was going to take care of it and then we’d split the proceeds. But I haven’t seen any of it yet and I really need the money.’
‘Maybe I could lend you some,’ I lied.
‘I know that, Varg.’ She knew more about it than I did. ‘Thank you. But I’m tired of borrowing. I won’t borrow again – from friends, acquaintances or anybody.’
I wondered for a second whether I fitted into the category of friends or acquaintances or anybody. ‘I suppose I could do it. Talk to him.’
‘Oh, could you, Varg? Thank you so much. I’ll pay. How much do you charge?’
How much do I charge? Oh, I’m a cheap whore, my love. I don’t charge much. A kiss on the cheek and maybe one on the mouth, a sidelong look from under that fringe of hair, a forefinger run along my mouth where the stubble becomes lips and the other way around. I don’t charge much. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I said. ‘I can do it in my lunch hour.’
‘But I don’t want you to lose anything because of this.’
No? No! ‘We’ll talk about that some other time.’ Over a glass of wine by candlelight, darling, in the light of the glass-clear moon, under the stars’ silver rain, on a sailing ship to China. Some other time, my love.
‘Well. Do you know where Jonas works? Did I tell you?’
‘Wasn’t it some ad agency?’
‘Yes. It’s called Pallas and they have offices out in Dreggen, in the same building as the State Liquor Shop.’
‘I know where it is. They know me there. We’re on a first-name basis.’
‘I …’ she began. I was afraid she was going to back out so I quickly changed the subject.
‘It’s settled,’ I said. ‘I’ll talk to him and we’ll see how it goes. I’ll give you a report.’ I jumped at that idea. ‘Maybe I could drop by tonight?’
She was silent. ‘Couldn’t you phone instead? As a matter of fact, I can’t tonight.’
No? The moon turned muddy, the stars’ silver rain to tinsel and the sailing ship to China had already run aground. ‘That’s okay,’ I said. ‘You’ll hear from me. Take care.’
After I hung up I remembered I hadn’t sent my best to Roar. But I didn’t call back. I’d remember it the next time.
The office bottle still stood on the desk. But it didn’t tempt me any longer. In fact, it looked disgusting with its gaudy torn label. I screwed the cap on tight and slung it roughly back in the drawer.
I looked around me. There was a heavy unpleasant feeling in my stomach. ‘Of all the dusty damn holes …’ I said aloud. Just to be sure I heard it.
Then I got myself together and left without turning off the light. Maybe it would make things cosier when I came back. As if someone were at home.
If I ever came back. You never know. A fast car – and a pedestrian crossing in Dreggen. You’re never safe. Especially on a pedestrian crossing. That’s where you’re really a sitting duck.
17
I walked through the fish market and along Bryggen’s quayside . It was too early in the season for tourists. The nameless live fish swam in their tanks. The fish sellers swung their big red fists to keep warm and the housewives went suspiciously from stall to stall as if they didn’t believe the fish lying there were real.
Out on Bryggen a red truck snapped up one cargo pallet after another and spat them through the open green doors of a marine warehouse. Reminded me of a rat building up a hoard.
The usual drunk stood on a corner and held up a wall, with a bottle in his inside pocket and a bilious look at the passers-by. He was inevitable. In a certain way, he was also a tourist attraction, a part of the atmosphere, necessary in the city’s pattern. Except it was always the tourist season as far as he was concerned.
The Pallas Advertising Agency was in the new red-brick building by the new Bryggen Museum. Almost everything you needed to survive lay within a few square metres: a liquor shop, a museum for the cultured, a church for the pious, a dentist’s office, a park with
‘Maybe I could lend you some,’ I lied.
‘I know that, Varg.’ She knew more about it than I did. ‘Thank you. But I’m tired of borrowing. I won’t borrow again – from friends, acquaintances or anybody.’
I wondered for a second whether I fitted into the category of friends or acquaintances or anybody. ‘I suppose I could do it. Talk to him.’
‘Oh, could you, Varg? Thank you so much. I’ll pay. How much do you charge?’
How much do I charge? Oh, I’m a cheap whore, my love. I don’t charge much. A kiss on the cheek and maybe one on the mouth, a sidelong look from under that fringe of hair, a forefinger run along my mouth where the stubble becomes lips and the other way around. I don’t charge much. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I said. ‘I can do it in my lunch hour.’
‘But I don’t want you to lose anything because of this.’
No? No! ‘We’ll talk about that some other time.’ Over a glass of wine by candlelight, darling, in the light of the glass-clear moon, under the stars’ silver rain, on a sailing ship to China. Some other time, my love.
‘Well. Do you know where Jonas works? Did I tell you?’
‘Wasn’t it some ad agency?’
‘Yes. It’s called Pallas and they have offices out in Dreggen, in the same building as the State Liquor Shop.’
‘I know where it is. They know me there. We’re on a first-name basis.’
‘I …’ she began. I was afraid she was going to back out so I quickly changed the subject.
‘It’s settled,’ I said. ‘I’ll talk to him and we’ll see how it goes. I’ll give you a report.’ I jumped at that idea. ‘Maybe I could drop by tonight?’
She was silent. ‘Couldn’t you phone instead? As a matter of fact, I can’t tonight.’
No? The moon turned muddy, the stars’ silver rain to tinsel and the sailing ship to China had already run aground. ‘That’s okay,’ I said. ‘You’ll hear from me. Take care.’
After I hung up I remembered I hadn’t sent my best to Roar. But I didn’t call back. I’d remember it the next time.
The office bottle still stood on the desk. But it didn’t tempt me any longer. In fact, it looked disgusting with its gaudy torn label. I screwed the cap on tight and slung it roughly back in the drawer.
I looked around me. There was a heavy unpleasant feeling in my stomach. ‘Of all the dusty damn holes …’ I said aloud. Just to be sure I heard it.
Then I got myself together and left without turning off the light. Maybe it would make things cosier when I came back. As if someone were at home.
If I ever came back. You never know. A fast car – and a pedestrian crossing in Dreggen. You’re never safe. Especially on a pedestrian crossing. That’s where you’re really a sitting duck.
17
I walked through the fish market and along Bryggen’s quayside . It was too early in the season for tourists. The nameless live fish swam in their tanks. The fish sellers swung their big red fists to keep warm and the housewives went suspiciously from stall to stall as if they didn’t believe the fish lying there were real.
Out on Bryggen a red truck snapped up one cargo pallet after another and spat them through the open green doors of a marine warehouse. Reminded me of a rat building up a hoard.
The usual drunk stood on a corner and held up a wall, with a bottle in his inside pocket and a bilious look at the passers-by. He was inevitable. In a certain way, he was also a tourist attraction, a part of the atmosphere, necessary in the city’s pattern. Except it was always the tourist season as far as he was concerned.
The Pallas Advertising Agency was in the new red-brick building by the new Bryggen Museum. Almost everything you needed to survive lay within a few square metres: a liquor shop, a museum for the cultured, a church for the pious, a dentist’s office, a park with
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