“Let’s go for a shit, eh?” he said.
“OK,” I said. “Where?”
“Dunno,” he said with a shrug.
We walked around in the forest for a while looking for an appropriate spot. Shitting in the garbage dump was, for some reason, inappropriate, there was something dirty about it, it seemed to me, and that was strange, because it was all waste, the whole lot of it. But garbage, that was shiny plastic bags and cardboard boxes, discarded electrical appliances and piles of newspapers. Anything soft and sticky was wrapped. So we had to go into the forest to do it.
“Look at that tree!” Geir said.
There was a tall pine tree on its side perhaps ten meters away. We clambered up on the trunk, pulled down our trousers, and stuck out our cheeks, each holding onto a branch. Geir swung his butt just as the shit came out so that it was flung to the side.
“Did you see that?” he laughed.
“Ha ha ha!” I laughed, trying a different ploy, dropping it like a bomb from a plane over a town. It was a wonderful feeling as it came further and further out, the moment when it was suspended in midair until it finally let go and plunged to the ground.
Sometimes I would hold it in for days so that I could have a really big one and also because it felt good in itself. When I really did have to shit, so much that I could barely stand upright but had to bend forward, I had such a fantastic feeling in my body if I didn’t let nature take its course, if I squeezed the muscles in my butt together as hard as I could and, as it were, forced the shit back to where it came from. But this was a dangerous game, because if you did it too many times the turd ultimately grew so big it was impossible to shit it out. Oh Christ, how it hurt when such an enormous turd had to come out! It was truly unbearable, I was convulsed with pain, it was as if my body were exploding with pain, AAAAAAGGGHHH!! I screamed, OOOOOHHH, and then, just as it was at its very worst, suddenly it was out.
Oh, how good that was!
What a wonderful feeling it was!
The pain was over.
The shit was in the pan.
Everything was peace and light throughout my body. Indeed, almost so peaceful that I didn’t feel like getting up and wiping my bum. I just wanted to sit there.
But was it worth it?
I could spend the whole day dreading one of those big shits. I didn’t want to go to the toilet because it hurt so much, but if I didn’t it would only hurt more and more.
So in the end there was no option but to go. Knowing full well that this would hurt like hell!
Once I was so terrified I tried to find another way to get the shit out. I half stood, and then I stuck my finger up my butt, as far as it would go. There! There was the shit. As hard as a rock! When I had located it I wriggled my finger to and fro in an attempt to widen the passage. At the same time I pressed a little, and in that way, bit by bit, I managed to maneuver the shit to the side. Oh, it still hurt to work the last bit free, but not so much.
What a method that was!
I didn’t mind so much that my finger was all brown; it was easy enough to wash it off. The smell was another matter, however, because although I scrubbed and scoured, a faint odor of shit hung around my finger all day and all night, even the next morning I could still smell it when I woke.
All these pros and cons had to be weighed up against one another.
When Geir and I had finished, we each wiped ourselves with a fern leaf, and then we went to see the result. Mine had a greenish glimmer to it and was so soft it had already spread across the ground. Geir’s was light brown with a black patch at one end, harder and more lump shaped.
“Isn’t it strange that mine smells good whereas yours stinks?” I said.
“It’s yours that stinks!” Geir said.
“It does not,” I said.
“Pooh, manohman!” he said, pinching his nose with his fingers as he poked around in my shit with a long stick.
Some flies buzzed above it. They too had a greenish glimmer.
“Right,” I said. “Shall we go? We can see what has happened to them next Saturday, maybe?”
“I’ll be away then,” he said.
“Where are you going?”
“To Risør,” he said. “We’re going to look at a boat, I think.”
We ran up to fetch our things, and then we walked home, Geir with a stroller wheel in each hand, me with a plastic bag full of comics. I made him promise he wouldn’t say anything at home about where we had been because I had a suspicion they would ban us from going if they knew. I had prepared an explanation for the comics, I had borrowed them from someone called Jørn, who lived on the other estate, in case Dad found them and kicked up a fuss.
Once inside the porch, I stood still for a moment. I heard nothing unusual and bent down to untie my shoelaces.
Somewhere inside the house a door opened. I took off one shoe and put it next to the wall. The second door opened, and Dad was standing in front of me.
I put my other shoe in its place and stood up.
“Where have you been?” Dad asked.
“In the forest.”
I suddenly remembered my explanation, and added, looking at the floor, “And then on top of the hill.”
“What have you got in the bag?”
“Some comics.”
“Where did you get them?”
“I borrowed them from someone called Jørn. He lives up there.”
“Let me see,” Dad said.
I passed him the bag, he eyed the contents, and took out a Tex Willer paperback.
“I’ll have that,” he said, and went back to his study.
I went into the hall and was halfway up the stairs when he called me.
Had he sussed me? Perhaps it smelled of garbage?
I turned and went back down, so weak at the knees that they could hardly carry me.
He stood in the doorway.
“You haven’t had this week’s pocket money,” he said. “Yngve had his a while ago. Here you are.”
He put a five-krone coin in my hand.
“Oh, thank you!” I said.
“But B-Max is closed,” he said. “You’ll have to go to the Fina station if you want to buy candy.”
It was a long way to the Fina station. First of all, there was the long hill, then there was a long, flat stretch, then there was the long path through the forest, down to the gravel lane that came out by the main road, where the gas station was, which was both fantastic and bad. The hill and the flat stretch were no problem, there were lots of houses and cars and people on both sides. The path was more problematic because after only a few meters you disappeared into the trees where there were neither humans nor anything made by human hand to be seen. Just leaves, bushes, trunks, flowers, the odd bog, the odd pile of felled trees, the odd meadow. I used to sing when I walked there. Gikk jeg en tur på stien, I sang. Children’s songs: Fløy en liten blåfugl, Bjørnen sover, and Jeg gikk meg over over sjø og land. When I sang it was as if I wasn’t alone, even though I was. It was as if the singing was another boy. If I didn’t sing, I talked to myself. Wonder whether anyone lives on the other side, I said. Or wonder whether the forest continues into eternity. No, it can’t, we live on an island. So the sea is around us. Perhaps the ferry to Denmark is there now? I’d like a bag of Nox licorice, please, and a bag of Fox lemon candies. Fox and Nox, Nox and Fox. Fox and Nox, Nox and Fox.
On the right-hand side, a vast concourse opened beneath the crowns of the trees. They were deciduous, they were tall, and the tops formed such a dense canopy that the vegetation on the ground was sparse.