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- Herausgeber: Fitzcarraldo Editions
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023
Melancholy I-II is a fictional invocation of the nineteenth-century Norwegian artist Lars Hertervig, who painted luminous landscapes, suffered mental illness and died poor in 1902. In this wild, feverish narrative, Jon Fosse delves into Hertervig's mind as the events of one day precipitate his mental breakdown. A student of Hans Gude at the Academy of Art in Düsseldorf, Hertervig is paralyzed by anxieties about his talent and is overcome with love for Helene Winckelmann, his landlady's daughter. Marked by inspiring lyrical flights of passion and enraged sexual delusions, Hertervig's fixation on Helene persuades her family that he must leave. Oppressed by hallucinations and with nowhere to go, Hertervig shuttles between a cafe, where he endures the mockery of his more sophisticated classmates, and the Winckelmann's apartment, which he desperately tries to re-enter – a limbo state which leads him inexorably into a state of madness. Published here in one volume in English for the first time, Melancholy I-II is a major novel by 'the Beckett of the twenty-first century' (Le Monde).
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3Praise for Septology
‘Jon Fosse is a major European writer.’
— Karl Ove Knausgaard, author of My Struggle
‘[R]eading Fosse … what threatens to be heavy proves lightsome. You put on your boots to wade through the mud and find yourself floating along…. Searls is to Fosse what Anthea Bell is to W. G. Sebald, the best possible intermediary.’
— Blake Morrison, London Review of Books
‘Translated with astonishing grace by Damion Searls … so transcendent that not only is it my best book of the year 2022, it ties 2666 by Roberto Bolaño as my favourite book from the twenty-first century.’
— Lauren Groff, LitHub
‘Fosse’s portrait of memory remarkably refuses. It will not be other than: indellible as paint, trivial as nail clippings, wound like damp string. This book reaches out of its frame like a hand.’
— Jesse Ball, author of Census
‘A deeply moving experience. At times while reading the first two books of Septology, I walked around in a fugue-like state, wondering what it was that I was reading, exactly. A parable? A gospel? A novel bereft of the usual markings of plot, time, and character? The answer appeared to be all of the above, but although I usually balk at anything mystical, the effect was haunting and cumulative…. I hesitate to compare the experience of reading these works to the act of meditation. But that is the closest I can come to describing how something in the critical self is shed in the process of reading Fosse, only to be replaced by something more primal. A mood. An atmosphere. The sound of words moving on a page.’
— Ruth Margalit, New York Review of Books
‘Septology feels momentous.’
— Catherine Taylor, Guardian
‘Fosse has written a strange mystical moebius strip of a novel, in which an artist struggles with faith and loneliness, and watches himself, or versions of himself, fall away into the lower depths. The social world seems distant and foggy in this profound, existential narrative.’
— Hari Kunzru, author of White Tears
‘Having read the Norwegian writer Jon Fosse’s Septology, an extraordinary seven-novel sequence about an old man’s recursive reckoning with the braided realities of God, art, identity, family life and human life itself, I’ve come into awe and reverence myself for idiosyncratic forms of immense metaphysical fortitude.’
— Randy Boyagoda, New York Times
‘[P]alpable in this book is the way that the writing is meant to replicate the pulse and repetitive phrasing of liturgical prayer. Asle is a Catholic convert and, in Damion Searls’s liquid translation, his thoughts are rendered in long run-on sentences whose metronomic cadences conjure the intake and outtake of breath, or the reflexive motions of fingers telling a rosary. These unique books ask you to engage with the senses rather than the mind, and their aim is to bring about the momentary dissolution of the self.’
— Sam Sacks, Wall Street Journal
‘The translation by Damion Searls is deserving of special recognition. His rendering of this remarkable single run-on sentence over three volumes is flawless. The rhythms, the shifts in pace, the nuances in tone are all conveyed with masterful understatement. The Septology series is among the highlights of my reading life.’
— Rónán Hession, Irish Times
‘Fosse intuitively — and with great artistry — conveys … a sense of wonder at the unfathomable miracle of life, even in its bleakest and loneliest moments.’
— Bryan Karetnyk, Financial Times
Praise for Aliss at the Fire
‘Jon Fosse has managed, like few others, to carve out a literary form of his own.’
— Nordic Council Literary Prize
‘Like Faulkner’s best works, Aliss at the Fire is about the inescapability of the past and how history reverberates mysteriously across generations. Through voices and narratives that are constantly interrupting and interfering with one another, Fosse captures the grief – and love – that can never be put into words.’
— Alex Shepherd, The Atlantic
‘It is some measure of Fosse’s talents that he manages to weave such a compelling narrative from a largely static setting … there is something quietly dramatic about Fosse’s meandering and rhythmic prose, aided by Damion Searls’s limber translation, which has a strangely mesmerising effect. … [A]n intense reading experience.’
— Lucy Popescu, Independent
MELANCHOLY I–II
JON FOSSE
Translated by DAMION SEARLS and GRETHE KVERNES
Contents
MELANCHOLY I
11
In memory of Tor Ulven
DÜSSELDORF, AFTERNOON, LATE AUTUMN, 1853:
I am lying in bed, dressed in my purple velvet suit, my beautiful, beautiful suit, and I don’t want to meet with Hans Gude. I don’t want to hear Hans Gude say he doesn’t like my painting. I just want to stay in bed. Today I can’t bear to see Hans Gude. Because what if Hans Gude doesn’t like the picture I’m painting, what if he thinks it’s bad, embarrassingly bad, what if it makes him think that I can’t paint after all, what if Hans Gude runs his thin fingers through his beard and looks straight at me with his narrow eyes and says that I can’t paint, that I have no business at the Düsseldorf Academy of Art, or any other Academy of Art either as far as he’s concerned, what if Hans Gude says I will never be a painter. I can’t let Hans Gude tell me that. I have to just stay in bed, because Hans Gude is coming to the studio today, the studio in the attic where we stand in perfect rows and columns and we paint, and he’ll go from painting to painting and say what he thinks of each one and then he’ll look at my painting too and say something about it. I don’t want to see Hans Gude. Because I can paint. And Gude can paint. And Tidemann can paint. I can paint. No one can paint like me, just Gude. Tidemann too. And today Gude will look at my painting, but I won’t be there, I’ll be lying in bed, staring straight ahead, at the window, I want to just lie on my bed in my purple suit, my beautiful, beautiful suit, just lie here and listen to the sounds from the street. I don’t want to go to the studio. I just want to lie in bed. I don’t want to see Hans Gude. I am lying on the bed, legs crossed, lying on the bed fully dressed in my purple velvet suit. I am staring straight ahead. I’m not going into the studio today. And in another room here in the apartment 14 is my darling Helene, maybe in her bedroom, maybe in the living room. My darling Helene is in the apartment too. I dragged my bags through the hall and Mrs Winckelmann showed me the room and said that I would live here. And she asked whether I liked the room and I nodded because it was really a very, very nice room, I’ve probably never stayed in such a nice room in my life. And then, there was Helene. Standing there in her white dress. With her pale hair, wavy even though it was tightly pinned up, Helene stood there, stood there with her little mouth above her small chin. Helene stood there with her great big eyes. Helene stood there and beamed at me with her eyes. My darling Helene. I am lying on the bed in my room and somewhere in this very apartment Helene is walking around with her beautiful sparkling eyes. I lie on the bed, I listen, can I maybe hear her footsteps? Or maybe Helene isn’t in the apartment? And your goddamned uncle, Helene. Helene, can you hear me? That goddamned Mr Winckelmann. I was just lying here in bed in my purple velvet suit and there was a knock on my door, I was lying in bed in my purple suit and didn’t even have time to get up and then the door opened and there in the doorway stood Mr Winckelmann, his black beard, those black eyes, that fat belly tightly stuffed into his waistcoat. And Mr Winckelmann just looked at me and didn’t say a word. I got out of bed, stood up, walked across the room. Went up to Mr Winckelmann and held out my hand to him, but he didn’t take my hand. I stood there and held out my hand to Mr Winckelmann but he didn’t take it. I looked down at the floor. And Mr Winckelmann said that he was Mrs Winckelmann’s brother, Mr Winckelmann. And he looked at me with his black eyes. And then he just turned around and left, and shut the door behind him. Your uncle, Helene. I am lying in bed in my purple velvet 15 suit and listening, can I hear you? your footsteps? your breath? can I hear your breath? I’m lying in my room on the bed, fully dressed, legs crossed, and I’m listening, can I hear your footsteps? are you here in the apartment? And my pipe is lying on the nightstand. Where are you, Helene? I take the pipe from the nightstand. I light the pipe. I lie on the bed in my suit, my purple velvet suit, and smoke my pipe. Today Hans Gude will look at the picture I’m painting but I’m afraid to hear what he says about it, I would rather lie in bed and listen for you, Helene. I don’t want to leave the house. Because now I’m a painter. Now I am Lars Hertervig, the painter, studying in Düsseldorf, a student of the famous Hans Gude. I am renting a room on Jägerhofstrasse at the Winckelmanns’. I’m not a bad person. I’m the young man from Stavanger, yes, the young man from Stavanger in Düsseldorf! where he’s learning to be a painter. I have fancy clothes now, a purple velvet suit I was given, now I’m a painter, me, yes me, just a kid, the street kid, the Quaker’s son, the poor kid, the apprentice house painter, me, now they’ve sent me to Germany, to the Academy of Art in Düsseldorf, Hans Gabriel Buchholdt Sundt himself has sent me to Germany, to the Academy of Art in Düsseldorf, so that I, Lars Hertervig, can study to be a painter, a landscape painter. Now I am studying the art of painting, and Hans Gude himself is my teacher. And I can really paint. Other than that maybe I can’t do much, but paint, that I can do. I can paint, but almost none of the other students can. And Gude can paint. And today Hans Gude will look at my picture and tell me whether he likes it or not, what’s good about it and what’s bad about it, that’s what he’ll tell me. And then standing all around me in the studio will be all the other painters, who can’t paint, and they’ll look at each other and they’ll whisper and nod. They’ll also hear 16 what Gude says. First Gude will just stand there and mutter and say hmm and hmmhmm and then he’ll look at me with his thin eyes and say that I can’t paint and I have to go back where I came from, there’s no reason for me to study any more because I simply can’t paint, that’s probably what Hans Gude will say. I can’t be a landscape painter after all. Hans Gude. Today Hans Gude will look at my painting. Then I’ll have to go back home and be just a house painter again, nothing more. But I really want to paint the most beautiful pictures, and no one can paint like me. Because I can paint. But the other students, they can’t. They just stand there, they grin and they nod at each other and laugh. They can’t paint. I lie in bed and smoke my pipe. And now piano music. I hear piano music. I hear piano music from the living room of the big apartment where I rented a room, I am lying in bed in my purple velvet suit, the beautiful, beautiful velvet suit, I am lying here, pipe in my mouth, Lars Hertervig, the painter, is lying here on his bed, hardly an insignificant man, and as I lie here I hear piano music. I hear clear and beautiful music, lightly moving back and forth. I lie on the bed and hear my darling Helene at the piano. For it must be my darling Helene playing the piano. The most beautiful piano music. I am hardly an insignificant man and now Helene is playing the piano. And actually, my darling Helene is playing for me. Because it’s true, Helene Winckelmann and Lars from Hattarvåg are in love. They’ve told each other so, yes, they’ve said that they’re in love, we’re in love, they said. And she, Helene Winckelmann, showed him her hair. Helene Winckelmann with her pale blue eyes, with her long hair, flowing over her shoulders when it falls free and isn’t pinned up like it usually is, but he! but Lars from Hattarvåg! he has seen her hair loose! He has seen how her eyes sparkle. He 17 has seen her hair when it was falling free over her shoulders. Because Helene Winckelmann let her hair down for him, she showed him her freely falling hair. Helene Winckelmann stood in his room and let her hair down for him. Helene Winckelmann stood there with her back to him, in front of the window, she brought her hands up to her hair and then let her hair down. And the hair flowed down her back. And he, Lars from Hattarvåg, he, Lars from the bay with the little islands crowded together, the little islands that look like hats, that’s why its name is Hattarvåg, the Bay of Hats, and that’s why his name is Hattarvåg or Hertervig, he, Lars from the bay where there are little islands that look like hats, a bay on a little island way up north in the world, in the country of Norway, he, from a little island that’s called Borgøya, he, Lars Hertervig, got to sit in the chair in the room he is renting while he’s a student at the Academy of Art in Düsseldorf and see Helene Winckelmann stand in front of the window with her hair hanging free down over her back. And then Helene Winckelmann slowly turned towards him. And then Helene Winckelmann stood there and looked at him, with hair falling down from the centre part over a small round face with pale blue eyes, with a small little mouth, a small chin. With eyes that shined. Hair flowing below her shoulders. Pale, flowing hair. And then a smile on her mouth. And then her eyes, that opened towards him. And out from her eyes came the brightest light he had ever seen. The light from her eyes. Never had he seen such light. And then he, Lars from Hattarvåg, stood up. And Lars from Hattarvåg stood there, in his purple suit, made of velvet, he, Lars from Hattarvåg, stood with his arms hanging straight down and he looked at the hair and the eyes and the mouth there in front of him, he just stood there, and then it was 18 as if the light from her eyes surrounded him, like warmth, no, not like warmth! no, not like warmth, like light! yes, the light from her eyes surrounded him like light all around him! and in this light he was someone different from who he had been, he was not Lars from Hattarvåg any more, he was someone else, all his anxiety, all his fears, everything he lacked and that always filled him with anxiety, everything he longed for was as if fulfilled by the light from Helene Winckelmann’s eyes and he was calm, he was fulfilled, and he stood there, with his arms hanging straight down at his sides, and then, without meaning to, without thinking, without anything, he just walked up to Helene Winckelmann and it was like he entirely disappeared into her light, the light all around her, and he felt calm like he had never felt before, so unbelievably calm he felt, and he lay his arms around her and he pressed himself against her. He, Lars from Hattarvåg, stands with his arms around Helene Winckelmann and he is so calm, filled by something, he doesn’t know what. Lars Hertervig is where Helene Winckelmann is. And he is no longer himself, he is where she is. He is in something, he doesn’t know what. He is where she is. He holds her in his arms, and then she puts her arms around him. And he presses his face down into her hair, into her shoulder. He is standing in something he’s never stood in before, he doesn’t know what that something is, and he, the landscape painter Lars Hertervig, has no idea what it is he’s standing in, but then it hits him, and then he knows it, then he knows that he’s standing in something his pictures are aiming at, something that’s in his pictures when he paints at his best, that’s what he’s standing in now, he knows it, because he’s already been close to what he is standing in now, but he’s never been in it before, like he is now, he’s never been where he, where the painter Lars Hertervig, is, standing 19 and breathing through Helene Winckelmann’s hair. And he stays standing there, in her light, in something that fills him. And he can’t remember, lying there in bed, how long he stayed standing with his arms around her, around his darling darling Helene, but it was probably a long time, maybe almost an hour that he stood there, and now he is lying in bed in his purple velvet suit and hearing the most beautiful piano music. And my darling Helene is playing the piano. And I, Lars from Hattarvåg, saw Helene let down her beautiful hair, I saw her stand there in front of the window in my room and I saw her pale hair flowing down over her shoulders. And I saw the light from her eyes. I stood in her light. I walked into her light. Stood up from the chair and went to stand in front of her, stood in her light and was calm, for a long time I stood in her light, stood there with my arms around her, my face pressed into her shoulder, and breathed through her hair, until Helene whispered that she had to go now because her mother was coming home soon, I stood there for such a long time and breathed through her hair and I’m lying in bed, in my purple velvet suit, and I hear piano music coming from the living room where my darling Helene is sitting and playing. And I saw your hair, my darling Helene. I saw you in front of the window and you let down your hair. And I stood up from the chair, I went over to you, I put my arms around you. I stood there and breathed through your hair. And I whispered in your ear that now we’re in love? And you whispered in my ear yes, yes, now we’re in love. And we stood there. And then we heard a door open and close again. And we let go of each other. And then we stood there, in a light which contracted, then vanished. Your hair turned different. And then we heard footsteps in the hall. And you said that now your mother was home and you had to get out of here, 20 you had to hurry, but first you had to fix your hair, you said, and you smiled at me. Because if you’re not in the living room your mother will come here, here to this room, and knock on the door. You said you had to go right away. And I saw how you went to the door, went out into the hall and you shut the door behind you and I heard you walk down the hall and I heard you shout hello Mother, here, here I am Mother, back already? you shouted. I went to the bed and lay down. I lay on the bed and looked at the window, where you had just been standing. I saw you in front of me, there you stood in front of the window. You stood there with your hair. And then there was a knock on the door. I hadn’t even got out of bed and your uncle was already standing in the doorway. Mr Winckelmann. The black beard, the black eyes. I got out of bed. He said his name, Mr Winckelmann. I held out my hand but he didn’t take it, he just turned around, closed the door, and left. I am lying in bed in my purple velvet suit and I hear the most beautiful piano music. I hear you playing piano in the living room. I am the young Norwegian painter, Lars Hertervig, one of the greatest talents in contemporary Norwegian art, that’s what I am! because I am a great talent. I can really paint. And I’m afraid to hear what Gude says about my picture. Because really, can I paint? I can, it must be true, right? Is there anyone better at painting than me? Maybe I’m even better at painting than Gude, and that’s why Gude wants to tell me I can’t paint? Gude is going to tell me I can’t paint and so I have to go back to Stavanger, I have no business at the Academy of Art, neither this Academy of Art nor any other, that’s what he’ll say, so, he’ll say, I should paint doors, not pictures. Today Gude will see my picture and say what he thinks of it but I don’t want to hear what he thinks. Because he definitely won’t like my painting. I 21 know he won’t. I don’t want to know what Gude thinks of my painting. I am lying in bed and I don’t want to know what Gude thinks of my painting because I’m feeling good right now, I can hear you playing the piano, my darling Helene, and you play so beautifully. The most beautiful piano music. From the living room all the way to my room, the most beautiful piano music is ringing out. I smoke my pipe. And I hear you stop playing, the last tones dissolving like smoke into the air and the light. I hear a door open, I hear footsteps in the hall. And maybe you’re coming to me? Maybe you’re coming to me, you want to show me your hair? Maybe you want to let down your hair and stand in front of the window with your hair let down, in front of me, so indescribably beautiful? Or is it your uncle coming again? Is your uncle coming to throw me out? Will he stand there in the doorway again with his black beard and his black eyes, will your uncle stand there again and look down at me? Is your uncle going to knock on the door and just look at me and not say a word and then say that he is Mr Winckelmann, just that, nothing else? And then will he say that I have to leave, that I can’t stay here any more, I have to get out? I hear footsteps in the hall and they are soft, quiet. And I know they’re your footsteps I hear in the hall. Now your footsteps are coming down the hall. I sit up on the edge of the bed. I sit there and look at the door. I hear the footsteps stop in front of the door. And then I hear a knock. I hear you knock, because it must be you. It can’t be anyone else knocking? And I have to say come in, have to say that you can come right in.
Come in! I say.
And I look at the door, I see how it opens, slowly the door opens. And I know that now you’re about to come in. Now you come in. And I see your face, your little face, 22 you stand there and look in at me and smile at me! and then you open the door a little wider and your hair is so pale around your face. Your big, sparkling eyes. And there is something about your face, something about your eyes. I see how you open the door all the way, there you stand in the doorway in your white dress. And suddenly you look down. You look down, then up again, at me, at me on the edge of the bed. I look at you, I smile. You don’t look at me, you look away and there is something about your face, about your eyes.
Aren’t you coming in? I say.
And I see you nod. And then you shut the door behind you. And I see you standing in front of the closed door, how beautiful you are. And you look down. And I see you walk through the room, to the chair. And there is something in your face, in your eyes. There is something about you. You sit down on the chair. And what is it in your face? In your eyes?
Did you hear me playing? you say.
Yes, I say.
And again you just sit there and look down.
And you played so beautifully, I say.
Beethoven, you say.
Oh, yes, Beethoven, I say.
And I look at you, you are sitting there so beautiful on the chair and looking down. And I can’t very well say that I never heard piano music before I came to this apartment, there weren’t any pianos on Borgøya after all, none in Stavanger either, as far as I know, actually Hans Gabriel Buchholdt Sundt probably had one, and Kielland had a piano too, obviously, or a pianoforte I think he called it, maybe there were pianos in other houses too, but I never once heard piano music before I heard you play, but I can’t very well tell you that sitting here on the 23 edge of the bed and look down at the floor in front of me and now what I want most of all is to see you stand up and then you will stand there with your back swaying gently, in your white dress, with your softly rounded chest, you will stand there and then you will let down your hair. And your hair will stream down over your shoulders. You will stand there and look off to the side, down at the floor, and then I’ll stand up, I’ll walk over to you and then I’ll put my arms around you, press you to me, then I’ll stand there and hold you tight, press you to me, all I want is to stand there and press you to me and breathe through your hair. All I want is to stand there. Stand there and press you to me. And then you’ll put your arms around me and then we’ll stand there. We’ll just stand there. Stand there quietly, stand right next to each other, stand there right up next to each other.
There’s something I have to tell you, you say.
And we look at each other and then we both look down and now you have to just tell me what this is about.
My uncle, you say. My uncle said you have to move out.
Are you also saying I have to move out? And why do I have to move out? Don’t you want me to stay here any more? Why don’t you want me to stay here?
Your uncle? I say, and I look at you.
He said you have to move out, you say.
And I haven’t lived here long. In fact I just moved in. And now I have to move out. And I’ve paid, after all, I have money, the rent is paid.
But I’ve paid the rent, I say.
It’s not that, you say. Uncle told Mother you have to leave, and Mother said it’s probably better that way. I don’t know why, but that’s what happened. I thought it was better to tell you myself.
I have to move out. And Helene, of course she’ll stay 24 here. And I’ll probably never see Helene again. Because I have to move out. Your uncle said I have to move out, your mother said she agrees, and so now I have to just move out. And where am I supposed to live now? Am I supposed to sleep in the studio? I can sleep in the open too, if I have to, but I’ll never see Helene again. I’ll never see Helene again.
Will I ever see you again then? I say.
And I shouldn’t have said that. Because Helene, she probably can’t see me, she’s too young to see me? She’s only fifteen after all, maybe sixteen, I don’t even know how old she is, I, I don’t know anything. But I want so much to see Helene again. And I stand up, walk over to Helene sitting on the chair. I go and stand in front of her. Because Helene doesn’t even want to see me, maybe she’s the one who wants me to move out, maybe she’s only saying that it’s her uncle who wants it, Mr Winckelmann, but maybe it’s Helene who wants me to move out? I stand there and look at Helene, she sits there and looks down. Maybe she wants me to move out? I have to ask Helene whether she wants me to move out.
Do you want me to move out? I say.
And Helene shakes her head. Maybe she’s only saying that she doesn’t want me to move out? She can hardly say anything else after all, but she’s also said that we’re in love, and now she wants me to move out. I look at her.
You don’t want me to move out?
Helene shakes her head. And maybe Helene doesn’t want me to move out? Maybe her uncle wants it? But he didn’t tell me, did he, her mother didn’t say that I have to move out either, only Helene is saying it. Helene is saying that her uncle says I have to move out. And Helene wants me to move out and never see her again.
Why does your uncle want me to move out? 25
I am looking at you, my darling Helene. I stand in front of you, I look at you, you sit on the chair and don’t answer, you just sit there and look down at the floor in front of you.
Did your uncle say that last night? I say.
And you sit there and look down, and nod slightly.
Did I do something wrong? I say.
And you sit there and look down.
But we’re in love, aren’t we? I say. Aren’t we? We’re in love? And you have to see me, even if I don’t live here any more? I can come see you, we can meet on the street, anywhere.
I put my hand on your shoulder. And you just sit there, you look down at the floor. And I stand there, in front of my darling Helene, and I have my hand on her shoulder. And I see your chest rise and fall. I see your breasts under the white dress. And now you want me to move out, you want me never to see you again. But you’re my girlfriend. I want to see your breasts. You can’t just tell me I’m supposed to move out. I let my hand slide down your shoulder, onto your breast. I stand there and hold my hand on your round breast. I feel your breast rise and fall. And I’m not allowed to touch your breast like that. I hold my hand on one of your breasts. You take your hand, put it on the back of my hand, take my hand away from your breast.
That must be why, you say.
I stand in front of you, my hand hangs at my side, you hold my hand tight.
You want me to move out, I say.
And I see you shake your head and you let my hand go.
Helene! I say.
And I know that this is the first time I’ve said your name to you, I’ve said it to myself lots of times, again and again I’ve said your name to myself, Helene, Helene, 26 Helene, I’ve said, but never have I said it to you, never to anyone else either. And now I’m saying your name, and so I have to say your name over and over.
Helene, Helene, I say.
Yes Lars, you say.
And you look me straight in the eyes. And then you smile at me. I smile at you.
Me and you, I say.
And I take my hand and gently stroke your cheek with my fingers.
Me and you, you say.
And you look up, at me. You laugh.
Me and you, I say.
Me and you, you say.
And then we smile at each other, I take your hand and I hold it softly in mine.
We’re in love, I say. You and me, we’re in love.
Me and you, you say.
And we look into each other’s eyes, we smile at each other. And I put my arm around your shoulder, take you with me across the room. We sit on the edge of the bed.
You have to see me, I say.
Yes, you say.
And why does your uncle want me to move out? I say.
And you don’t answer. So it’s probably you who wants me to move out after all, not your uncle? But you don’t want me to move out.
Why do I have to move out? I say.
I don’t know, you say.
Yes you do, I say.
You mustn’t say that! you say.
I look at the floor. I said that you know why your uncle wants me to move out and you say that I mustn’t say that, mustn’t say that you know, you say it angrily, that I mustn’t 27 say such a thing. And so I probably mustn’t, if you tell me not to. I have to just be here, sit here, I have to just sit here and hear you get angry because I’m asking you why I’m supposed to move out, I have to move out because your uncle wants me to move out but really it’s you, you, Helene, who wants me to move out, and you’re just saying your uncle wants it but really it’s you yourself who wants it. Why do you want me to move out? Why? I have to ask you why you want me to move out! I can already tell that you want me to move out but why do you want it? Why?
Why do you want me to move out? I say.
It’s my uncle who said it, you say.
But you want it too?
It’s not up to me.
Still, I say, and I grab your shoulder tighter.
Don’t, you say.
Why do you want me to move out?
My uncle, you say.
I let my hand slide down from your shoulder, onto your breast.
No, you say.
I push two fingers between the buttons of your dress. I squeeze your nipple between my fingers.
Why do I have to move out? I say.
No, stop it, you say.
Tell me, I say.
My uncle, you say.
And I hear you breathe faster.
Your uncle, your uncle, I say. Are you his girlfriend too? Does he touch your breast too?
No, you’re crazy, let me go, you say.
And I take my hand away. I stand up. I stand there and look at you, your pale eyes are empty, your cheeks are flushed. 28
I only wanted to tell you, you say.
And you stand up. I see you stand in front of me. I hug you, press you to me. I put my hand down on your ass, press my hand against your ass. I press against you.
Your uncle, I say.
You’re crazy, you say.
I pull you to me hard.
Let me go!
I put my mouth to your cheek, press my wet lips against your cheek.
You’re crazy, you say.
And I let go of you.
I have to go, you say.
And I look at you, hear you say that you have to go. And now you’ll go to your uncle. Because you asked him to say that I have to move out. You’re only playing with me. I know it, I know you asked your uncle to tell me I have to move out. And why do you want me to move out? Why do you want me not to live here? Why? What have I done to you? I stand there and look at you. Why do you want me to move out? Would you rather be with your uncle, is that it? Would you rather stroke your uncle’s fat belly? Look into your uncle’s black eyes? Why do you want me to move out? And why do you tell me you’re playing the piano for me? Do you want to stroke your uncle’s black beard? Is that what you want? Do you want your uncle to touch your breast, is that it? Is that what you want? And then I can’t stay in the apartment any more, that wouldn’t work if you want to be alone in the apartment with your uncle. And now you have to go. And of course I have to move out. I have to leave. I can’t stay here if you don’t want me here. I’ll disappear. I don’t want to bother you, of course not. I’ll just go away.
Why did you ask your uncle to tell me I have to move 29 out? I say.
It’s my uncle who said it, not me, you say.
And you look at me with big, wide open eyes.
No, I say.
And I look at you and I see how your white dress becomes something white, your dress becomes something white that moves, and then the white moves in on me, white comes up to me and then all of a sudden there’s something black in the middle of all the white and then I see a white and black sheet in front of me and the sheet moves at me and then suddenly away from me. And then it splits apart. And the sheets move at me, then away from me. The sheets are white and black. The sheets move at me, then away from me. The sheets move and move and come up to me.
No, don’t, I say.
The white and black sheets move at me, then away from me, at me, away from me.
No, leave me alone, I say.
What’s wrong? you say.
And in the middle of the black and white sheets I hear you ask what’s wrong with me, and your voice moves with the black and white sheets at me and away from me, at me and away from me. And what’s wrong?
Did you see that? I say.
What?
The sheets.
No, nothing.
And the sheets move up to my face, to my mouth, the sheets are touching my lips.
I have to go now, you say.
And the sheets try to force their way into my mouth. I grab at my mouth, to pull the sheets out, because I have to pull the sheets out of my mouth! the sheets can’t suffocate me! I have to pull the sheets out of my mouth, I have 30 to! and I grab at my mouth, pull hard, but the sheets slip away, I grab at them but they disappear, they slip out of my hand, the sheets slip further and further away when I grab at them, they disappear. The sheets grab me.
What’s wrong Lars?
The sheets disappear. Just sheets. Gone. The white sheets disappear, I reach after them, and then, almost, but just as I’m about to grab them they disappear and then there are no more sheets.
Don’t act crazy, Lars!
Grab and the sheets are gone. I have to grab hold of the sheets, they come at my mouth, the sheets are black and white and they come at my mouth and now I have to grab hold of the black and white sheets, I reach for the sheets.
What are you doing? Don’t act crazy! You’re scaring me! Stop acting crazy! you say.
And the sheets. But the sheets disappear and disappear. I look at the black sheets. I see the sheets calm down.
You don’t see? I say.
See what? you say.
The black and white sheets, I say.
I don’t see anything, you say.
And I see the sheets calm down, then the sheets dissolve and they start to fade away and then they’re gone.
You didn’t see anything, I say.
And I see you shake your head.
And now I have to go, you say.
Can’t you stay a little while longer? I say.
No, I have to go.
Do you know what you’re going to do now?
You shake your head.
Are you going to see your uncle?
I just wanted to tell you what he and Mother said, you say. 31
And now you and your uncle will be home alone, you’ll be able to do whatever you want with each other, just you and your uncle. And I won’t be here. Because I have to move out.
If you want me to move out, then, I say.
I don’t want you to.
No.
It’s my uncle who wants it, and Mother said she agrees, you say.
I nod. And I see the white and black sheets, now the sheets are standing out from the window, in the middle of the room, and it looks almost funny, it almost makes me laugh, because it really is funny, all these black and white sheets.
Look at the sheets! I say.
And I see you shake your head.
I have to go now, I just wanted to tell you that they want you to move out, you say.
I nod. I see the black and white sheets stand out from the window, then I look at you, you stand there in the room and the black and white sheets almost reach you, the sheets almost touch your black and white dress.
You don’t see the black and white sheets? I say. They’re almost touching you.
And you shake your head.
Look at the window, they’re standing out from the window, look!
And you look at the window, and I see the black and white sheets move towards you, they almost touch you, then the sheets move away from you.
You don’t see!
The sheets pull slowly back towards the window, slowly, one at a time, the black and white sheets contract, towards the window. 32
Look! There! Now they’re pulling back!
The sheets slowly pull back, and it really is funny, it makes me want to laugh, and that you can’t see the sheets! I look at you. You look and look at me, with pale eyes, eyes that are now almost black.
I have to go, you say.
I see the sheets pulling away, now they disappear into the window, and the sheets are gone. And I was supposed to meet with Hans Gude, who can really paint, today he was supposed to look at the picture I’m painting, but maybe Gude won’t like my picture very much? maybe he’ll think I can’t paint? that I don’t belong at the Academy of Art in Düsseldorf? maybe he’ll think that there is no reason for me to study in Germany any more, that there’s no reason why I should be a painter at all? I sit down on the edge of the bed. I see my pipe in the ashtray on the nightstand. And at least I have my pipe, if nothing else I have my pipe. And I have tobacco. At least I can lie on the bed and smoke my pipe. I sit on the edge of the bed and I look at you, you are standing there in the middle of the room, you look down at me and you’ve said more than once that you have to go, that you can’t stay in the room with me any more and you really can’t stay here because your uncle will be home soon. Your uncle. You don’t want me to live in the same apartment as you any more, you don’t want me to, because you and your uncle have to be alone in the apartment. I know it. I have to leave. You say I have to leave. I can’t stay here any more. You said that your uncle says I have to move out. I have to leave. You asked your uncle to get me out of here. I know it. You want me to move out so that you can be alone in the apartment with your uncle. And I have to move out. And I hear someone open the front door. I look at you, you look at me, and I hear you whisper now my uncle is home and 33 I nod. And I see you walk across the room, over to the door. You stand in front of the door and I whisper your uncle? and you nod and you whisper oh no, I can’t believe he’s home so soon and I look down at the floor in front of me. I hear a door close, I hear heavy footsteps coming across the apartment and the footsteps are so heavy that it has to be your uncle, I hear his footsteps come across the apartment, Mr Winckelmann’s footsteps, heavy footsteps, Mr Winckelmann’s black and heavy footsteps come across the apartment. Mr Winckelmann. Now Mr Winckelmann is here to throw me out of the room I’m renting on Jägerhofstrasse. You asked your uncle to come and throw me out, I know it.
My darling Helene, I say. My darling darling Helene.
And I hear how wrong it sounds and I see you standing over by the door, you look at me and then I hear your uncle shout Helene! Helene! and you look at me.
He’s calling me, you say. I have to go.
And I nod. And I see you open the door, go out into the hall. I sit on the edge of the bed, I look over at the nightstand, where my pipe is lying in the ashtray. I lie down on the bed, I stretch out my legs and I hear your uncle say there you are, have you been in there with him again? he says, and I hear you answer something but I can’t hear what you say.
No this won’t do, he has to leave, no, we can’t have this, your uncle says.
Yes, all right, you say.
He has to leave, your uncle says.
Yes, you say.
Today, your uncle says.
And I can’t hear if you say anything, I can just hear your footsteps in the hall and then your uncle says that I’m in the room all day too, I obviously don’t do anything, 34 I just lie there in bed, he says, and then I hear you say that I paint.
No he doesn’t, he just lies in bed, your uncle says.
And I hear footsteps in the hall, your light footsteps, your uncle’s heavy footsteps, and I hear your uncle say that I have to leave today, I’m here all the time, I have to leave, he says, and I hear you say something but I can’t quite tell what you’re saying.
And you’re in his room, as soon as we leave you alone in the house you go to him, you were there yesterday, you’re there today, your uncle says.
Just those two times, you say.
You make life so easy for us, your uncle says.
And I hear both your footsteps, I hear your footsteps, I hear your uncle’s footsteps, I hear both your footsteps in the hall and I hear a door open and I hear your uncle say he has to leave! and I lie on the bed and your uncle has said that I have to leave. I can’t rent this room any more. And you want me to move out. You were just in my room and you said that I had to move out. Because you’d rather be alone in the apartment, you want to be alone in the apartment with your uncle, that’s what you want, you want to touch his big black belly, look into his black eyes. That’s why your uncle is here. He wants to touch your breasts. He wants to be alone with you, but I’m here. And you want to be alone in the apartment with your uncle. You want me to move out. You want your uncle to touch your breasts without anyone knowing about it. You want to do things with your uncle. I know it. And I hear you shout no, no! And you are shouting. I hear you shout from the living room. I hear you shout no, no! I hear your uncle say something, but what is he saying? What is your uncle saying? And you shout that he has to let go! let go! let go! is that what you’re shouting? And I can’t just lie 35 here in bed while you’re shouting and something is happening in the living room? I have to do something. I just lie in bed. And did I hear you shout? Or did I only think you were shouting? I didn’t really hear anything? Or did you shout? And your uncle said I have to move out. But I don’t want to move out. And you didn’t shout? It was nothing? And I can’t just lie here in bed. I have to do something. I have to get up, I have to go to the studio because today Hans Gude, none other, no less a figure than Hans Gude himself is supposed to walk around today and look at the paintings by the Norwegian students at the Academy of Art in Düsseldorf, and he’ll look at my painting too and he’ll say what he thinks of the picture I’m painting. And I’m just lying here in bed in my purple velvet suit. I look down at my purple suit made of velvet. I cross my legs. And I can’t just lie here, because didn’t I hear you shout? Or did you not shout? I see my pipe lying in the ashtray on the nightstand and I pick up my pipe, I put the hand with my pipe in it on my stomach. I look at the window and there, in front of the window, you my darling Helene stood and let down your hair and then it flowed free, your hair fell down over your shoulders where you stood, in your white dress, there in front of the window you stood in your white dress while your hair flowed lightly down over your shoulders. And I got up from the bed. I walked over to you. I put my arms around you. I pressed my face into your shoulder, into your hair. I stood with my face pressed into your hair and I breathed through your hair. I don’t know how long I stood like that, but it was a long, long time, I stood like that a long time and I breathed through your hair. I pressed you to me. And you pressed me to you. We stood there, in front of the window. I look at the window and on the hill outside the window I see the poplars, a row of poplars, they’re 36 standing there, the poplars, on the top of the hill, when I see the poplars from the bed it looks like they’re floating in mid-air. And you stood there in front of the window. And behind you were the poplars. And I see some riders come across the hillside, in front of the poplars. I only see the heads of the horses and the upper bodies of the riders. And I don’t really understand any of it. Poplars, riders. And your hair. And your hair like poplars. And we like riders. And in us the blue sky. And I just lie on the bed, in my purple velvet suit, and I look at the poplars, at the riders. And I hear your voice, but I can’t hear what you’re saying. But you’re not screaming? Your voice is calm? Should I go and help you? Or don’t you want to see me? Would you rather I just go? And then I hear your uncle say that I have to leave, today, this very day. And then you say something but I can’t hear what you’re saying. And you’re not screaming, you’re just speaking quietly. And you said I have to move out. I can’t live here any more. It’s your uncle who said I can’t live here any more. I have to move out. And you want me to move out. And now your uncle came home, in the middle of the day. And I wasn’t supposed to be in my room now, I was supposed to be in my studio now, I was supposed to be there with the other painters, the other painters who can’t paint, I was supposed to be there and then Gude would have come, he would have said that the painting I’m working on looks good, so far it looks very good, he would have said, very promising, you really are talented, he would have said, none other than Hans Gude would have said that about my picture, the picture by Lars from Hattarvåg, the son of someone who wasn’t even allowed to be a Quaker, a day labourer, he would have said about the picture by Lars Hertervig, my picture, that it really is promising. I am Lars Hertervig. I came to Germany, to the Academy of 37 Art in Düsseldorf, to study as a landscape painter. I am Lars Hertervig the landscape painter. I am lying in bed, in my purple velvet suit. I hold my pipe on my belly. I should have gone to the studio, because today Hans Gude was supposed to look at the picture I’m painting. But Hans Gude probably won’t like my picture. He’ll think I can’t paint, that I have no business being at the Academy of Art, that it would have been much better if I had stayed in Stavanger and painted houses. Because I really can’t paint. And I can’t live here any more. Helene doesn’t want me to live here any more. I have to move out. Today Helene was here and told me I had to move out. And did I hear you scream? Did you scream no, no? And your uncle is in the living room with you. And I am lying here in bed, fully dressed, in my purple velvet suit. And I can’t just lie here, because you can’t just be in the living room with your uncle. And you’re screaming. I heard you scream. Your uncle probably touched your breasts, maybe he put his hand up your dress too? I know it. I know your uncle touched you and you screamed. I have to do something. And I hear heavy footsteps out in the hall. Your uncle is walking down the hall. And now your uncle will knock on the door to my room, he’ll say that I can’t live here any more, I have to move out, I have to leave this very day, he’ll say, I have to pack right away, your uncle will say, and then he’ll stay standing in the doorway, he’ll look at me with his black eyes, black eyes above his big belly, above his black beard. Your uncle will soon be standing in the doorway and he’ll say that I have to move out. I have to pack my things right away and get out. I’m not allowed to live here any more. That’s what your uncle will say. I have to get out. And I hear your uncle walking down the hall, heavy footsteps, now your uncle has been in the living room, alone with you, and has done things to 38 you, I know it, he touched you, he did things to you, and you screamed and now your uncle is walking down the hall, he’s coming to knock on my door, or maybe he’ll just open the door? or maybe he’ll leave again? maybe your uncle will just go to the front door, open the front door, and leave? maybe your uncle won’t come to my room after all to tell me I have to leave, that I can’t live here any more? I hear heavy footsteps coming down the hall and I hear the footsteps stop in front of the door to my room. I hear a knock on the door. Your uncle knocks hard on the door to my room, several times, and I’m lying in bed, in my purple velvet suit, with my pipe resting on my stomach, and your uncle knocked hard on my door because now he’ll tell me that I have to move out, get out! you have to get out this very day! he’ll say, because this can’t go on any longer! he’ll say, and I hear knocks on the door, and I’m lying here in bed, in my purple velvet suit, but I don’t answer, because I know it’s your uncle who’s knocking on the door and he just wants me to move out, to get out of here, he wants me not to live here any more, that’s what he wants, I know it, that’s why I won’t answer, won’t say come in, I won’t answer and when your uncle opens the door to my room even though I didn’t say come in I’ll just lie on the bed and look at him, him, the one who won’t leave my darling Helene alone, who does things to my darling Helene, who showed me her hair, who told me we’re in love! my darling Helene! my darling darling Helene! Helene! There’s another knock on the door. And I just lie on the bed, I don’t answer. I look at the door. I see the door handle move. I look at the door frame. I see the door open. I see the door come at me. I see black clothing in the door. I see the door open wider, I see your uncle’s fat belly. I see his belly pushing against his vest. I look down, at his black trousers. I look up, into his black beard. I see his black 39 eyes. I see your uncle standing in the doorway. Your uncle looks down at me. I see that he’s shaking his head.
You’re lying in bed, Mr Hertervig, he says.
And your uncle says that I’m lying in bed, and what am I supposed to say to that? maybe I can say that I’m not lying in bed? I look at your uncle, at Mr Winckelmann.
Yes, Mr Winckelmann, I say, and I sit up on the edge of the bed.
Aren’t you in school? he says.
Yes, but not today. I can’t go to school every day, my eyes aren’t up to it.
So that’s how it is, he says.
Yes, that’s how it is.
And when you’re not at school you lie here in bed and smoke your pipe?
I nod.
I see, he says.
Is there something in particular you wanted, Mr Winckelmann?
Yes, something very particular, he says. And Helene, you haven’t talked to Helene today, have you?
And Mr Winckelmann is asking whether I’ve talked to Helene today, that’s what he’s asking, and how should I answer? can I tell him I talked to you? then he’ll probably hit you, won’t he? but he knows that I talked to you, he saw you leave my room so he already knows that you talked to me, it’s no secret any more, that you talked to me, that you were in my room, he knows that already. Your uncle did see you leave my room. I have to say something, because your uncle is standing there looking at me and I’m not saying anything.
Well, did you, Mr Hertervig? he says.
Why do you ask, Mr Winckelmann?
Perhaps you think it’s an unusual question? A fifteen-, 40 sixteen-year-old girl? A young girl alone in the house with a man like you? Is that a strange question?
I shake my head. And Mr Winckelmann is speaking so strangely, so stiff, in a way.
So answer it then, Mr Winckelmann says.
I heard Helene scream before, I say.
So, Mr Hertervig heard Helene scream. And what is that supposed to mean, may I ask? Mr Hertervig doesn’t like it when Helene screams? Mr Hertervig doesn’t like these screams of hers? But can Mr Hertervig answer my question about whether or not he talked to Miss Helene today?
I did.
You did, all right then. And does Mr Hertervig think that I, who have been responsible for her since her father died so suddenly, responsible for her mother, for this whole family, that I will stand here and do nothing while a young man, well, you take my meaning.
But Helene and I are in love!
And Mr Winckelmann looks at me with startled eyes because now I’ve probably said something a bit crazy, and then Mr Winckelmann comes into the room and closes the door behind him. And I see Mr Winckelmann walk over to the window and then Mr Winckelmann stands with his back to me, in the same place where Helene stood earlier today he stands and then Mr Winckelmann turns around and he walks to the door, he turns around again, walks to the window again. Mr Winckelmann stands again and looks out the window. I sit on the edge of the bed in my purple velvet suit and then I hear Mr Winckelmann say that this is truly worse than he thought and I see Mr Winckelmann stand over by the window and look at me and he shakes his head.
No, no, Mr Winckelmann says. 41
