Mind Pictures

By Øystein Bredesen and Karen Leigh Bredesen

Bergen, Norway
1938

In his mid-twenties, Edvard Knausen moves from his comfortably unsatisfying life in a rural fishing village in western Norway to the city of Bergen. Having the skills of a shop assistant in the village’s general store, along with a family connection, opens the door for Edvard to work in one of the city’s best menswear shops.

Even though the new opportunity is a strike of good fortune, Edvard still struggles with his vexing fear of failure, the guilt of seeming to reject his country roots, and almost ever-present class warfare.

And that’s just on the surface of Edvard’s passage to manhood: As he develops his new life, his true passion lies in playing and creating piano music in the midst of a dizzyingly intricate romantic relationship.


“Apart from the four songs you know of, I have written another two and started on a third.” Adelaine sipped at her brandy too. She looked at him with a strange expression, half sad and half amused. “Our Mind Pictures is not for mere mortals, Edvard. They are for the gods. Did you know that? Through each other, we touch on something that is greater than ourselves.”

This novel’s original Norwegian version, Speilbilder (2006), is listed in The National Library of Norway and with the Arts Council Norway, the chief governmental administrator for the fulfillment of Norwegian cultural policy and completely funded by the Ministry of Culture. The novel is recognized for it’s high level of quality and period accuracy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Apr 20, 2006
• ISBN: 9781483556055

Book preview

1938

CHAPTER 1

UNCLE HALVARD’S DINNER PARTY

Erik and Edvard Knausen were strolling through the city towards the quayside and Bryggen fish market. Now and then the rare motorcar passed by, causing them to pause as it lurched past them on its narrow tires across the cobblestones. Otherwise, the streets were filled with horse-drawn carriages and trolleys heading in both directions, their passengers hanging onto the loops dangling from the ceilings.

Since arriving aboard the steamboat Dampen early this morning, they visited a number of shops, mostly window-shopping. Erik bought a new sheath knife and a shiny harmonica. The only thing Edvard had purchased was a pocket-sized English phrase book. Sitting on a park bench, the young men ate some sweet buns by the fountain at Lille Lungegårdsvann Lake and later attended the early showing of a Chaplin comedy film at the Eldorado Cinema, where they muffled their laughter. The rural fellows, who came from an islet on the west coast, didn’t want to seem loud and coarse while in the midst of city people.

I like Bergen. Edvard straightened his cap and pushed his hands deep into his trouser pockets. Maybe I should look for some work here, while we have time to spare?

Erik stopped and turned to face him.

Aren’t you happy at our homestead, on our family land, at Knausen?

You know full well that that has nothin’ to do with anythin’.

Edvard continued on his way and Erik caught up with him. He looked utterly shocked.

You serious?

Edvard looked his brother up and down and shrugged his shoulders. His heart lay in emigrating to America. This talk of Bergen was just something that had just crossed his mind.

We’ll see, Erik, he answered.

They had not seen their uncle for many years. The last time Edvard had met him was at Old Martin’s funeral. They normally visited their aunt when they were in Bergen, but Uncle Halvard was usually out sailing the seas. The young men’s mother was proud of her brother, the ship’s captain. He’d climbed upwards and onwards, as Mamma put it.

Their uncle’s house was visible from far away, a residence of some standing surrounded by whitewashed walls. Unsurprisingly, when they visited, the brothers often felt like unworthy country yokels, and their aunt knew how to constantly highlight this. They knew they were with a better class of people when with Uncle Halvard and Aunt Marie and their only daughter, who was nine years younger than Edvard.

They stopped just before a wrought-iron gate. Hidden behind the high wall, Erik dropped his bag, pulled out a comb from his back pocket and ran it through his hair. Edvard did the same. Using Erik’s handkerchief, they gave their boots a quick wipe and scrutinized each other. They weren’t exactly presentable for visiting city folk, but it would have to do. Also, they had brought their best suits and shoes with them.

I reck’n we’d better get this done wit’? Erik grabbed his bag and straightened up.

Edvard did the same.

Yep. They were whispering to avoid being overheard as they proceeded through the gate.

Inside the courtyard, they paused for a while before Erik went up the steps and rang the doorbell. The main entrance was painted blue and was at least double the size of their front door at home in Knausen. Above it was a beautiful stained glass window shaped like a segment of orange.

And here are Erik and Edvard! How lovely!

Aunt Marie stepped aside and shook hands as she ushered them in. Uncle Halvard also came out into the hall and greeted them with a strong grip. He was a giant of a man. Aunt Marie barely reached his shoulders.

A maid bobbed a curtsey and took their coats.

Bodil, take their bags up to the guest room, please. Uncle Halvard pointed and strode past them. He crossed the parlor to stand by the window overlooking the waters of Byfjorden, the city’s fjord. Edvard thought his uncle might be longing to return to sea.

Their aunt indicated the settee as she led the way.

Come and sit down. Bodil will bring us some coffee and cakes.

Bodil had not said a word, but Edvard had a feeling that she was from out of town too. Her eyes were alert and she was a neat little creature to whom he took an immediately liking.

Aunt Marie had put on weight over the years, but was still a handsome woman. Edvard gazed at her as she sat opposite them on the sofa. Something about her skin reminded him of candlewax. It was white and smooth, with only a hint of wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. Aunt Marie’s face lit up when she smiled.

Uncle Halvard came and sat down too. He had bushy eyebrows, a hefty paunch and hair greying at the temples.

They had recently written to say that they would be in town, just to do a bit of shopping and have a look around. Erik had just returned from the spring herring-fishing season and Eilertsen, who owned the general store where he worked, had given Edvard a few days off. Uncle Halvard had confirmed that they were most welcome to stay at his estate, Sandvikslien.

You’re grown men now, boys. Their uncle put down his coffee cup and looked them up and down. Let’s see. Erik, you’re twenty-eight in the autumn, aren’t you?

Yes, right. Feeling a little sheepish, he looked over to his uncle.

Uncle Halvard leaned back in his chair.

And Edvard, you turned twenty-six last month?

Right, Edvard nodded, impressed at his uncle’s recollection of such trivial facts. He was looking good with his impressive beard.

They drank coffee and ate the lavish cakes. Uncle Halvard asked about the family at home and they answered as best they could. Everything was pretty much the same as always. Their father was still captain of his own large fishing boat, Tedno, along with its own crew, and Erik stood as his second-in-command. The catches had been rather low the previous winter, and the herring hadn’t been plentiful in the spring either. They were hoping there would be a decent sprat season in the fjords this summer. So far, Edvard planned to stay at Eilertsen’s.

In your mother’s last letter, she mentioned that Edvard might be interested in doing something different in the future, something here in the city. Is that correct?

Edvard glanced over at Erik. He seemed bewildered. Erik hadn’t known their mother had written to Uncle Halvard about the matter. Their father and sister didn’t know anything about it either. Edvard met his uncle’s gaze.

I’m goin’ nowhere fast at home, he stated. I wouldn’t mind tryin’ somethin’ else.

While Bodil refilled Uncle Halvard’s cup, he brought out his pipe and filled it with tobacco. He peered over at Edvard as he struck the match. Erik and Edvard had both bought cigarettes in town, but their uncle didn’t ask whether they wanted to smoke. They chose not to seek permission.

You’ll be staying in our fine city until Monday evening, as far as I understand? Uncle Halvard was puffing away at his pipe.

They both nodded in agreement. Erik added that since they were in town, they wanted enough time to make the most of it. They hadn’t visited for such a long time.

Despite Erik’s pleasant surface appearance, Edvard could tell that underneath it, his brother was still quite shaken by Uncle Halvard’s news about Mamma’s letter. He kept looking over at Edvard, his eyes looked to be boiling with anger.

The reason why I ask is that I might have something of interest to you, for your future, Edvard. Their uncle winked at him and smiled. But I don’t want to discuss it any further until Monday, he said as he rose. That’ll keep you wondering, boy.

Aunt Marie rose too.

You must be tired after your journey and the long day in the city, I imagine. Bodil will show you to the guest room. She smoothed down her dress and linked arms with their uncle as they crossed the parquet together towards the inner parlor.

Please feel free to have a bath if you want, and relax a little. Dinner isn’t until 8 o’clock, she told them. We already invited guests for this evening. As the invitation was issued some time ago, it would have been difficult to postpone at such short notice. We hope that you will join us.

Edvard and Erik looked at each other. A dinner party?

They’re nice enough people, boys. A little snobbish perhaps, but don’t worry about that. They don’t bite. And the food will be first-class, won’t it, Marie?

Yes, I can promise you that. She released Uncle Halvard’s arm and approached them. You may have other plans in town for this evening?

Well … Erik hesitated. In fact, they had made plans to go to a common watering hole, the Børsen Bar. Also, Edvard was dreading a possible argument with his brother over not having told him about the letter. A trip to the bar may be a bad idea.

I’d like to take you up on your invite, Edvard said. It might be fun, as long as the clothes we have with us are okay.

They probably are, Aunt Marie assured them as their uncle added, Come on, boys. As long as you have a suit, that’ll be fine.

Erik told his aunt and uncle they had their best suits, albeit a bit beat-up, with them, but that they weren’t used to dinner parties.

Uncle Halvard chose to ignore this last remark.

So we are agreed. His tone entertained no opportunity to contradict. Eight o’clock sharp.

They thanked them for the invitation. There was no point in protesting.

After Bodil closed the door behind her and they were left alone in the guest room, Erik grabbed Edvard by the scruff of the neck. They were about the same size.

You little shit, he whispered angrily. So that was why you wanted me to come to Bergen with you so bad. Just wait ‘til I tell our sister tomorrow, and Pappa, when we get home.

Edvard freed himself from his brother’s grip and stared at him defiantly.

Stine got to leave home when she felt like it, but not me. What are you gettin’ at? Edvard growled. Stine, a nurse at Florida Hospital, had been living in the city for many years.

It’s different for Stine. She went to school and knew what she wanted to do since she was a kid, Erik said.

I wanted to do that too, Edvard answered. But I wasn’t allowed. Have you forgotten? He threw his bag down on the bed and limped towards Erik. Have you forgotten, I asked?! He clenched his fist at his brother. Out of the two of them, Erik was stronger physically, but he rarely won arguments with Edvard. His shoulders dropped as he slowly shook his head and threw his hands in the air.

Let’s agree to disagree, he said quietly. At least for tonight.

The dinner party was to start in just under two hours.

It was amazing bathing in a tub of hot water with bubbles up to his ears. Edvard stretched out, staring at the ceiling as he daydreamed. What an experience! A tub could be installed at Knausen, but it would not be right for their kind of folks. At Uncle Halvard’s, it was a matter of course. There were moments when time stood still, Edvard mused. He blew at the bubbles and could feel the heat of the water right down to his toes. Even his polio foot eased as he relaxed. Life was truly only lived in the city! And in America! They probably had a bathtub in every single house over there. God bless Mamma for her letter and for remembering to pack their suits and best shoes. How would it have looked if they had turned up at a dinner party in hard labor clothing and lace-up work boots?

As he stood on the bathroom floor drying off, he started thinking of Bodil, the maid. She had asked whether she should iron their shirts and suits before the evening. It was a kind gesture and they had both thanked her profusely.

The brothers were sleeping heavily when Bodil knocked on the door and entered the room.

There’s half an hour until dinner, gentlemen. You probably want to wash and brush up before dinner?

They struggled from under their duvets and sat on the edge of their beds, half-awake. The maid opened the curtains and the windows before bobbing a curtsey. She left the room quietly, shutting the door behind her.

Haven’t got much to chat about with the upper classes. Erik went over to an open window and took a deep breath of fresh air.

Yeah … Edvard stood in the middle of the floor in his homemade wool underpants, running his hand through his hair. They had no idea who was coming and they had no inkling how they should behave in such situations. We can only be who we are, Edvard said. I don’t think Uncle Halvard will be hard on us.

Erik didn’t think so either, although he was more uncertain about Aunt Marie and Therese, not to mention the guests, he added.

Bodil had done a wonderful job. Edvard noticed there were a few stitches on one of his sleeves. They were barely visible, but he knew something had been wrong with that seam. Their suits had never been so well pressed. Even their shoes had been polished and now stood side by side over by the door.

They took turns shaving, even though they had already shaved that morning on the boat. Heavy facial hair growth was a family trait. Both were careful not to cut themselves on the sharp blade. Afterwards Edvard and Erik took their time getting dressed as they listened to the bell ringing below, which signaled the arrival of the guests. It seemed it would never end. They looked at each other as the bell sounded a fifth time. God! If the guests were all couples, the many chimes meant there would be close to twelve or fourteen people at the party. The brothers opened the door a little and heard the buzz of voices. Could they just decide not to go down? They had a quick discussion to that end, but agreed that would be impossible. They should have politely refused the invitation earlier. There was no way out, and it would be blatantly rude to their uncle and aunt if they refused to emerge from the guest room.

Despite his reservations, Edvard thought they didn’t look bad as they descended the stairs of the mansion. They had both even smoothed their hair down with water.

Inside the first reception room, the men were standing and smoking. Uncle Halvard smiled as the young men came in, waving formally.

Here are Erik and Edvard, he said. Two of my nephews visiting for the weekend.

The gentlemen inclined their heads and moved to allow the brothers to enter the circle. No one shook hands and the male guests continued their conversation without any further acknowledgement.

The women were seated in the inner parlor. Edvard saw her immediately: a raven-haired lady sitting with Aunt Marie on the sofa. There was something about her apart from her beauty, something about her movements, her elegance, maybe, or her searching eyes. He had never seen such a gorgeous, riveting woman.

The men were laughing as Uncle Halvard mentioned something about the shipping industry, but Edvard had lost the thread of the conversation. His eyes sought the inner parlor again. The woman’s face was expressionless, as if there were nothing in this world that could possibly interest her.

He startled as Aunt Marie clapped her hands together at his side and announced that dinner was served. In the dining room, his aunt pointed at the chairs and announced names. Erik was sitting with Therese and Edvard was seated next to Aunt Marie.

There were twelve of them at the table. Bodil served soup first and poured white wine into the glasses. Edvard didn’t pick up a spoon before he saw which one his aunt chose. He wasn’t familiar with the cutlery rules at such parties, but he knew that they were important.

Erik fared worse. He tried the same technique, but his cousin Therese tricked him. She picked up her dessertspoon, tasted a little of her soup, and then realized she had taken the wrong spoon. Erik had already made a fool of himself by that point. How did he fall for that old trick? Erik ate his entire soup course with the dessertspoon. Edvard swallowed, looking stiffly ahead. Fortunately, Bodil was quick to swap the unused soupspoon for a new dessertspoon. If Therese noticed, she said nothing. Maybe it was meant as a joke on her part, but a joke she likely regretted in hindsight. She might well be spoiled, but she wasn’t cruel.

The conversation around the table was low and pleasant. Nevertheless Edvard noticed an intensity of mood, as if the guests were sizing each other up. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her, the beauty. He found himself routinely checking himself and looking down at his plate or at the others. Despite Edvard’s best efforts, his eyes would involuntarily return to her. She spoke in a refined manner and had a deep, melodic voice that didn’t quite suit her icy presence. He noted that she didn’t join in any conversation; she only answered when spoken to. They called her Adelaine.

Just before dessert was served, he looked in her direction once more. For a few seconds, she held his gaze. It was entrancing. And then her attention moved on to the customs official. Edvard held his breath for a while, nearly dropping his glass when Aunt Marie addressed him.

More wine, Edvard? She reached for the carafe and lifted it. Their aunt had been steadily sipping red wine throughout the meal. She drank more than she ate and was laughing more than she usually did.

Um, thanks, he said. He noticed that from the end of the table Uncle Halvard was keeping an eye on his amateurish nephews.

After dessert, the men withdrew to the smoking lounge. Edvard and Erik followed them. Cigars, coffee and brandy were passed around. The women sat in the innermost drawing room, leaving the connecting door open. Edvard felt embarrassed on behalf of Aunt Marie. She was now talking too much and constantly clinking her wine glass around while wildly exclaiming, "Skål! Yes, cheers," Aunt Marie.

For a moment, his thoughts turned to his dearest Gunhild, who was back at home, while his eyes sought contact with the dark-haired Adelaine. As far as he understood from the conversation around the dinner table, Adelaine was a pianist. She had recently been in Denmark with The Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra.

Apart from Erik, Uncle Halvard and himself, there were three other men. The customs official had made himself known early on. During dinner the conversation had often revolved around smuggling and confiscations. A second guest, a shipping agent, did not remain anonymous for very long either. He made a point to say the current price of ships’ ropes was considered exorbitant. The third was a quiet man around 50-years-old who had a white goatee. He politely refused a cigar and chose to smoke his large, ornate dark brown pipe instead. It had a silver lid and looked expensive. Edvard thought that one day he would like to have such a fine pipe.

The man with the goatee was short and had a rotund stomach protruding beneath his waistcoat.

Mr. Magister, sir, Uncle Halvard bowed and raised his glass towards the little man. We are honored that you and your good wife have found the time to attend our humble gathering. We hope it does not bore you.

A magister. Edvard wondered what that title meant. Never heard of it before.

The magister, an academic, stroked his beard and sipped at the brandy.

"Absolutely not, Captain Langholm! The food was excellent, as was the wine. Quality and excitement are evidently possible, even in parties in Bergen."

There may have been a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Only now did Edvard realize the magister and his wife had been quite domineering at the dinner table, without actually saying much. They were obviously the guests of honor.

It is rumored that you might be the new vice-chancellor of Bergen University, said the customs official. He sounded to be trying to gain the favor of the magister.

Well, that is not definite. There are several candidates. On our faculty, a lot of energy is spent on position and power. So much so that it could be said that research suffers as a result. I don’t know, sir, whether so much energy should be exhausted on such matters.

Another jibe, Edvard realized. The customs official was obviously a little too eager to please.

Then the shipping agent chose his moment.

What does the magister think about having a business college here in the city?

"One for shipping men, you mean sir? Fishermen in college, sure, why not?" Now the magister was overtly patronizing and Edvard did not like his tone. As a mere shop assistant, he was definitely far from good enough to comment. The magister turned to him and Erik.

And what do these young men do? he asked.

I’m a fisherman on my father’s vessel. Erik straightened in pride. Edvard serves in the general store near our home, over in Skråneset, south of Bergen.

Skråneset? Ends up, his grandfather had come from that area and they still had property there. The magister was very familiar with the region. He and his wife had spent many summers there. Could giant coalfish still be caught in Kjedlefluen?

Edvard dared to open his mouth.

There haven’t been no good catches this spring, he said. But there’s been lots of cod. Um, I know I may sound dim, but may I ask what a magister does?

Uncle Halvard shot him a fierce look, and Edvard understood that he had made a massive blunder. Such things were just not asked.

A magister is someone who has studied a subject for so long that someone at the university starts to feel sorry for him. Instead of crushing his aspirations, they offer him a title so he can provide for himself by teaching the students. If he is lucky and diligent enough, he ends up as a professor. As for me, I’m too lazy. The magister grinned and raised his glass to Edvard. I like that kind of question, he said. A toast to you, my kinsman!

Were they kinsmen, he and the magister? Something told him that behind the smile of the magister, there was a ruthless core. He wouldn’t tread too close to him, for fear of stepping on a snake.

Edvard felt his head spinning. There had been quite a lot of wine during dinner and the ensuing brandy made for quite a lethal combination. He had to be careful that he didn’t get drunk. His greatest weakness when tipsy was a propensity to lofty, high-flying thoughts and sharing them with anyone around. Many were the times he had wished himself buried six feet below ground on the day after overindulging.

The customs official regained the gentlemen’s interest in duty on goods, and Edvard yet again experienced an intense contact with the black-haired woman. He saw her, Adelaine, the admired pianist, through a veil of cigar smoke, sitting in her black dress, one leg crossed over the other and her hands in her lap. Edvard thought seriously and looked across the floor … a woman who traveled across the Skagerrak Strait, the branch of the North Sea stretching between southern Norway and northern Denmark, with her orchestra, while he bailed seawater out of a picayune boat and rowed back and forth across the same small body of water, a lagoon, several times a day.

Aunt Marie came over. She put her arms around his and Erik’s waists and turned to the guests.

Aren’t they marvelous boys, my nephews? Can’t you just smell the salt and the earth emanating from them? These are real men, I tell you! Real men!

Uncle Halvard took her by the arm and led her firmly away.

What do my guests say to a little dancing? he asked. Both the customs agent and strangely enough, the magister, nodded in agreement.

The phonograph was wound up and music flooded into the room, a waltz. One after the other, the men asked their wives to dance and Erik invited Therese. Everyone danced merrily around the floor as Edvard retreated next to the player, unsure of what he should do.

The pianist rose and stood by the table. And then she approached him with slow steps. She was tall, nearly as tall as he was. Was she going to ask him to dance? He couldn’t dance! Desperately he looked for a way out, clammy with sweat. There was no way he would dare dance in such company.

The pianist reached him.

I need some air, Adelaine said. It must be all the wine and liquor they serve in this house.

I agree, Edvard smiled weakly at her. But she didn’t return his smile. He had the distinct impression that she had pre-empted him to avoid an embarrassment, such as him asking her to dance. Edvard indicated the French doors out to the veranda, and she nodded.

It was a beautiful, light Bergen evening. A mild breeze came in from the fjord along Sandvikslien, cooling his brow. They leaned against the railing and drew in deep breaths of air. Maybe this was how some people felt, Edvard thought, as they left this world going toward the heavens, content with all they had experienced on Earth and everything that might have been, if only fate would have allowed it. Maybe a shop assistant and a pianist? At least they were standing here now, alone with the doors shut behind them and the whole of Bergen at their feet.

I noticed you were limping. Is something wrong with your foot? Adelaine looked straight at him.

Edvard didn’t reply immediately, surprised that she pointedly asked about his foot before they even knew each other. He looked past the pianist out to the lights over at Laksevåg.

Sorry, I wasn’t thinking, she said.

No, it don’t matter. Edvard stood with his back to the handrail. I had polio as a child. He quickly glanced in her direction. The pianist was the most beautiful woman he had ever met, nearly unreal at such close quarters. I usually limp less than I have this evenin’. It’s a bit weird that I wasn’t really thinkin’ about my foot. He gave a short, awkward laugh and shrugged his shoulders, daring to look straight at her as he held his longish hair back from his face with one hand.

Maybe you had other thoughts distracting you? Adelaine turned towards him slowly and met his eyes. Two cold eyes pierced him, penetrating him deeply, disturbing his very being.

I normally remember my foot a little extra on such occasions. Edvard looked down. Were they on the veranda just to discuss his foot? If that was the case, he didn’t want to waste his time any further. His foot and its problems were not to be shared with anyone.

Was it I who occupied your thoughts so strongly?

Maybe. He watched the party through the French doors, people leaping to the loud music within. Their energetic endeavors to follow the rhythm were comical to view from outside.

I can’t bear men who devour me with their eyes, she said. Especially not little boys.

Edvard turned to Adelaine, uncomprehending. How old could she be? Ten years older than him? He didn’t remark on her shaming tone of voice. Instead he met her gaze demonstratively. He looked her up and down.

I have fought all my life to be something other than a doll that men leer at, she said. I hate it! She turned her back to him.

She was acting out an imaginary drama, Edvard thought. Was he to think that the accomplished pianist, such a beautiful pianist to boot, who had everything that any person could ever hope to achieve in this life, that she could be irritated because he had been unlucky enough to look in her direction? That was more than he could tolerate. She was impertinent and vain, not someone he wanted to have chitchat with.

While Adelaine still had her back to him, Edvard calmly took the few steps back over to the French doors. After all, he decided it was better re-join the party.

Since my divorce, all I have done is work, day and night. I am going round in circles, and can’t break free.

Was she still talking to him or to herself? Edvard stopped with his hand on the doorknob.

The joy has gone. Not that I loved Arthur so deeply. He was never anything but an ophthalmologist, day in and day out. And a boy on the side. She expressed herself with contempt.

Edvard gripped the doorknob more strongly and turned it. Through the window, he could see Erik leading Therese around the floor. They weren’t elegant, like the customs official and his wife — he had never seen such a style before — but they were more genuine.

Do you play?

He stopped mid-movement and drew his breath.

Do I play? Edvard turned. This evenin’ I have played the fool, so that should be enough. The anger seethed within him, with a ferocity he recognized from riding the churning sea out by the rocky Arsko Island when a storm was brewing and no one with any brains tried to return to land: He couldn’t stand the woman.

I meant whether you play an instrument, Adelaine’s voice was milder. She stood with her legs apart and the breeze playing behind her. The sheer material of her dress showed off her womanly silhouette.

Edvard swallowed hard.

Can you tell that just by lookin’ at people?

With some, she answered.

And you think I play an instrument? He took a couple of steps towards her. He absolutely was not going to discuss his playing. No matter what kind of piano maestro she was. What did she know of his fallen-in pump organ sitting in his father’s, a lowly fisherman, humble house, she who frequented the best circles of the city and furthermore despaired over having been created with the most beautiful brush strokes from the good Lord’s palette?

You bully people. Edvard shook his head. You need somethin’ to amuse you, somethin’ that hurts others."

She was at a loss for words.

I didn’t mean it like that, she said.

Oh, I think you did. Edvard turned back to the door. No matter how strongly attracted he was to this woman, he was also repulsed. They occupied different worlds, as far apart from each other as Earth and Mercury.

Despairing over the awful Adelaine, he opened the doors into the party and slammed them shut. Edvard limped between the dancing couples across the dance floor, towards the hall, and up the stairs to the guest room. Erik called out to him and Edvard waved. His night was over.

CHAPTER 2

HOW MANY STROKES OF THE OAR

She stood at the upstairs window above the shop looking across a lagoon that branches off from the North Sea, known as Pollen, waiting. Every single morning Olga would stand like that. Usually she could see Edvard climbing down into the rowboat on the other side of the bay, sitting on the aft thwart, then pushing the floorboard forward and bailing out the boat a couple of times. In a while he would return the floorboard to its position and straighten his back, before he threw the loop from the aft mooring into the sea and loosened the ropes at the front. The rowboat would make a small circle around the islet and speed in a straight line towards her. Edvard never turned to see if he was heading in the right direction or whether she was waiting at her window. He knew it, she realized. Olga sighed. Depending on the weather, Edvard rowed wearing a sou’wester and a raincoat, a leather cap and padded jacket, or bareheaded and in short sleeves. The strokes of the oar were regular and determined. If she squinted her eyes, she could see him rowing and rowing without moving from the spot.

Today there was a fog over Pollen and Olga felt restless. She was feeling deprived of something, deprived of her dearest experience every morning ––– seeing the man she loved coming to the shop. Kneeling on the bed, nose to the cold windowpane, she stared into the thick mist. Suddenly she could make out the rowboat through the soft blanket of ground clouds and a thrill passed through her. Was he rowing fast or slowly? Olga stared intensely. Only she knew the significance of Edvard’s rowing, she thought. If it was hesitant, he was having one of his heavy days when the air in the shop would be suffocating. If he was finding it easy, he might playfully stack oranges with her in the afternoon. Through the fog, his mood was impossible to decipher today.

He and Merchant Eilertsen had quite a pleasant aura about them on this special occasion, Edvard’s last day in the shop.

Today Eilertsen apparently couldn’t be bothered to bicker about banalities, as he normally did. Many customers were shopping on credit because the fishing had been so poor, and most people were hard up. Merchant Eilertsen always had a pencil behind his right ear. He would lick the lead’s sharp point and meticulously note with his very neat handwriting in the large, hard-back brown ledger those villagers who purchased their wares without having the cash to pay for them. Flour, sugar, reels of thread, paraffin and other essentials. He didn’t discount a smidgen for anyone. Those who paid with credit, normally the woman of the farm, never tried to haggle either. They didn’t dare for fear of being shown the door. Every family had their own page in the book. If the page was filled before it was paid off, Merchant Eilertsen wrote the total at the bottom of the page, crossed the page out and turned the book around. Here he noted the family name at the top of a new page, and the subtotal just below. When the men returned from fishing, especially if the fishing had been good, they went immediately down to Merchant Eilertsen themselves on the first working day and paid off their debts. It was always a momentous day for them. The adults considered a long line through their page in Eilertsen’s book to be the best thing imaginable. On such occasions, they might even haggle a pouch of tobacco or a little coffee. You would think that Eilertsen too would be in a good mood when the account was finally settled, but that was often not the case. Instead, he hid his true feelings behind a busy expression. Edvard, who was with him every day, noticed this clearly, and knew the reason: People who paid off their debts and still had a few spare pennies were hardly brownnosers. Merchant Eilertsen no longer had the same power over them.

Today it was mostly women shopping for essentials. Edvard also wrote in the book. He always felt like discounting a little for the most needy, but he had strict instructions not to waste a penny on the poor. Eilertsen kept a beady eye on things while he was weighing out goods and when he registered them in the book.

Edvard was sitting on