Beatles (9 page)

We tore off the strips of cloth, unbuttoned our shirts at the neck, took a deep breath, and then we smelt it, we were in Pilestredet, the smell of malt from the brewery and tobacco from Tiedemann’s, sweet and a bit sickly. We sniffed the air like three anxious deer and then we breathed in again, as deeply as we could, until our blazers tightened round our chests, for like that we could perhaps get merry, with a bit of luck and the wind in the right direction we were bound to get merry.

At four o’clock we stood outside Urra Park, stone cold sober. It was packed with people, the same arrangement as the previous year, the way it should be. Tin cans, hoopla, nails in a plank of wood, tombola, ice creams and Coke. We started with the tin cans, we were each given a cloth ball, three throws and down they came. There we stood with a giant teddy bear, but we couldn’t be seen dragging that around, so we gave it to a little girl in a national costume, a good
deed, appropriate for a day like this, now we could get up to some devilry.

We hammered in some nails, threw rings, ate sausages and at five o’clock Ringo turned up, in full regalia, with the drum over his shoulder and the sticks in his belt.

‘How’s it goin’?’ we asked.

‘A-a-alright. The old ’uns couldn’t hear a thing. Clapped in the middle of the numbers.’

He bought himself a Coke, and out of nowhere Dragon appeared, Dragon and Goose. Dragon was wearing the world’s smallest suit, looked like he was wearing short trousers, with his thighs and arms bulging out of the shiny, threadbare material. He seemed happy and waved his cap. We looked at each other. Goose looked at us, deathly pale and trembling. Dragon was as drunk as a skunk.

‘Sherry, you shee,’ he said with his tongue askew.

Goose, shifting feet nervously, was peering around to see if any of the teachers were there.

‘He was sitting in The Man on the Steps,’ Goose whispered. ‘He just followed me. Came after me.’

‘You should hop it before Lue comes,’ John advised in a kind voice.

Dragon aligned his eyes into a gaze and snarled, ‘I’m gonna
kill
Lue!’

We grabbed Dragon between us, dragged him over to somewhere quieter, got him onto a bench and told him to sober up.

‘I’m gonna
kill
Lue!’ he yelled, forcing his mouth into a cold, malicious grin, the like of which we had never seen before.

‘Shall we take you home?’ John asked cautiously.

‘Not bloody goin’ home!’

A smile unfolded over his face. He shoved his hands into his pockets and pulled out a firecracker and matches.

‘Not here,’ George said, trying to take it off him. Dragon pulled his hand away.

Then he put the firecracker in his mouth, struck a match and lit the fuse. It hissed, the flame advanced on the powder. Dragon closed his eyes, the fuse was half burnt, Gunnar said something, Ola just gaped, Goose retreated, Seb and I exchanged glances. Then Dragon raised his fat hand and was about to take the firecracker out of his
mouth and throw it, we held our breath, but his lips were stuck to the paper, I could see quite clearly that the skin on his lips was being stretched, it was glued to the red paper around the powder. Dragon’s eyes were wide open, terror-stricken, it only took a second, not even that, then it exploded in the middle of Dragon’s face. He was thrown backwards, he sat spread over the white bench with a large blood-spattered hole right under his nose, his teeth were gone, his lips were gone, his whole mouth, he was staring at us, seemingly uncomprehending, as the tears streamed down his cheeks into the red crater. People ran over, Gunnar threw up behind a tree, Seb and I tried to explain what had happened. Not long afterwards the ambulance arrived and Dragon was driven off with a flashing blue light and sirens.

Urra Park slowly emptied. We were the last, all the stands had been packed up and all the prizes taken away. There was blood on the white bench.

‘Gimme the firecrackers,’ Gunnar exclaimed. ‘And the bangers and the jumping jacks.’

We did as he said, put the ammunition in his hand, knowing what he would do. He walked over to the drain and dropped them in one by one. We didn’t protest because at this moment Dragon was lying under a white light with his gaping red hole as knives and scalpels flashed.

We headed for Frogner Park. It wasn’t May 17 any more. Darkness lay across the sky like a blanket, sausages and ice cream and Coke lay like a dead weight in our stomachs. The flags hanging from the balconies and the windows resembled bloodstained banners.

As we passed Frogner Lido, Ola said, ‘I regret all the c-c-crap I’ve ever said to D-D-Dragon.’

So did we. It was important to have said that. We were glad Ola had spoken up.

‘I’ll be n-n-nice to him when he comes back to s-s-school.’

That seemed to ease the pain inside, we breathed out all the badness. Ola banged the drum once, Dragon would be fine again, that was certain.

‘This year I’m goin’ to dive from the ten-metre board,’ I said.

‘You wouldn’t dare,’ Seb said.

‘Wanna bet?’

‘Pack of twenty.’

‘Done.’

Almost no one was out now, no old ladies walking their poodles, no one playing football with upturned benches as the goals, no one snogging under the trees, even the poofs had gone, no one breathing hard behind the foliage, the bushes by the patch known as Hundejordet, Dogland, in Frogner Park were unoccupied. Only the dead on the other side of the fence were keeping us company. The wind rattled Ola’s medals.

‘Know what I think?’ I said under my breath. ‘I think the man who drowned himself in Bygdøy was the Hand Grenade Man.’

The others gawped at me.

‘D’you think so?’ Ola whispered. ‘How come?’

‘He would’ve chucked a hand grenade into the procession today if he’d been alive,’ I said.

‘I think so, too,’ Seb said.

At that moment fireworks exploded across the sky. Terrified, we looked up. Blood was running in thin stripes over the town.

And in the far distance we heard music.

One Friday, after a week in which we had been well-behaved and hard-working, we went on a class trip. We caught the tram to Majorstuen and from there walked to Vindern, across the fields and up behind Gaustad. We were not alone. 7C was with us, Nina and Guri in the vanguard. It was a hell of a long walk. Lue’s face was shiny before we reached the Police College, he was gasping like a fifteen-kilo pike and munching small pastilles. Inkie was with us too, the plaits’ class teacher. She always wore brown, today she was sporting large, brown knee-breeches and looked like a cross between Harald Grønningen and Wenche Myhre, Olympic skier and pop star. Another teacher was with us too, a natural science teacher, Holst, a fairly young, weedy type who scuttled around like a lap dog, yapping all the time.

We sat down in a clearing, a green gateway to the forest, and at once Lue started to fuss. First of all, he counted us three times, but no one was missing, except for Dragon, who was still in hospital,
there was a problem with his palate as well. Lue’s voice thundered across the landscape. Inkie and Holst stood to attention beside him.

‘Each and every one of you is to find one
flower
and one
plant
, and you have to show it to Holst. Do
not
wander off. You have fifteen minutes in which to do this.’

The classes got to their feet and scurried off in all directions. We went back the way we had come, furthest from Lue, and when he was out of sight we sat down and poked the grass.

‘Should’ve brought a f-f-football,’ Ola muttered.

A beetle wandered past. We let it go. Above us flapped some large birds with long necks, probably geese on their way to Lake Sognsvann. All of a sudden Ringo stood up and stared.

‘Funny-lookin’ house down there,’ he said, pointing.

We stood up and looked in the same direction.

‘That’s Gaustad,’ George whispered. ‘Where all the nutters live.’

We saw a high wire fence, the buildings were old and eerie, with almost no windows. A large chimney protruded from one of them, a big smokestack.

‘D-d-d’you think,’ Ringo stammered. ‘D-d-d’you think they b-b-burn ’em?’

There was no smoke. The sky above was clear blue.

‘It’s just the kitchen,’ John said. ‘Think of all that food!’

‘The nutters eat a helluva lot,’ George said.

We sat down. The beetle had climbed up a tall blade of grass. It hung there as the blade bent towards the ground, a black shell on the end of yellow grass.

Something stirred behind a bush and Lue’s head hove into view.

‘And you have already found four flowers?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘But we’ve caught a huge beetle.’

‘We want flowers,’ Lue shouted. ‘Let the beetle go this instant and find a flower!’

He turned on his heel and vanished between the trees like a spirit.

We mooched round staring at the ground. There were no flowers in the forest, we would have to go out into the clearing. Suddenly I was on my own. The others were by a bush a long way behind me. Then I was no longer alone, a branch cracked, I spun round and there was Nina.

‘How many flowers have you found?’ she asked.

‘None,’ I said.

‘I’ve found two.’

She was standing right in front of me, no more than a metre away and I could feel her breath. And I could see she had blonde hair under her arms, for her blouse was quite loose, and breasts, hers weren’t the biggest in the school, Klara probably had custody of those, but anyway, I gulped and looked for the other boys, but they weren’t there.

‘What did he look like, the man you found in Bygdøy?’ she asked.

‘Dunno. Didn’t see much of him.’

Something was happening in the clearing. Everyone was running back and forming a large circle, staring at something or other. Amid all this we heard the natural science teacher’s agitated voice.

‘Let’s go and see,’ I said quickly.

‘You can have one of my flowers,’ Nina said, stretching out her hand.

I studied her hand. It was small and narrow. Holding a flower.

‘That’s very nice of you,’ I said, carefully taking the moist, green stem and counting four red petals which formed a large bud.

‘Poppy,’ Nina whispered.

And then we ran down to the clearing as fast as we could. Holst was standing in the centre of the group pointing to the ground. Where a snake lay coiled up.

‘Nature provides us with the most essential knowledge,’ he lectured. ‘Nature is the best book of all!’

We were as quiet as mice, staring in fear at the snake.

‘There is only one poisonous snake in Norway,’ Holst went on. ‘The adder. The grass snake, on the other hand, is harmless. And the slowworm is not really a worm. It belongs to the lizard family. This creature here is a grass snake and is therefore harmless.’

He looked around with an air of triumph. Lue stepped forward, braver now, but Inkie kept her distance, her breeches flapping like pennants.

‘Now I’ll show you something,’ Holst almost sang. ‘I’ll lift it up by its tail. It’s not dangerous because it’s a grass snake. And should it turn out to be an adder, which of course is not the case, it’s not
dangerous to lift it up by the tail either, because an adder can’t raise its head and bite at air!’

The circle widened as Holst rolled up his shirtsleeves.

‘It looks like an adder,’ John said, standing right behind me.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It’s got to be an adder.’

‘Is it wise to hold an adder’s tail?’ John asked.

‘No,’ I said.

Holst bent down, grabbed the snake with lightning speed and showed it off with a beaming face. Then the snake twisted in the air, thrust back its head and bit him on the arm. Everyone screamed. Holst screamed, threw the snake away with a howl and the circle dispersed in all directions. The snake slithered into some tall scrub, Holst sank to the ground and Lue stood there, mystified, flapping his arms.

‘I’m dying,’ Holst rattled, white as sugar. ‘I’m dying.’

We carried him to Ringveien and flagged down a car, which took him to the casualty department. Holst survived. Afterwards Lue said that we reap our greatest knowledge through trial and error. He was certain that none of us would hold a snake by the tail in the future.

On the way home John stopped and pointed to my hand.

‘What’ve you got there?’ he asked.

‘A flower, can’t you see?’ I said.

‘What are you goin’ to do with it?’ George enquired with a grin.

‘Give it to my mum,’ I said. ‘Birthday.’

‘Bloody hell,’ said the others.

Nina was walking in front of us. I couldn’t take my eyes off her back and her tall, slim neck.

I gently squeezed the giant red tear in my hand.

And someone began to sing a familiar refrain about the local asylum:

‘There’s a hole in the fence at Gaustad, there’s a hole in the fence at Gaustad!’

We had seen death in Bygdøy. Now death was here in a different guise. Exams. Or perhaps it was the waiting time that felt like death, a kind of antechamber, white and soundless. That’s what it is, waiting
is death. When what you have been waiting for arrives, it is already over, just like the DTP injection, the so-called fork-jab we dreaded for five years, the needle grew in insane proportions over time and in the end we imagined a pitch fork in our backs. However, standing in a line with bared chests in the doctor’s surgery and a nurse rubbing our shoulders with moist cotton wool, we were almost disappointed when the doctor jabbed and it didn’t hurt. It was as though we had been tricked. And that was how it was with the exams as well. Sitting in the sunlit classroom with the exam sheets in front of me, I felt it was over already, or something new had just begun. The silence was deafening, not even the school bells rang, right up until packed lunches were taken out and the windows were opened wide. Then summer hit us, with bird cries, cycle bells and a whole orchestra of smells. On the first day we had arithmetic and geometry, on the second it was English and finally essay writing. When we finished on the third day we charged down the steps and sprinted into town, to Studenten with fifteen kroner in our pockets and our mouths watering. We started with a chocolate milkshake and followed through with a banana split.