‘It’s football training,’ he said. ‘In fifteen minutes. Had you forgotten? Or are you too muzzy after yesterday?’
‘I’m a bit fuzzy,’ I said with a smile. ‘But not muzzy.’
I ran my hand through my hair.
‘I haven’t brought any boots with me. I was thinking of buying some but I forgot. So I suppose that’s me out.’
Sture brought his arm forward from behind his back. Two pairs of boots hung from his hand.
’Forty-five?’ he said. ‘Or forty-six?’
’Forty-five,’ I said, taking them.
‘See you up there then?’
‘OK, see you there.’
I hadn’t played football for a couple of months, and it felt strange to run around on a pitch again, not least on this pitch, for there was something about the location, squeezed in under the gleaming green mountain slopes, the sea straight ahead, which went against everything I associated with football. It didn’t improve matters that the team I was playing in were all fishermen, the whole bunch of them. A couple of them were good, particularly one called Arnfinn, who resembled one of the English midfield players we used to see on Saturday afternoon TV in the 1970s, balding and red-haired, relatively short, stocky with a paunch, not the quickest in the world, but he made things happen around him as soon as he had the ball, whether he was flicking it on, hitting a cross or threading a forward through, without even raising his head, as though he didn’t have to see, he could sense everything. He tackled me a few times, it was like running into a tree. He was good. Their striker was good, a tall thin guy who was surprisingly fast, and their goalie, Hugo, was also decent. The rest were like me, perhaps a bit worse, with the exception of Nils Erik, who could hardly have played before and warmed up by doing the kind of knee-bends that had probably last been witnessed in the 1950s.
After the game we went to the changing rooms by the swimming pool, showered and sat in the sauna. Everyone apart from Nils Erik and me was as white as snow. Many had freckles on their shoulders and backs, many were very hairy and when they walked around, strutting naked and teasing one another, I had the impression they almost belonged to a different race. I still had a tan after the summer, with a white patch where my trunks had been, I didn’t have a single hair on my arms or chest or shoulders, just some barely visible down, and my back was as straight as a pillar, not broad and bulging like theirs. Not to mention my biceps, which were as thin as twigs while their arms were the width of tree trunks. And as for my chest, it was as flat as could be, like a board, and looked nothing like the kegs they walked around with. Not that their bodies were magnificent specimens, they weren’t, many had spare tyres and flab, no one had a chest arched into two well-defined halves from muscle training, no one had six-pack abs, that was another world for them. What they respected, I could see, was strength. So it made no difference to them if a belly hung over a belt or the odd double chin rolled over a collar.
We sat on the three benches in the sauna, someone had opened some beer; Hugo, the goalie, passed me one and asked if I wanted it.
‘Actually I have to work this evening,’ I said, ‘but one can’t hurt.’
‘Good,’ he said and gave it to me.
Froth streamed out of the bottle. The glass was green and cold.
‘It was fun last night!’ he said.
‘Yes, it was,’ I said.
‘That was Irene you were all over, wasn’t it?’
I smiled and paused.
‘We saw you! Bloody hell, one week in Northern Norway and Karl Ove’s got himself a girlfriend!’
‘Coming up here and taking our women! You stay down south, you southern bastard!’ someone else said.
They laughed. I laughed too.
‘But old Pinocchio here just wanted to dance,’ Hugo said, looking at Nils Erik.
Pinocchio! That was who he looked like!
‘Yes,’ Nils Erik said. ‘I really like dancing. I used to dance a lot at Horten’s Dancing Academy!’
They looked at him and smiled uncertainly. I had to laugh. At that moment Sture came in, he flicked his towel at one of the players to budge up for him. He was slim and not as well built as the others, but slight he was not, there were muscles on him too. In addition, he had a beard and was bald and confident. I had been a bit nervous that, as a teacher, he wouldn’t be able to cope with them, but within seconds I saw that this was not the case.
He turned and looked up at me.
‘We’ve got a match on Tuesday evening. You’re in, aren’t you?’
I nodded.
‘You’ll be the centre back.’
‘Centre back?’ I echoed.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That’s what I said.’
He winked and turned away. I finished the beer and belched, got up and went into the shower. Nils Erik followed and stood beside me.
He had a big dick, it hung down and smacked against his thighs.
Why would someone with such red cheeks who liked to go on long walks in the forest have such a big cock? I wondered. What would he do with it?
‘Have you ever done outdoor gymnastic drills or what?’ I said.
‘Drills? No.’
‘Looked like it with your warm-up exercises,’ I said.
He laughed and did a few knee-bends in the shower.
‘Was that what you meant?’ he said.
‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘Don’t teach my class that in the gym lessons, just so that you know. It would totally destroy their self-confidence.’
Two or three more came in and turned on the showers. In seconds the air was full of steam again.
‘Are you coming up to mine afterwards?’ Hugo said. ‘There’s a gang of us having a drink.’
‘Would love to,’ I said. ‘But I can’t.’
‘Nor me,’ Nils Erik said. ‘Two nights in a row is too much.’
‘What wimps!’ Hugo said.
That stung, I didn’t want to be a wimp and I could drink him under the table any day of the week, but I couldn’t go, I had to write.
I said bye to Nils Erik at the crossroads and walked down to my flat. Slung the bag down on the floor in the hall, stopped by the mirror and ran my fingers through my hair to make it stand up, sniffed the air a couple of times: what was that smell? Perfume? Had someone been here?
There was a folded piece of paper on the sitting-room table I was sure I hadn’t left there.
I opened it. It was from Irene.
Hi Karl Ove,
Well, Hilde and I’ve been here on a big surprise visit. While you were at football training we sat here making ourselves comfy. We’ve had a look at all your records. Crikey, what a collection, eh! We can see you’ve got a few more now than when we were here last. Good for you.
You seem like an all-right guy and I hope to get to know you better. I’ve missed you. I’ve just been waiting to see you again. But it’ll have to be another time because we’ve gotta go now.
Hug and kisses from Irene
Had they just come in and sat down?
Yes, they must have done.
And then left again?
I opened the door and stepped out to look for them, in case we had just crossed paths.
No, nothing.
Just the sound of the sea, the vast grey sky, a couple of tiny figures walking along the road at the bottom of the hill.
I went back in and boiled a whole packet of spaghetti, fried all the old potatoes I had in the fridge, and soon I was in the sitting room with a steaming mountain of spaghetti and browned potatoes on a plate in front of me, I applied ketchup liberally and wolfed it down. Wonderful. Then I made some coffee, put Led Zeppelin’s first LP on the record player, turned the volume up almost full and walked up and down clenching my fists and nodding my head. Now I’ll bloody show them. And then, pumped up with adrenaline and anger, I sat down and started to bang away on the typewriter.