“Mr. Wiesveld—” I began. But he raised a hand.
“Sorry Norbert—just a moment. Boys, could I have your attention for one minute please? Gather round, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Mr. Wiesveld climbed out of the van and stood in the light. A circle formed around him.
“Boys,” he began again, his voice trembling. “Umm…as you know, today was our last session…last lesson rather…although it might not have felt like that to you. I do hope that you got something out of it—out of all the lessons I mean—because I for one am very, very proud of you. Proud of every one of you! You were fabulous today. And above all, you Norbert—go on, show us your medal again—yes Norbert, you surprised me enormously. Eighth place—who would have thought! A big hand for our champion!”
I didn’t know where to look. A slow, forced, applause followed. As Mr. Wiesveld continued, I couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying. What I did notice, though, was Jan Boot standing half-concealed behind him, staring me in the eye as he clasped the fingers of one hand into a ring through which he stuck the middle finger of his other hand, to move it slowly back and forth. And then his thick, pasty tongue poked out from in between his lips.
“Norbert, what was it you wanted to say?” asked Mr. Wiesveld with a friendly look.
Now that I could see him clearly, his smooth complexion, the straight part in his hair, and his narrow shoulders, my courage deserted me. What could I possibly say? Thank you for everything? But what did I have to gain? Next week he wouldn’t be there—but Jan Boot and the others would.
They were staring at me. I felt a dull ache rise up deep inside. For months to come, they might call me a fag-friend—or worse.
The evening breeze touched my face and the church bell struck once. I looked sideways into the dark café windows. Although there was nothing to see other than the pale sheen of the net curtains, I was overcome by a desire to crawl right behind them—to be covered, as it were, by a lovely warm thick blanket.
I looked at Mr. Wiesveld, the taste of the fries still in my mouth.
“Nothing,” I said. “Just—see you next week, guys.”
I dropped the medal casually into my coat pocket, turned around, and walked across the gravel to my bike.
It was Saturday morning. We were in our room in the Café Centraal, its dry air reeking of cigars. Soft drinks within arm’s reach and Lina in our thoughts, we sat looking at Mr. Vink and the demonstration board. He hadn’t wasted any time in Lebanon, he announced in his loud military voice, but had devised dozens of new exercises just for us—enough to keep us going for the rest of the season.
He stepped aside so that we could view the first problem.
“White mates in three,” he said. And as a severe frown formed above his caterpillar-like eyebrows, he added: “Ten minutes to solve it.”
Jan Boot solved it first.
TRANSLATED FROM DUTCH BY IMOGEN COHEN
[NORWAY]
JON FOSSE
Waves of Stone
I sit in my boat. I’m alone. It’s twilight. I look toward the land and there, on a black cliff, on the top of a cliff that loses itself in the sea, I see them standing, the man and the woman. She stands in front of him. They both stand there completely still, they stand there as if they’re a part of the cliff. I watch her, and suddenly she moves, she steps toward him.
This was the place you wanted to show me, she says and he glances at her and he glances at the ground and he tries to think of something to say, because what does she mean, it’s like she means something else, something other than what she’s saying, but he doesn’t know what she means by it, and since she’s asking he thinks he has to say something
This is the place, he says
she steps toward the edge
Because you remembered it from your childhood, she says
Don’t go so near the edge, he says
and he sees a dark and transparent man rise up and stand a little behind her, and the man reaches out with one arm and a black wave of stone raises itself up and spreads itself out and clouds and mountain and sky and sea are all rolled aside, as if they’re afraid of his gesture, and he stands there and he sees the man who’s looking at the light in his breast
Don’t go any closer to the edge, he says
Everything’s hidden, she says
Most things are hidden, he says
But hidden things reveal themselves, as much as they can, she says
They don’t reveal themselves, he says
she steps closer to the edge
Don’t go any further out, he says
Why not, she says
Just don’t, he says
Aren’t you afraid, he says
and he sees the man extend an arm toward her and he grabs the man by the other arm and tries to keep the man away from her, because the man shouldn’t come any closer to her, he thinks, but the man tears himself free and moves toward her and so the man stands there and reaches out with his other arm and a new black wave of stone raises itself up and moves along with the first, and the waves of stone crash against each other, and the man suddenly lowers his arms and the waves of stone sink and then they’re like cliffs slowly darkening
Don’t be afraid, she says
and she moves closer to the edge of the black cliff
Please, for my sake, don’t go any closer, he says
and he watches as the man strikes out with both arms now and the stone waves raise themselves up again and again they crash against each other
It’s not dangerous, she says
and the two waves of stone crash and crash against each other and he sees the man lower his arms and the waves of stone fall back, they become two black cliffs, and he sees the man stand there and look down, and suddenly the man is calm and still and unthreatening, simply calm and earnest, that’s how he looks, and the waves of stone are serene though filled with unrest
It’s so far down, he says
I won’t go as far as the edge, she says
and the man comes toward him and the man says to him that he can’t just stand there, that he has to go to her, that’s what the man says and so he begins to move toward her and he passes the man
Are you coming closer or not, she says
and she doesn’t move, she just stands there and looks and looks at the cliff on the other side of the inlet and at the sea and at the sky and clouds
I’m coming closer, he says
and the man grabs him from behind with both arms and holds him where he is
You sound worried, she says
and still she doesn’t turn toward him
I’m not worried, he says
It isn’t dangerous, she says
Don’t go any closer, he says
and he feels the man tighten his grip, and he sees her hair, her long, gray hair, and the man tightens his grip, tightens and tightens until the whole world turns black, not still and black, black and wild
Why not, she says
and she doesn’t turn toward him, she just stands there and looks and looks
Why not, she says again
It’s a long way down, I’ve seen it, it’s such a long way down, he says
Yes, she says
What’s down there, she says
It’s only the sea, he says
Oh yes, she says
and he sees her back, her hair, her long, gray hair, and he sees how the wind lifts her hair and how it becomes a golden snow drifting above the cliff on the other side of the inlet and he sees her and she’s a part of the cliff and she blends with the cliff and he stands there and the man loosens his hold and he sees how she blends with everything, with the sea and the cliff and the sky
I bet it’s beautiful on that cliff, she says
I don’t know if it’s beautiful, he says
It’s like it’s hiding something, she says
Yes, he says
and he looks at the black cliff
It’s your own light you’re
seeing, he says
My light, she says
Yes, your light, he says
No, she says
It’s our light, she says
Your light and my light, she says
That’s what it is, she says
It’s a long way down, he says
and the man puts a hand on his shoulder
Let’s go down, he says
I’m ready, she says
and he sees her move and he moves toward her and he pauses and he watches her and she pauses and turns back
Come away from there now, he says
I’m coming, she says
and he begins to move toward her and he looks at the water below and he moves toward her and the man follows with a hand on his shoulder
Don’t go any closer, she says
and he pauses and he remains standing and he looks down below and she comes to him and she stands next to him
Let’s go down to the water now, she says
and so they begin to descend and I see them descending and he goes first and she follows him. I look again at the shoreline, the evening is still, it’s white, it’s blue, it’s the colors of the sea, the evening is peaceful, but it might as well be gusting and storming, since I’m protected by a cliff that stretches itself high over the inlet. The water around me is calm. There wasn’t another soul around, not until I saw him and her standing way up on top of the cliff, the two that are now descending. It’s evening, the sun is going down, but it’s not quite dark at this time of year, not dark like it should be. I sit and look at the water. Everything is still. It’s still like only an ocean can be. I’m also still. I look at the land, and on the nearest outcropping I see that he stands and beside him she stands, they both stand and look at the cliff on the other side, the cliff under which I’m sheltered, and they begin to descend toward the water, and he goes a little in front of her.
Don’t you see that? he says
and I turn and see that he’s standing with arm outstretched and pointing out across the water
Don’t you see that? he says again
and I see her look in the direction he’s pointing and I look that way too, I look out across the water, and I see a stream of light, the light’s steady and transparent, pouring out from the land and spreading itself to cover sky and sea, and the stream of light persists, gathering itself into a single steady beam that hangs in the air and at the same time flows overhead, and the beam of light is genial and joyful and I see how it spreads itself over the water and how farther out it dissolves and becomes a laughing blend of mist and light and I turn back to the shore and I see his knees collapse under him and he falls to one knee, as if he’s kneeling down to pray, that’s how he falls, I think, and I see him crumple to one side and I see that he remains lying there on his side and she sinks to her knees next to him and she grasps his shoulder and she turns him over and she stands up and she stands there and she seems both desperate and lost and I wonder what’s happening, if the man is sick, what can it be, and perhaps I should go to her and what was the stream of light that hung in the sky and that was so childishly joyful when it dispersed to become a palette of mist and light, I wonder, but he’s simply lying there, and he’s probably sick, you know, and I should help, I think, since he’s sick, I should certainly help, there’s no one else around, we’re so far away, maybe I could do something, I think, as I sit motionless in the stillness and I think that I can’t bear to sit here, I think, I should row over and ask if I can help, if there’s something I can do, I think, and I begin to row toward the shore and around me I see the water, so still and blue and white in the evening, that’s the water, and I can still see the remnants of that laughing palette of mist and light, but it’s weaker now, as if it’s about to disperse, that’s how it looks now, and I turn and look toward the shore and I see that she’s kneeling beside him and it doesn’t seem she’s noticed me, nor heard the sound of the oars, she simply kneels beside him and gazes vacantly in front of her, and what could have happened to him, what was it he saw, you saw it too, you saw what he saw, was it that, I think, and what did he mean, I think, when he saw it and pointed out across the water, I think, no, no that wasn’t what he saw, he saw it but you didn’t, that was what he saw, I think, and I row and row my boat quickly toward the shore, that was what he saw, but you didn’t see it, that must have been what he saw, I think, and that’s why he fell to his knee, and that’s why he crumpled down, and that’s why he’s lying there on the outcrop. I row toward the outcrop. I see that the water around me is peaceful and that the sky is blue. And now there’s a blending of weak gold and a glimmering mist of light overhead. There are only one or two clouds in the sky. I turn my head and I see that she’s stood up and that she remains standing and that she looks out over the water, she simply stands there and looks and looks, she’s full of anxiety as she stands there. I row my boat toward the outcrop, reach the shore, tie up the boat, and then I approach her. She simply stands there and looks and looks out across the water. And there, at her side, in a crevice between two black waves of stone, there he lies, unmoving. I move toward her. I should say something to her, should ask what happened to him, if I can do anything, I should ask, I think, but why doesn’t she say anything to me, why doesn’t she look at me, why is she just standing there, I think and move toward her
Is something wrong? Is he sick? Can I help? I say
and she doesn’t look at me and she doesn’t say a word and I move toward where he lies and I put my finger over his mouth and I part his lips and I see he’s not breathing. He’s not breathing. I look at her and think that I should say he’s not breathing, should actually say it, of course I should say it, I think
He’s not breathing, I say
and she simply stands there, she doesn’t answer
Something must be done, she says
and she looks at me
He’s not breathing, I say
and she looks at him and she looks at me
He’s not breathing? she says
No, no I can’t feel any breath, I say
He’s not breathing, she says
We should, yes, yes, we should do something, I say
and I look at her and I see her kneel down beside him
and she lays her hand on his forehead and he thinks, you, those are your hands, and he can still see her hands, he thinks, but now her hands are on his forehead, her blessed hands, he thinks and he sees her stand there with the other, together with another man she stands there, and she’s small, she’s the smallest of the two people standing there, the most fragile of all, that’s her, and it’s the other who’s talking, she simply stands there, stands in place, but she looks as if she’d rather be no place at all, but no one can do that, she simply stands there, but mostly she looks as if she’d rather be no place at all, he thinks, and he sees her hands, her small fingers, her hands! and he feels her hands on his forehand and he’s already far out over the water, in the palette of mist and light that seems about to disperse, that’s him, but she’s there too, and her hands are there, and her hands are the palette of mist and light that he is now, he’s the palette, shimmering and joyful, the blending of mist and light that becomes an unseen glimmer, he thinks and he’s a part of the unseen glimmer, and those are her hands, her hands and she’s standing there, the day, the moment, and her hands that she rests on his forehead, which is no longer his forehead, but which is the sky and the water, he thinks, and she looks at me
He’s not breathing? she says
No, no I don’t think he’s breathing, I say
Is he dead? she says
Perhaps, I say
and I see how she moves her hand toward his mouth and how she rests her fingers lightly on his lips and now, I think, now, now he’s the wind in her long gray hair, now he’s the water she sees, now he’s the sky she walks under, I think, because now he isn’t, because now he’s a part of the unseen glimmer that gathers water and sky into one, that’s him, I think and I see that
she raises herself up
No, he’s not breathing, she says
and she raises herself up and looks toward the water, and she stands there motionless and looks out at the water and then she turns to me
We should get help, we should do something, she says
and she begins to walk along the outcrop
Should I go with you? I say
No, no, she says
and I see her walk slowly along the shore and I see her long gray hair blow and blend with the gray, soft clouds over the black cliff across the way, and I see him lying in the crevice between two black waves of stone, and at the same time he’s the wind that lifts her hair. I think that I can’t just stand here. But someone has to watch over him, I think. He can’t just lie here alone, I think. I should stay with him, I think. But I can sit in my boat, it’s not going anywhere, I think, and I go down and sit in my boat. I look out at the water. I see that everything meets in the unseen glimmer on the horizon. And it’s as if I’m a part of the glimmer, I think, and I see the glimmer spread itself out and vanish at last from water and sky.
TRANSLATED FROM NORWEGIAN BY KERRI A. PIERCE
[POLAND]
MICHA WITKOWSKI
Didi
had scars on her wrists and came from Bratislava:
“Only an hour away from La Vienne!”
Her name was Milan. A drop-dead gorgeous, sixteen-year-old blond with blue eyes, long eyelashes—like the boy next door from a comic book for good little kiddies. But inside, inside that boy next door, an old, smutty harlot was hiding. A bit of a sloth, too. She worked in the metro, at the Karlsplatz-Oper station. There was a glassed-in bar there, which we called the “Aquarium”: it had a view of the public toilets. Scads of teenaged Poles, Czechs, Romanians, and Russians would circle around—and geriatric Austrians, too, of course. A few of them were beautiful; others, hideously ugly! There was no middle-of-the-road there…
Best European Fiction 2010 Page 23
