It’s the same priest. I am sitting on the front bench and listen to him speak. This time we were prepared and told him as little as possible. He recognised us, and for a second there, he was lost for words, but I have to say he makes the most of it. He is a pro. My mother turns and winks at me and smiles wearily. I smile back. It’s all so strange we don’t know how to behave. She is sitting with Olav. It’s difficult not to like him now. I never would have thought he’d show up here. Kari is sitting beside my mother, rocking the baby, and old Abrahamsen on the bench behind, wearing the suit I had given him back, and all of Arvid’s family is here, and Roberto, and not one of us cares in the least what the priest has to say.
In the cemetery it’s all white between the gravestones, and the stones are white on top, and only the steaming pile of fresh soil by the new grave breaks up the idyll. We form a small procession as we walk down. The coffin trolley creaks in the snow, and there are cold candles and burnt-out torches after Christmas. Mild weather is on the way, I can feel it in the air, you could make snowballs now, and if I’d been a few years younger, I would have. We round a vast, vulgar monument put up for some rich family, and we are there. In a circle we stand around the grave, and the priest sings
Alltid freidig når du går all alone. We hoist the coffin by the straps, and the sexton winds the crank handle until the coffin is lowered halfway into the grave, beside Egil’s. There are more flowers than last time, it’s like a goddamn party, and suddenly that seems so unfair, and then I start crying. Everyone turns, but I cannot stop. The priest looks at me, he smiles, he’s pleased, I am on the right track, he always knew I would be. I’m sure he has prayed to God on my behalf. My mother comes over and puts her arm around my shoulders, and Arvid looks me straight in the eye with a grin. I’ll take care of him later. I smile at my mother, but that only makes it worse. My chest feels tight, I sob aloud. It’s so goddamn embarrassing, I hide my face in my hands so I don’t have to look at Arvid, or any of them. Martin Eden would never have done that, I know, but, hell, I am only eighteen. I have plenty of time.