Scenes from a Childhood

by Jon Fosse

  He shot my cat, she says.

  You’re sure? I say.

  She nods.

  Thank you for telling me, I say.

  It’s horrible, she says.

  He can’t have shot my dog, if he did then someone needs to kill him. He’s got to die. I look down at the road and I softly say to myself that fucking devil and then I shake my head, but he can’t have killed my dog, he can’t have, and then I say that I’m gonna fucking pay that bastard a visit.

  What are you going to do? she says.

  Go look for my dog, I say.

  But the dog’s dead, she says.

  Then I’ll find my dead dog.

  I feel her looking at me and I look up at her.

  Thanks a lot, I say.

  And I start hurrying up the road. I have to go see if he’s really shot my dog, and if he did then I have to find the dead dog. I have to go up to his house and look. I hurry up the road. I hear her bicycling after me. I go around the bend, up the road. I can already see his drive. I hear her bicycle right behind me. I go further. I get to his drive. I look up at his house, a new white house. And there are no lights on. I go up the drive. I go up to the house. I look around the yard but I can’t see the dog. I walk along the front of the house, look around, but there’s no dog. I look back, she’s standing on the side of the road holding the handlebars of her bike, looking up at me. But he can’t have killed the dog, you can’t just do that. He can’t have killed my dog. I go over to where the hill starts to slope down to the road. I see blood. I see red blood in the green grass. I see some clumps of hair. He’s killed the dog. I knew it. He’s killed my dog and now someone needs to kill him. I’ve never killed anyone but now I’m going to. Someone’s got to do it. He needs to die. I say: That fucker. I say: I’m gonna kill that fucker. I bend down, touch the blood, and it sticks to my fingers. I pick up a bloody clump of hair and I smell it. I recognize my dog’s smell. He’s killed my dog and now I’m going to kill him. I stand up and put the clump of hair in my pocket. But where did he take the dog? Because the dog’s not here. And I just saw him drive down the road. I can’t stay here. I’d better go back and then ask where the dog is later, because I have to bury my dog after all. That fucker’s killed my dog and I’m going to kill him. I cross the yard, go down the drive. I see her holding her bike down by the side of the road. She looks at me. I go down the drive, cross the street, stop next to her.

  He killed my dog, I say.

  She looks at me and I hold up my hand, showing her the blood on my fingers. She nods.

  But the dog wasn’t there, I say.

  Just some blood, she says.

  I nod.

  I’ll have to ask him what he did with the dog later, I say.

  She looks at me.

  That’s what he does, she says.

  Thank you for telling me.

  I walk down the road, turn around, see her get on her bike and start pedalling up the road. I walk. He’s killed my dog and now he’s going to die. That fucker’s going to die tonight, I say. I’ll kill him, I say. That fucker’s gonna die, I say. And yes, I heard something, it could have been a shot, but I didn’t want to hear it. I walk down the road. And that fucker drove right past me when I was going up the road to look for my dog. That fucker. I say: Tonight that fucker’s gonna die. I walk. Tonight when it gets dark I’ll kill him. I’ll stab him. Tonight that bastard’s going to die. I’ll stab him right through the heart. Tonight, when he’s asleep, I’ll take care of him. Nothing complicated. I’ll stab him when he’s lying in bed asleep and kill him. I’ll stab him to death. I’ll row my boat to the cove below his house, then I’ll go up to the house, find a way in, and stab him to death. There’ll be an open window in his house I can get in through, or maybe he won’t have locked the basement door. I’m going to kill him. But first I have to get the dog, the dog needs to be buried. I walk down the road. I’ll kill that fucker, I say. It’ll be tonight, I say. He’s going to get it straight through the heart. I’ll kill him. I see my drive, I walk fast, walk up the drive. Now I’ll stay here and wait for him to drive by, then I’ll go up to see his house, find out what he did with the dog, and then bury the dog. And tonight I’ll kill him. I go up my drive. I walk around the corner of the house. And I see my dog. I see my dog. I see my dog lying on the porch, my dog is lying stretched out on the porch, his head is smashed and bloody. I feel my body stiffen and my breath disappear. I feel an emptiness. My body is rigid. My dog is lying on the porch. I rush over to the porch, put my hands under the dog, pick the dog up, and then I press the dog to my chest, rest my cheeks against the fur. I stand with my cheeks against the dog’s fur. I say: You poor boy. I dig my fingers into the fur. I say: You poor boy. I squeeze the dog against my chest. I say: You poor boy, what did he do to you, poor boy. I see blood on the porch. And I can’t look at the porch. I go over to the front door, holding the dog against my chest with one hand and with the other I open the door and then I’m holding the dog against my chest with both hands again. I walk into the hall. I’m in the hall and holding the dog against my chest. I go over to the living room door, open it, and I say poor boy and I go into the room, over to the window, and look out. I stand there holding the dog to my chest and I look out the window, down at the garden. I’ll bury the dog in the middle of the garden, I’ll bury him so I can see his grave from my window. Yes, my dog will rest in peace in the garden. And I might as well bury the dog now? The dog needs to be buried right away. I have to dig my dog down into the earth. I have to bury my dog. I can probably bury the dog right now? There’s no reason to wait, is there? I should just bury my dog. I look down at the garden, I’ll bury the dog in the middle of the garden. And I press the dog against my chest. I hear a car drive by, I look down at the road, it’s the man by the bend’s car. I look at it. He’s going to die tonight so let him drive around for now. Today he can drive all he wants. Tonight he’s going to die. I’m going to kill him. I look down at the road, try to see his face, and he’s driving slowly by, looking up at my house, then he sees me, he sees me standing in the window holding the dog to my chest and he looks down. I look at him. I see him speed up, the car disappears up the road. I’m going to murder that fucker, I say. I’ll kill him tonight, I say. While he’s sleeping, I’ll stab him, straight through the heart. I’ll kill him. Tonight he’s going to die. I’ll kill him. Because he needs to die. I squeeze the dog to my chest, dig my fingers into his fur. But I have to put my dog down, I can’t stand like this holding a dead dog. I have to put the dog somewhere. Maybe put the dog in my bed? I have to put the dog in my bed. First I’ll go put the dog in my bed, then I’ll go dig a grave, that’s what I need to do. I hold the dog against my chest and say poor boy. I go out into the hall, start upstairs, and I say poor boy and I go upstairs, along the corridor, open the bedroom door. I go in, over to the bed, and put the dog down on my bed. I lay the dog on my pillow, put his head where my head goes. I can’t look at his head blown apart by the gun. Don’t look, don’t look. I stroke the dog’s back, rub his fur a little. Poor boy, I say. I can’t look at his blown-apart head. Then I pet his whole body again, dig my hand into his fur, pull my hand away, walk out, shut the bedroom door, go back down into the living room. I sit down in the chair diagonally facing the window. I look out, the fjord is calm, not a wave in sight. I look at the mountains across the fjord. I see my boat floating at the landing in the calm water. And tonight he’s going to die. When it gets dark I’ll row around to his house, then I’ll go up to his house, get in, and stab him while he’s sleeping. Tonight I will kill someone. If I stab him to death with a knife I’ll have to get very close to him, maybe it would be better to use something else, a pitchfork maybe, I do have a pitchfork down in the basement. I can try to kill him with a pitchfork and if that doesn’t work I can use a knife. I have a knife with a long sharp blade. I can stab him with that knife. Tonight I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill that bastard, I say. He’s going to die tonight, I say. I’m going to kill him, I
say. But first it has to get dark or at least darker. Then it’ll happen. I’ll kill him. I get up, go over to the window, look down at the road. I see the woman who told me my dog had been shot biking up, she brakes, gets off the bike, puts the bike down next to her at the side of the road. I see her come walking up the drive. So here she is, she wants to talk to me. Maybe I should go outside then, meet her. She wants to talk to me. I go outside, stand on the porch, look at the corner of the house, she comes walking around the corner of the house. I look down at the blood on the porch. I can’t look at the blood. I look up and nod at her.

  Did you find your dog? she asks.

  I nod.

  Where? she says.

  I point down at the porch and stare at the spot.

  You found the dog right in front of your door, she says.

  I nod.

  You can see the blood, I say.

  She looks down.

  I just thought I should tell you he’s home now, she says.

  I saw him drive by, I say.

  Yes, that was him, she says.

  Thank you for coming to tell me, I say.

  It’s horrible, she says. Leaving a dead dog in front of your door like that.

  I look at her, then look down.

  I just wanted to tell you, she says.

  I look up, nod at her.

  Well, take care of yourself, she says.

  I nod again, then I see her turn and disappear around the corner of the house. I go into the hallway, shut the door behind me, go back into the living room. I stop in front of the window, see her get on her bike. And then she looks up at me, I nod at her but she looks down. She pedals off. I sit down in the chair. Tonight he’s going to die, I should maybe start getting ready. It’s already late, it’s getting dark too. It’ll happen soon now. He’s going to die tonight. I’m going to kill him with filth, shit, piss, but I’ll keep it simple. I’ll stab him to death, right through his bastard heart, so that his blood mixes with the shit and piss. I’ll kill him with a pitchfork. First dip the pitchfork in manure till it’s covered then stab him through the heart. Tonight I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill him. I get up, stand in front of the window, look down at the garden. And I’ll bury the dog in the middle of the garden. I go over to the bench next to the wall and lie down on the bench. I clasp my hands under my neck. I stare straight up. Tonight that fucker’s going to die, I say. I’m going to stab him to death. I’m going to row over to the cove under his house, go up to the house, get into the house, there must be one open window somewhere in the house and I’ll get in through it. I’ll go to his bedroom and while he’s sleeping I’ll kill him. Stab him through the heart. Kill him. I need to find a pitchfork. And I should wear a large old raincoat, tie the hood as tight as I can around my face, because his wife or his kids might wake up and see me. I’ll wear some old boots too. When I’m done I’ll sink the pitchfork and the raincoat and boots into the fjord. I’m going to kill him. I get up from the bench and go over to the window, see that it’s darker. I say: Well then time to get going. I say: That fucker’s going to die. I go down to the basement. I see the pitchfork standing in the corner. I pick up the pitchfork, turn it around, look at the fork. The tines are thin and shiny. I put my little finger on the tip of the middle, longest tine, it feels sharp, I feel the other two tines, those points are sharp too. I say: Tonight he’s going to die. I put the pitchfork back down. And tonight that bastard’s going to die, enough is enough, tonight he’s going to die. And now I have to not be seen because if I am they’ll suspect me of the killing. Now I have to make sure no one sees me. I see a raincoat lying on some boots. I put the raincoat on, snap it up. I’ll put the hood up later. I take off my shoes, put on boots. I give a little kick with one foot, the boot fits loosely. I go over to the workbench, pick up the little pocket torch, put it in my raincoat pocket. I pick up the pitchfork. And I start to laugh. Now the dog is dead and I can’t help laughing. I stand in the basement laughing. I’m laughing in the basement but my dog is dead, my dog’s been killed, and I’m going to kill the man who killed my dog. I keep laughing. My dog is dead and I can’t laugh any more. I stop laughing. I go out, shut the basement door behind me. I start walking down the drive. Now I mustn’t be seen because if anyone sees me they’ll suspect me of the killing. Now I can’t let anyone see me. I hurry down the drive, stop, look down the road, up the road, but I can’t see anyone and don’t hear any cars. And it’s almost dark. I cross the road and start down the path through the quarry to the shore. And now he’s going to die, it’s going to be soon, he’s killed my dog and now he’s going to die. I see that the water in the fjord is calm. I see my boat floating near the shore, almost motionless. I go out onto the landing. I pull the boat in and then carefully put the pitchfork in the front of the boat pointing away from me, with the prongs hanging out past the bow. I climb on board, untie the ropes, shove off. I sit down on the middle bench, put out the oars. I start rowing. And now I can’t be scared, I can’t hesitate, now I have to just do what I’ve planned then row back home and go to sleep. I row up along the shore. Now nobody can see me. I row up along the shore. And I say to myself, softly, that he’s killed my dog and now he’s going to die. I row. And now I have to just follow my plan. I can’t do anything else. And now I can’t let anyone see me. I can’t hesitate, can’t get scared. There’s no sound of any cars, it’s quiet. I row. And I turn around on my bench, see the pitchfork sitting in the front of the boat. I knew the pitchfork was sitting in the front of the boat but I still had to look at it. After I’ve done what I have to do, I will row far out into the fjord then tie the sack around the pitchfork and then the pitchfork will disappear into the fjord. I row quietly up along the shore. I look at the land, the houses are dark, there are only a few bedrooms with lights on. I row. And nobody sees me. Now I have to just take it easy, get it done, then come back home. And then I have to bury the dog. I row past a headland. Now I have to just row a bit further, then row into the cove under his house and then do it. I raise the oars, the boat glides forward. I turn around on the bench and look at the house where that bastard lives. The house is dark. And now it’s time to figure out where his bedroom is so that I can get into the house. But I’ll manage it. For tonight that bastard is going to die. I look at his house. The house is dark. I put the oars in the water again, row some more. I row. Now I need to take it slow, don’t get confused now, just take it slow. I row into the bay below his house and start to row in towards land. Now no one must see me. And now I mustn’t be scared. I raise the oars, turn around on my bench, look towards the bow, there’s the pitchfork. I put the oars back in, row further, in towards land. I row. Now I have to not think about anything, just row. I’m rowing, I’m rowing quietly now. And now as long as the basement door isn’t locked. I row in towards shore. I row. I turn around on the bench and see that I’ve almost reached land. I stop rowing, let the oars lie in the water, the boat just glides forward. The boat glides gently towards land then the keel scrapes on some stones, the boat stops. I pull one oar in, take the other and carefully push the boat back into the fjord so that it floats free. I push the oar down against the sand and shove the boat in towards land, the boat glides forward, then the keel scrapes the bottom again and the boat stops. I go to the front of the boat, take the oar in, and step out into the fjord. It splashes when my boot hits the surface of the water. And now no one must hear me. But the sound disappears quickly. I get the other boot into the fjord almost without a sound. I move one foot gently forward, there’s almost no sound at all, then the other foot. I hold the bow of the boat with one hand. I walk slowly, step by step, up onto the shore, pulling the boat behind me. I slowly pull the boat up onto the stones of the beach, the keel scrapes against the stones of the beach. I drag the boat, lean in over the bow, and pick up the pitchfork handle. I stand with the pitchfork in my hand, holding it by the middle of the shaft. And now he’s going to die. I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill him. I start walking in from the shore.
I look for the path leading up to the main road, the path goes along a stream, and on the other side of the main road a drive leads up to his house and garage and yard. Now I’m going to kill him. Now’s the time. I’m going to kill him. That’s the only thing to do. I’m going to kill that fucker. The worst thing that could happen is for me not to be able to kill him. I have to do it. That fucker needs to die. I won’t get caught, but it’s worse not to kill him than to get caught. I can go to jail, that’s fine. That doesn’t matter to me. I’m not so scared of that. I’m not scared of anything. I walk across the beach and see the trace of a stream, almost dry, just a little babbling water, so that’s where to go, the path is there. I walk over to the stream bed and find the path. I start walking up the path. I say: That fucker is going to die. I walk up the path, along the stream bed. I’m carrying the pitchfork by the middle of the handle with the tines pointing back behind me, and I’m going to kill that fucker. I’m going to kill him. I’m going to do the right thing. I walk with a steady step, not slow, not fast, not making too much noise, not making no noise, just normal walking. I say: I’m going to kill that fucker. I see the main road. I stop. I have to not be seen now. I stand and listen, I can’t hear anything, no car, no footsteps. I start walking again, up to the main road, I stop, I listen but I don’t hear anything. All right here we go, I say. And I go out onto the main road. I cross it as quickly and quietly as I can, over to his drive. I say: I’m going to kill him. I walk up his drive. Now I have to do what I’ve planned. I look at his house. It’s quite new, a white house. There is a porch on the house and a lot of windows in the house. Goddamn bastard, I say softly. I say: I’m going to kill that goddamn bastard. I walk normally with regular footsteps. I see an open window in the side of the house facing me, that window must be in his bedroom, the room where he’s lying and sleeping and where he is about to be killed. Now as long as the basement door isn’t locked. I go up the drive and I say that fucking bastard. And I get up to the yard and I say that goddamn bastard. I see his car parked in the yard, a new car, a big car. I stop in the yard. I say: Now I’m going to kill. I walk past the car. It’s almost over. I say: I’m going to kill him. I go over to the house then walk along the side of the house, the front side, near the wall. And now no one can see me from the main road. And I’ve never seen his house from this side before. And of course the main entrance has to be on this side of the house. Why didn’t I think of that? About where his bedroom has to be. I’m going to kill him. Take his life. Take him out. Put an end to him. Kill the shit out of him. It’s time. Bastard fucker. I walk alongside the house, near the wall, get to the entrance, go past the entrance, walk further along the house, get to the corner of the house, go down along the other side of the house, near the wall, walking calmly, with regular footsteps. Not once am I scared, I’m not the slightest bit scared. I’m not scared, I’m just calm. I walk down the side of the house, near the wall. I start walking down the other side of the house towards the basement door. I can see the basement door. I walk alongside the house, near the wall, towards the basement door. I go over to the basement door. I’m breathing faster. I push down on the door handle, pull lightly on the door handle. And the basement door opens. The basement door opens. I open the basement door so carefully. I’ve done it. I’m going to take out that goddamned bastard. Kill him. I’m going to get rid of that damn bastard. Kill him. I’m going to fucking kill that bastard now. I go in through the open basement door, pull it shut a little but let it stay ajar. I’m standing in the hallway. It’s dark. I realize my heart is beating hard and I’m breathing fast. I have to not think. Everything’s planned already, just go upstairs, then to the right, because his bedroom is upstairs on the right, and he’s lying in his bed in an upstairs room and now he is going to die and his wife is lying next to him, she’ll start screaming, but she won’t be able to do anything, she’ll just scream, then the children will wake up, and then they’ll start screaming, that’s how it’ll happen, that’s how it’ll be. He’ll be lying there, the sheets will be red, and all around him there’ll be screaming. I’m going to kill him. That’s how it’ll be. I start up the stairs. I walk slowly. I stop, put the pitchfork down, lean it against the staircase wall. I pull the hood up over my head and tighten the string, it covers most of my face, I pull the hood strings with both hands, that should cover my face, now just my eyes and nose are showing. I pick up the pitchfork again, keep going up the stairs and then I’m standing in the upstairs corridor, so now I should go to the right, open his bedroom door, it’s just to the right there, because there’s his bedroom, he’s lying there, the fat bastard, asleep, the fucker, lying there wheezing, with his gold watch and gold rings, but now it’s over for him, now he’s done for, he’s done for. I hold the pitchfork high on the handle in my right hand, hold it with the fork forward, tines pointing down, I feel like I’m about to start laughing but I can’t laugh now. I take the little torch out of my pocket with my free hand, turn it on, and a narrow strip of light spreads across the corridor floor, I raise the torch and the beam of light hits the bedroom door. I turn off the light. I walk down the corridor. I look at the bedroom door. I have to go over there now. I go. I stand outside the bedroom door. I push down on the door handle. I gently push the bedroom door open and it doesn’t make a sound and all I see is a dark room, then I can see a closed curtain and a bed under the window. I go over to the bed. I raise the torch, turn it on, let the narrow strip of light skim over the bed, and there he is, there he is, lying there on his back and his mouth is gaping open, he’s breathing heavily. I turn the torch off, put it back in my raincoat pocket, then go over to the bed, stand next to the bed, take hold of the blanket, yank it off his body, and he breathes nooo and I notice him shaking his head a little from side to side and his hands grope for the blanket and he breathes nooo again. I grip the pitchfork handle tight, with the other hand too, I am standing holding the handle with both hands and then I raise the pitchfork over my head. His mouth gapes open, he is breathing heavily. His jowls are shaking slightly. I look at the left side of his fat hairy chest, I hold the pitchfork handle as tight as I can, tense my body, breathe in a deep breath, tense the muscles in my arms. I am staring at the left side of his chest and I plunge it in. I feel the fork slide in easily. I hear his breath become like a woman’s. Blood trickles out around one of the tines. I pull on the pitchfork and the tines slide easily out of his body. The tines don’t quiver. He opens his eyes, he looks at me. His eyes, cunning fat bastard eyes. He tries to sit up in bed and I turn around and run out of the room, I don’t turn back to look at him. I hear him try to shout something but there’s just a little noise and then nothing. I close his bedroom door behind me. I go down the stairs, leave the house, shut the basement door, then run to the corner of the house, go along the house near the wall, go back the same way I came, I go in a crouch and then I go past the gate and I can see his car in the yard. I run past his car. Now I have to make sure no one sees me. Then I just have to go down the drive. I stop and listen but I can’t hear anything, no car, no footsteps. I start down the drive. And that was much easier than I thought it would be, I just had to not think about anything and it happened just like that, all I had to do was stick to my plan, follow it exactly, not deviate at all, anything else and it would go wrong. I walk down the drive normally, with regular footsteps, then I get to the road, stop again and listen, hear nothing. I turn back and look at his house, the light’s been turned on in his bedroom. I flinch. Did I not manage to kill the fucker? Or his wife, was she there? He was lying in bed alone. And I was lucky he was alone in bed, maybe it’s his wife who’s turned on the light now, maybe, but now I have to hurry. I start running. I had to do it, anything else would have been horrible, I really had to do it. I see the top of the path at the side of the road. I start down the path. I walk down the path with steady footsteps, then I stop, about to get rid of my pitchfork, but I probably shouldn’t do that, I can’t leave a trace, so instead I put the handle under my right forearm,
press the handle against my body, then I untie the knot I’d tied under my hood and pull the hood off my head. I shake my head. I take the pitchfork in my left hand and walk on down the path. I’m tired, I want to sit down, but I can’t do that, so I keep walking slowly, regularly. And I see that the water in the stream is babbling a little, not much, but there’s a little water. I walk down along the stream bed, get down to the shore. And I’ve done it. Now he’s dead, that fat bastard, that evil fucker, now the fat bastard’s dead. Now he’s lying in his own blood, dead. Now I’ve done it. I’m almost done now. Just a little left to do now, then it’ll be over. And it was easy. And now it’s done. I walk across the beach and see my boat floating there. Now to clean off the prongs, get rid of all the blood. I wade a little way out into the fjord, stick the fork into the sand bed, pull it up, stick it in again, then put the pitchfork up in the front of the boat, with the prongs hanging out over the bow, then take hold of the front of the boat, push, and the boat glides out into the fjord and the tide must have come in a little because it was so easy to get the boat free from the shore, as if the boat was already floating free. I wade out into the fjord, push the boat a little further, and then lift one foot over the bow, pushing off with the other, and the boat glides out into the fjord, I lift the other foot over the bow too and I’m on board the boat and then I pick up one of the oars, push it down against the bottom of the fjord, the oar hits bottom and I push off with it, lift it up again. The boat glides backwards away from the beach, out into the fjord. I sit down on the bench in the middle of the boat, put the other oar out, turn the boat, and start to row away from land, out into the fjord. I’m looking straight ahead, into the darkness, because now it’s finally got darker and soon it’ll probably start to get lighter and I need to be back home in bed before it gets light. I look straight ahead, into the darkness. And I don’t want to look at his house. I row. I say: Now it’s done. I am rowing out into the fjord with firm strokes of the oars. And now that bastard’s in hell, now I’ve taken care of him, now he’s gone, now that fucker is dead. I’m rowing and I’m saying that now that devil is dead, I’ve taken care of him, stabbed him to death, now that fucking bastard is dead. I row out across the fjord with firm strokes of the oars. I row away from land, out into the fjord, I row on, straight ahead, straight out into the fjord, row on. And I say now that devil is dead, as he should be, it’s what he deserves, that fat bastard, fucking demon, fucking bastard, now that devil’s in hell where he belongs, that fucker. I look straight ahead into the darkness. And I don’t want to look at his house. And I’m rowing. I look straight ahead, into the darkness. And then I look back at his house and I can just see his house and the light is on in his bedroom. I look away, into the darkness. And I row with steady pulls of the oars. I look straight ahead into the darkness, and I can see land and then I look at his house again and the light’s on in his bedroom. And now he’s dead. Now the bastard is dead. I row straight out away from land, out into the fjord. And the light’s on in his bedroom. And now he’s dead. Now the bastard is dead. I row straight out away from land, out into the fjord. And the light’s on in his bedroom. I say: He is one nasty fucker but now he’s dead, now he’s dead! I look straight ahead, into the darkness. But now should I really be heading out into the middle of the fjord? This is probably far enough? I don’t need to row any further. I take in the oar, let the boat glide forward until it stops, until the boat stays floating almost motionless. And I’m lucky with the weather, there are practically no waves, just a few weak ripples, the boat is practically motionless. I get up, take the torch out of my raincoat pocket, turn it on, shine it at the front of the boat, and I see the pitchfork sitting in front with the prongs hanging over the bow. And I start laughing, I’m standing up in the boat shining a torch on the pitchfork with the prongs sticking out over the bow, then I turn around, shine the torch at the sinker and the towing line in the stern and I laugh, turn to face forward again, look at the pitchfork, and laugh. I stop laughing, go to the front of the boat, pick up the pitchfork, go to the back of the boat, sit down on the bench in the back, and put the pitchfork down. It’s still important to place the pitchfork so that the prongs are sticking out over the bow because I can’t leave any traces in the boat no matter what. I put the torch down on the bench, take off my raincoat, then my boots, put the pitchfork into the raincoat, lay the boots on top, then I pick up the sinker, a big heavy stone with a groove near the middle so you can tie a line around it, I put the stone into the raincoat, tie the raincoat up, wind the rope that was attached to the sinker around the bundle I’ve made with the raincoat, tie it well, wind the rope around the bundle on all sides, tie it again, now just a little bit of the end of the rope is still loose. I take the torch and shine it at the bundle, and see the handle of the pitchfork sticking out of the bundle. I stand up in the boat, look in towards land, into the darkness. I look at his house, the light’s on in the bedroom. I bend down and pick up the bundle. I stand up and hold up the bundle, it’s so heavy that I can only just manage to stand and hold it, so I bend over the bow and drop it. There’s a big splash when the bundle hits the water. I pick up the torch, shine it at the bundle, it’s floating just beneath the surface of the water with the handle sticking diagonally up above the surface, but then the bundle starts to sink, it sinks further down into the fjord and the handle goes deeper and deeper down into the fjord and then it disappears under the surface of the water, it makes a ripple on the surface of the water then sinks down into the fjord and then I can’t see it any more. I go forwards in the boat, sit down on the middle bench, turn off the torch. I sit with the torch in my hand, then raise my arm behind my head, gather my strength, and throw the torch out across the fjord. I put out the oars and I start to row in towards land. Now it’s over, now I just have to get home. I row in towards land. Now as long as nobody sees me. Now I just have to get home and then I’ll have to bury the dog. I row with steady pulls of the oars, the boat glides across the fjord. Now it’s over. Anyway I was lucky with the weather. And now I can’t let anyone see me. That went well. I just made a plan and then followed it. I look straight ahead into the darkness. I row on. I turn around on the bench and look back in towards land, I see that I’m getting closer to land and I start to row down along the shore. I say: Now I’ve killed that bastard. I row. I turn around on the bench, see my landing, start to row in towards the landing. I say: I took care of that bastard once and for all. I row carefully in towards the dock, brake with the oars, raise them, put them in the boat, then go to the front of the boat that’s gliding in towards the dock and stand in the front of the boat, ready to absorb the collision with the dock with my hands. The boat glides in towards the dock, I grab the dock. I moor the boat and pull it out of the water. I walk across the landing. And I say that went well didn’t it, now it’s done. I start up the path to the main road, I’m walking in my socks, and I say this is fun, but people can’t walk around in socks like this, and I shake my head. I get up to the main road. Now no one must see me. I look around, up the road, down the road, but no one’s there, no sound of any car. I say: Now that fucker is dead. I cross the main road to my drive. I look at my house. I walk quickly up the drive over to the front porch, stop on the porch for a moment, leaving wet marks from my socks. I open the door and go in. I stand in the hall, turn around, lock the front door. I go into the living room, take off my wet socks, go to the kitchen and throw the socks in the wicker laundry basket. I get new socks from the chest of drawers in the hall. I go back into the kitchen, turn on the tap, first cold, then hot, take soap and wash my hands over the kitchen sink, then wash my face and then take a clean hand towel from one of the kitchen drawers and dry my face and hands. I say: Now it’s done. I say: That was easy. I go turn on the coffee maker, then sit down on a kitchen stool and I say now that bastard is finished, now I’ve got rid of him, finally. I look straight ahead. I say: Finally that bastard is finished. I hear from the coffee maker that the coffee is done. I stand up, get a cup, get the
thermos, pour myself a cup of coffee, put the rest of the coffee into the thermos. I take the coffee cup, go into the living room, sit down in the chair diagonally in front of the window. I take a sip of coffee and then I put the cup down on the small round table next to the armchair. I look into the dark window. And it’s OK. No one saw me. And now I’ve killed that fucker. Now I just have to bury the dog, and that’ll go fine. Everything’s going as planned. And that’s good. Now I’ve got rid of that devil. It’s fine. Now I’ve got rid of that devil. And now I just have to bury the dog. That’s all that’s left to do now. I have to go bury the dog, have to get that done while it’s dark. Because I can’t let anyone see me. I have to do it now. Have to bury the dog now, while it’s dark. I get up, go over to the window, look down at the garden. The grave needs to go in the middle of the garden so that I can see it from the window. I have to bury the dog, get up and do it right now. I go out to the hall and I say now I have to bury my dog and then I take my shoes, go out, shut the front door behind me, go down to the basement, and find a shovel. I go into the garden, over to the place where I’ve decided I should bury the dog. I see that it’s starting to get light out. I put the shovel into the earth, push the shovel in with my foot, and thrust. First one shovelful then the next. The soil is soft and not that hard to dig. I won’t just dig a hole in the ground but a rectangle, a proper grave, I will dig a nice grave. I dig. First I dig away all the grass, in a rectangle, then I dig down. I take out shovelful after shovelful. A pile of earth is sitting there, the earth looks totally black in the half-dark. I dig. I have to finish digging before it gets light out, before cars start driving by, before people start to go shopping. I dig. I sweat. I dig, I’m careful not to just dig a pit in the soil but a rectangle, even when I dig further and further down into the soil I make sure it’s a rectangle I’m digging out. I dig and I say good boy, he’s going to have a proper grave. I see that it’s getting lighter and lighter. I have to finish up now, but the hole should be big enough now. I put the shovel down in the pile of earth, wipe sweat from my arms. I look at the grave, it’s a nice little grave. I have to finish before it gets too light out. I hear a car driving along the road, I pick up the shovel, take it into the basement, put it down. I go up into the house again, shut the front door behind me, lock the door, check to make sure the front door’s locked, and then go into the kitchen. I turn on water, hot water, cold water. I wash my hands and face over the kitchen sink, dry them. I see the thermos on the kitchen counter and I take it with me, go to the living room, the coffee cup is sitting on the round table and I pour myself a little coffee then sit down in the armchair. I look at the window, it’s lighter and lighter out, now I can see mountains on the other side of the fjord. I drink a little coffee. I get up, go over to the window, look down at the pile of soil that I’ve dug up. I stand and look at the pile of soil and I say that I sure fucking killed that bastard, it wasn’t hard either, I sure fucking killed him, it was easy, I just had to follow the plan and then I realize I’m tired. I go over to the sofa, take the blanket from the foot of the sofa and then lie down, spread the blanket out over me. I stare straight ahead. I am empty and tired. I stare straight ahead. I’m tired. I say that now I’ve killed that bastard and it went fine and I look out into the half-dark room and I feel how tired I am. I shut my eyes. Now I don’t have to think, now I can just sleep. Not think. Just sleep. And I’m so tired that I fall asleep at once. And I sleep, slowly. I sleep. And a knock at the door wakes me up. I sit up on the sofa, look around. I see that it’s grey in the room. I hear a knock at the door. I get up. It must be morning and there’s someone knocking outside. I stand up. I go out into the hall. Again I hear a knock. I go over to the front door, push down the handle, pull the door. It’s locked. I pull up the handle and turn the key. I open the front door. I see my neighbour standing heavily, leaning on the door-frame, breathing hard. I look at my neighbour and I hear him try to say something but he’s breathing so heavily that he can’t get a word out. I look at my neighbour, he’s red in the face and his big belly is moving up and down as he breathes. Again the neighbour tries to say something but the words get lost in his breathing.