The End of the Ocean

Chapter 15 SIGNE

Maybe it started with a snowman. Yes, I think it started with a snowman and nothing more was really necessary, because even though I saw you from time to time, watched you when you came down to the fjord with your father to buy fish at the wharf or shop at the consumer co-op, you still didn’t take up much space inside of me.

Not before the party, Mommy’s party. I don’t remember if it was one party or many, maybe there were many, but that’s the one that I remember.

The hotel was all hers now, the way it always actually had been, because old Hauger had left it to his daughter. Daddy, his son-in-law, didn’t inherit anything. The almost one hundred rooms, the commercial kitchen, the huge garden that went all the way down to the edge of the water and the spacious, private wing were all hers.

This evening Mommy filled the wing with people and I remember looking forward to it. Mommy associated with so many people, all the time, and now they came, all of them, filled the hallway with the scent of perfume and their indoor shoes in bags and their loud voices: the school principal with his wife and children, the director of the fish-landing station with his wife and baby, the editor with his wife who was expecting, the journalist who was a woman and not married, and all the engineers and building contractors who had moved here in recent years to work at the plant and left behind their wives and children in other parts of Norway and therefore were especially appreciative of the invitation to visit someone’s home and enjoy a homecooked meal. They spoke about this loudly as they took off their coats, changed their shoes and lit cigarettes and pipes.

Then they occupied the living rooms of the house, with warmth, laughter and cigarette smoke, their sounds filled me, words that rose and fell in the air, jazz on the record player, high heels on the floor in the dining room, where the furniture had been cleared away, while their children ran through the rooms playing, until the youngest fell asleep like abandoned ragdolls in armchairs and chaises lounges.

I was older than the other children, maybe twelve or fourteen, a head taller than them, but nonetheless I wasn’t as tall as the women and lacked everything that they had. I had become slender, skinny almost, like a washboard where they had breasts, my arms were long and I couldn’t control my legs, but nonetheless I stayed close to the adults. I thought I belonged there, more than with the children. I tried to talk, take part in their conversation, but nobody heard my loud voice and maybe where I was seated was too far away, in an armchair by a wall, outside the circle the adults formed around the coffee table, or maybe my voice wasn’t as loud as it used to be.

There was a man talking, I couldn’t remember ever having met him, hadn’t noticed him before now, had only heard his name. It was Svein Bredesen, the chief engineer, he spoke loudly and for a long time about the work on the power plant; he talked with such pleasure about the barrage that was almost completed and it wasn’t supposed to form a lake, as I’d believed at first, as had several of the guests. No, the barrage would dam up the water from the snowmelt, so it was collected there and could be diverted into pipes through the mountain, all the way down to the power plant and to the turbine, which was called Pelton and which he spoke about as if it were a close friend.

I liked him. I remember that, that I liked him.

So, without fully understanding how it happened, as if there were some kind of adult signal or other that I didn’t catch, like in a card game where there are secret signals, touching the nose or earlobe to communicate to one’s partner the trump one has in one’s hand, several people stood up at the same time, Mommy went over to the record player, she changed the music and they started to dance.

Svein held out his hand to Mommy. I’d heard him talk about being married, and he wore a gold ring on his finger, but all the same he clearly wanted to dance with Mommy. She took his hand; there was something about her, the way she held her head, or her eyes maybe, that made me think she might start laughing, not at him, but towards him, a sort of bubbly giggle. I waited for the laughter to come, dreading it, didn’t want to hear her laughing like that, but she remained silent then, luckily, and just danced with him.

Everyone was on the dance floor now. I was the only one sitting down and I didn’t know what to do with my long arms and legs. I crossed them, my entire body twisted into a cross, then I untwisted myself again, but nobody saw it, and anyway it didn’t matter because I was invisible. I was the opposite of Mommy.

Suddenly I thought of her sounds, the howling. Svein Bredesen put his hands on her hips, he spun her around and her howling echoed in my ears.

The adults danced, their eyes shining and heels hitting hard against the floor. Full skirts sent tiny vibrations through the air against my face. I could smell the odor of adult bodies growing warm, of everything they hid under their clothing, in their armpits, down their backs, between their legs.

I could have helped myself to a taste of something from one of the glasses, they wouldn’t have noticed, I could have tasted the alcohol, but I didn’t need it, because I was already dizzy and I smiled like Mommy, without knowing why, and soon I would also giggle a bubbly giggle without meaning to.

It could have continued like this for a long time, I could have sat watching the party for hours, maybe I would have finally also tried to drink. I planned which glass I would take, one nobody had drunk from for a long time. It could have continued this way, the evening could have turned out differently for me, but all of a sudden I saw shadows on the porch, two silhouettes out there. They staggered around, trampled back and forth, stared through the windows, and I was the only one who saw them. My heart pounded, I was going to point, tell everyone about them, but at that moment the porch door opened and they came in, accompanied by the cold evening air from outside.

People turned around, Mommy last, the record went around and around on the turntable, Svein spun her one more time, but then he stopped.

It was Daddy and Sønstebø. Sønstebø was swaying slightly, while Daddy was steady on his feet. He looked at Svein, at Mommy.

I stood up. Look at me, I thought, don’t look at them, look at me. I wanted to talk, use the powerful voice Daddy was so fond of, fill the room with it, say something really loudly, maybe something they could laugh about, something Daddy could laugh about or, even better, something that impressed him, but no sounds came out.

Daddy walked slowly across the floor, towards Svein, towards Mommy—she was still holding his hand in hers, but now she dropped it abruptly.

Maybe they said something to one another, I don’t remember, maybe Mommy’s voice was low and exasperated, Daddy’s clear and cold, or maybe they just stood there like that, facing one another, until he reached out his hand, the way Svein had just done, and took hold of Mommy’s hand which was hanging at her side and didn’t want to be held, at least not by his. He took hold of it, tugged at her, pulled her close to him, and started to dance.

Sønstebø danced as well, but alone, with his hips mostly while he made faces and noises. I realized what he was doing, what he was mimicking: Mommy’s howling.

It happened so quickly—now Svein was there, he said something to Daddy, tried to help Mommy get out of his grasp, but Mommy didn’t want to be helped, she said something under her breath to Svein, everyone else was silent, the only sound was the music.

Svein stood there while Mommy danced with Daddy, he was holding her so tight, it looked painful, I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t manage that either. Daddy pushed and pulled Mommy around, but then Svein was there again, he grabbed Daddy’s arm, screamed something at him. Mommy didn’t make a sound, Daddy refused to let go and then Sønstebø moved in from one side. Turning to face Svein, he raised a clenched fist and punched him.

Svein stumbled backwards, but didn’t fall, still managed to keep his balance—he was big and strong, I could see that now. Somebody screamed. It wasn’t me, it wasn’t Mommy—Daddy was still holding on to her, but they weren’t dancing any longer, he had stopped and was holding her close and she wasn’t resisting. Sønstebø walked towards Svein again. Svein just stood there; go away, I thought, run, but he stood there, sort of bewildered, as if he hadn’t been expecting a brawl, and at the very least didn’t anticipate another punch coming, but one did, and yet another, and Daddy held Mommy, he held her against him, as if they were slow-dancing.

Again, yet again Sønstebø was going to hit Svein, but then somebody came into the room, another uninvited guest. At first I didn’t recognize him, because he’d started junior high school and I hadn’t seen him for a while, but now he was standing there and had grown just as tall as his father. But the squirrel eyes were the same.

He said his father’s name, not “Dad” or “Father” but his father’s full name, and then finally Sønstebø stopped punching and Daddy released Mommy like he had burned himself.

“We’re going home now,” Magnus said to his father. “Now we have to go home.”

He was only thirteen years old, but had the stature of an adult; the minute he walked into the room everyone had to look at him, all the adults had turned to face him and were waiting, as if they didn’t have any choice.

Magnus turned towards the doorway, didn’t even check to see whether Sønstebø was following him, didn’t check to see what Daddy did, if he was coming with him. But they did, both of them, both Sønstebø and Daddy, as if Magnus was the grown-up and they were children.

But before Magnus reached the door leading out into the hallway, he turned around after all, not towards them, but towards me.

“Hi, Signe.”

That was the first time that evening anyone had said my name.