my hand lightly, no more than the slightest touch. I gave a deep bow but straightened up quickly. It was the first time I’d shaken hands with a naked man. Peder looked away and whistled and pulled me through the living room and up the stairs to the second floor. That took its time, since we had to find our way between unfinished canvases and piles of books, cases, newspapers and clotheslines. But Peder’s room was different. I kept standing by the door. I considered that you haven’t become a real friend until you’ve seen the other person’s room, but Peder hadn’t seen my room yet, and besides, it wasn’t just mine either since it was every bit as much Fred’s; our room was divided by a line you couldn’t get rid of. Peder fell on the bed, groaning. “Good God! Way to go, saying that drawing was finished! Otherwise it never would have been.” There was a huge map on the wall above his desk, and beside the map four clocks showing different times. The first was at quarter to five. But the time on the second was already quarter to eight. “Which one’s wrong?” I asked. Peder laughed. “Neither of them, you boob! Sit down, damn it!” I lay down beside him on the bed. It was wide enough. Peder pointed to the clocks. “The first ones the time at Frogner. The seconds the time in Rio de Janeiro. The third is New York, and the fourth Tokyo.” “Pretty smart,” I told him. “Yes,” Peder agreed. “Because if anyone calls from New York I know exactly what time it is.” “And do they call from New York?” I asked him. “Never,” Peder admitted, and laughed again. “Good to know all the same,” I said. We lay there a while not saying anything. It was strange to think about. It was strange to think that time was different, that someone’s already going home from school — in Rio de Janeiro, for instance — while others are behind and have barely begun their first class, in Tokyo, perhaps. Some of us are late while others have time to play with. It was really unfair. But what happened if you traveled from Frogner to New York? Did you suddenly become eight hours older or younger? It was unfathomable. And if you went around the earth and came back home once more, could you begin all over again, had time gone far enough backward that most things hadn’t been done yet so you could do them again but in a different way? Or else just decide not to do them at all if you regretted what you’d originally done? “Sleeping?” Peder inquired. “Just thinking,” I murmured. “About what?” “Time.” “Time’s only something we’ve invented,” Peder said. “Just like money.” We heard steps down in the garden and hurried over to the window. It was the naked man, Alain, leaving. Mercifully he wasn’t naked now. He was wearing a long coat and a huge scarf wrapped at least eight times around his neck. He turned once he was out in the street and waved; he raised his arm a little and brought his fingers together. But it wasn’t us he was waving to. “What’s wrong with your mother?” I asked. Peder didn’t say anything before the man called Alain had disappeared, and I regretted having asked because I didn’t want to say anything wrong. I didn’t want to spoil anything — that was the last thing I wanted — because I’d gained admittance to Peder’s room. “Is there anything wrong with her?” I swallowed. “She’s in a wheelchair,” I breathed. Peder shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe she just likes sitting.” “Yes, of course,” I said. Peder’s shoulders relaxed again. I was on the point of asking something else but let it pass. Instead we stood there in silence by the window. Time passed in Tokyo, Rio de Janeiro and New York. At Frogner it didn’t. It was just as if we too had become models, while motionless someone drew us. But we didn’t know who was drawing us, nor did we know when the drawing would be finished. Finally Peder said something. “You know how many wieners Gustav Vigeland carved?” he asked me. “Wieners?” “Yes, wieners.” “No,” I said. “One hundred and twenty-one.” “How do you know that?” “Because I’ve counted them. And there’s a hundred twenty-two if you count the statue of the Monolith.” “And a hundred twenty-three if you count the guy in the living room.” “Yeah, Jesus. There’s just one thing worse than living beside Frogner Park.” “What’s that?” “Living beside a church. Like Vivian does. Think of the noise on Sundays, huh?” “Or Christmas Day,” I said. “Must be terrible.” Peder looked at me. “Some people say her Mom has a secret door from her bedroom into the church.” “Who says that?” Peder shrugged again. “
Just people. It’s probably crap.” Then his dad arrived home. We heard him long before we saw him. The rusty Vauxhall made more noise than an exploding train, and the last undisturbed birds flew up from the hedge at the bottom of the garden when he was still just at the rotary in Solli Square. About half an hour later he backed into the garage (though backing’s a bit of an exaggeration). It was more a case of the car jumping into the garage, as if the driver didn’t quite know how to use the pedals and used them like a bicycle’s instead, or maybe it was because there was a problem with the engine, but most likely it was a bit of both. “It took Dad three years and five months to get his license,” Peder said. “Two hundred and eight hours of driving lessons. It cost just over what the car cost.” There was a nasty bang from the garage. Immediately afterward Peder’s dad emerged with his briefcase under his arm and his hat in his hand. He looked up at us as if nothing had happened. Peder opened the window. “Hi!” his dad called. “Is that the dancing bears up there?” “And how often were you stopped by the police today?” Peder shouted back. His dad just laughed and pointed at me instead. “Barnum! Do you like deep-fried black pudding and raw onions?” I didn’t manage to reply but he noticed that my jaw dropped. “Nor me, Barnum!” And then he vanished, and we ran downstairs to find the living room table already set, and it certainly didn’t smell like black pudding and onions, but something I’d probably never tasted before but which smelled good all the same. And Peder’s mom came in with a large dish, and soon afterward Peder’s dad came in too; he bent down to the wheelchair and gave her a long kiss. After that we could sit down. And I kept thinking that only a short time ago there’d been a naked man standing here, and here we were eating dinner in the same room. I had to help myself first, and Peder’s dad watched me closely. “Don’t be scared to eat,” he said. “Don’t plague Barnum,” Peder sighed. “I’m not plaguing Barnum. I’m just saying that there’s plenty more where that came from.” I put an all but transparent slice of meat on my plate and passed the dish to Peder, and immediately realized I ought to have passed it to his mom instead, just in the same way that you get up for the elderly and the infirm on trams. Now I was about to spoil everything yet again and get put out and told never to come back, the thing I dreaded more than anything. But it was too late now, and Peder took a double portion right away, and poured gravy over it until there was no more room left on the plate. He turned to me, armed with knife, fork and napkin. I hadn’t been thrown out after all. “Duck,” he said. “Straight from Frogner Park.” “Be quiet!” his mom laughed, and threw her napkin ring at him as his dad rescued the remainder of what was in the dish. But Peder wasn’t done yet. “Oh, yes. Mom goes on duck hunts in her wheelchair. First of all she feeds them. Then she wrings their necks. Right, Barnum?” “Don’t listen to him,” his mother exclaimed and sloshed apple juice into my glass. “Oh, yes,” his father continued. “Mother gets all our food from Frogner Park. Fish from the pond and swans from the fountain!” “I do not!” “And rabbits in winter. Did you know there were rabbits in Frogner Park?” “Don’t listen to them!” Peder’s mother laughed. “Before she used to hunt with a dog. It pulled the wheelchair just like a sled.” And that’s the way the talk went until they tired of it. Peder ate about twice as much as we did put together and in the same amount of time. And before the dessert was brought out a gradual silence fell; satisfied and sleepy it was. We looked at each other and smiled. I almost couldn’t fathom how happy I felt. Here I was sitting in Peder’s living room eating dinner. I had been in his room. I had laid beside him on his bed. This was somewhere Fred could never come. This was mine and mine alone. Peder’s father ran his fingers through his wife’s great mass of shining hair. “Did you get anything drawn today?” he asked quietly. She nodded and rested his hand on her lap. “Barnum says it’s finished,” she said. He turned in my direction, taken aback. “Do you know about these things, Barnum?” Peder got up and spoke before I could answer, and it was perhaps for the best. “When Barnum says something’s finished, it’s finished. Can we finish this debate?” We nodded, and Peder carried the plates out to the kitchen and was there a fairly long time. I had the urge to go after him but kept my seat, for no one had said I could go and I didn’t want to be cheeky and make them think I was badly brought up and ungrateful. I wanted them to like me, like me in every way. Peder’s father lit his pipe, and a cloud of smoke rose over the table. “Barnum,” he said. “Yes,” I replied. “Barnum,” he repeated. “Yes,” I said, and thought that now it was he who was in the process of spoiling everything, if he too made comments about my name and made fun of it, as most people had a habit of doing. “Barnum,” he said for the third time. “I had a stamp with Barnum on it. An extremely rare American stamp.” At that moment Peder returned with dessert. “And Mom caught these on the dog run,” he said, and put the bowl down on the table. “Poodle ears in cream!” It was actually peaches and cream, but I could barely manage to eat because I was still thinking about the stamp, the Barnum stamp. I had my own stamp, Barnum’s stamp; if ever I became wealthy enough, I’d trace each and every one of them, buy them, and send cards to all those who’d mocked my name. Especially the vicar — he’d get a whole pile from me, all complete with my stamp and Greetings from Barnum. He’d have no time for anything else except picking up my cards. “Come on now, Barnum, have plenty to eat,” Peder’s mother insisted. “Before Peder’s had it all.” I helped myself to another poodle ear, and Peder’s dad lit his pipe again and it clouded over once more. “Today an old lady came into the shop,” he said. “She wanted to sell a stamp. I asked her how much she’d thought of getting for it. She answered that she’d imagined about fifty kroner. Her stamp was worth at least eight hundred.” Another match was required to get the pipe lit, and I could barely see Peder’s father behind the fog. Peder began to grow impatient. “That means you made seven-fifty,” he said. But his dad shook his head. “I couldn’t do that. Deceive the old lady, I mean.” Peder was on the point of getting to his feet, but he’d probably eaten too much and didn’t quite make it. “Deceive!” he exclaimed. “But she was the one who named her price!” “Yes, but she knew nothing about stamps, Peder.” “What did you give her then?” he murmured. “I gave her precisely what I thought it was worth. Eight hundred kroner.” Peder buried his head in his hands and groaned. “I suppose I’ll sell it to a Swedish collector for close to nine hundred,” his dad said, and turned to his wife. “That’ll make a profit of a hundred.” She put her hand over his. “You’re far too nice,” she told him. “He’s far too stupid!” Peder roared. His father put down his pipe and looked at me with a strange smile. “I’m neither nice nor stupid, Barnum. I’m just honest.”

  Peder came with me part of the way home. He needed some air. And his mother wanted to come with us too. He wheeled her over Church Road and took the path beside the empty swimming pool, its diving board resembling a white cloud against the black sky where the moon had risen full, in the midst of a shifting ring of cold. Soon the snow would begin. Peder put his scarf around his mother. All at once I came out with something strange. “You suit snow,” I told her. She leaned backward and looked up at me. “Thank you,” she said. “That was a beautiful thing to say, Barnum.” I was glad I didn’t have to explain what I’d meant. I didn’t entirely know myself. It was just something I suddenly could see, that she’d suit snow. That red hair of hers. Copper and snow. “Thank you,” she said again. And Peder put his hand on my shoulder.

  Then I went alone along Church Road. I walked slowly so that the evening would last as long as possible. At Esther’s kiosk I thought I caught sight of Fred vanishing into a side entrance. I stopped and held my breath. But it was just the moon playing tricks on me. I kept staring there nonetheless, hidden behind the tree on the corner, until the danger was over. The bark felt cold and rough against my cheek. I wasn’t afraid.

  By the time I got home, Mom had already gone to bed. Dad was off on his travels, for his suitcase and coat were gone. Fred wasn’t in o
ur room — he was out wandering — and Boletta was back at the North Pole again. I opened the door onto the balcony and looked at the moon. It had never been so huge, in the midst of its mantle of cold and wind. It was the same moon they could see from R0st and from Greenland, and perhaps from Rio de Janeiro too, if they looked for it hard enough. Boletta had spoken about moon sickness once, that dreams become powerful as steel when there’s a full moon. For moonlight is a flame that welds together reality and all our imaginings. During the war no one suffered from moon sickness because everyone had blackout curtains and wasn’t allowed to go out at night — that was how we won. Maybe that was what came over Boletta, when she had to go to the North Pole — moon sickness. And it didn’t pass until the sun pushed out the moon and melted the fibers in the metal of the dark. I shut the door, closed the curtains and tiptoed in to Mom. I lay down in the bed beside her, even though I knew I shouldn’t any more. For a long while she lay there, quite still, turned away from me. “What is it, Bar-num?” “I’m so happy,” I whispered. She turned around. “You’re happy?” “Yes,” I said. “I’ve been with Peder.” “Then I’m happy too, Barnum. Very happy.” I closed my eyes. “Do you think Fred will be too?” I asked. Mom closed her eyes too. “There’s too much anger in Fred, Barnum. Too much anger. Now let’s try to sleep, shall we?”