Straight afterward I came to the gravel lane, followed it past the old white house and the old red barn, heard the whoosh of the cars on the main road below, and when I reached that, fifty meters away stood the gas station in all its glory.
The four gas pumps holding their hands to their temples in their usual salute. The big white plastic sign with FINA in blue letters shone wanly at the top of the high pillar. A semi was parked there, with the driver hanging an arm out of the open window and talking to someone on the ground beneath him. Outside the kiosk there were three mopeds. A car stopped at one of the pumps, a man with a thick wallet in his back pocket got out, grabbed the nozzle, and stuck it in the tank. I stopped next to him. The pump began to burr; the numbers on what I thought of as the face sped around. It seemed to be blinking at an incredible speed. The man was looking another way while this was going on, and to me it seemed to be a gesture of nonchalance, not following what was happening. This was someone who knew what he was about.
I went to the kiosk and opened the door. My heart was beating fast, you never knew what was awaiting you in here. Would someone talk to you? Crack a joke and make all the others laugh?
“Ah, here’s Knausgård junior,” they might say. “What’s your father up to today? Is he at home grading papers?”
The customers who hung out went to the school where Dad taught. They wore denim, or even leather, jackets, often with brand labels sewn on. Pontiac, for example, or Ferrari or Mustang. Some of them wore scarves. All of them had their hair down over their eyes. And then they tossed their heads back when they wanted to see something. Outside they spat all the time and drank Coke. Some of them put peanuts into the bottle so they could drink and eat at the same time. Almost all of them smoked, even though it was forbidden. The youngest had bicycles, the oldest mopeds, now and then they were joined by even older boys who had cars.
This was where the bad side came in. Mopeds, long hair, smoking, malingering, playing the machines, everything that happened at the gas station was bad.
The laughter, which always met me when they realized that I was Knausgård junior, gave me nightmares. I had no answer, I had to lower my head and make a beeline for the counter and buy whatever I was there to buy.
“Knausgård junior is afraid!” they might shout, if they were in that mood, for they left me alone as often as they shouted at me. You never knew.
This time they left me in peace. Three of them stood around a one-arm bandit, four sat around a table drinking Coke, and then there were three girls wearing makeup and giggling at the table at the back.
I spent all my money on Fox and Nox, it wasn’t a small amount, the assistant put them in a transparent plastic bag for me, and I hurried out.
Up the gravel lane, where the air was chilly as the sun had stopped shining there, onto the path. It wasn’t so bad, I told myself, looking between all the tree trunks in the vast concourse beneath the branches to see if anything was moving. What should I do? I wondered. Eat the Fox and Nox alternately, or eat all the Fox candies first and then all the Nox?
To the right of me the bushes rustled.
I stopped and stared at them. Slowly retreated a couple of paces, for safety’s sake.
More rustling.
What could it be?
“Hello,” I said. “Is anyone there?”
Silence.
I bent down and picked up a stone. Hurled it into the bushes and then ran off as fast as my legs would carry me. When I stopped and saw no one was following me, I laughed.
“That taught you!” I said and walked on.
As for spirits of the dead, it was best not to think about them. Keep your mind on other things at all times. Because as soon as you started thinking about the dead, about them being around you, behind that spruce tree over there, for instance, all of a sudden it was impossible to think about anything else, and you just got more and more frightened. In the end, all you could do was run, with your heart hammering away and a sort of scream echoing throughout your body.
So even though everything had been fine this time, it was still with a sense of relief that I saw the path and the estate on the flat land open in front of me.
The air, which had been clear and bright when I set out, had turned a little gray as it hovered above the land between the houses along the road.
I ran a few steps.
Two girls were standing outside one of the houses. They watched me as I came across the grass. Then they started running toward me.
What did they want?
I watched them approaching but continued to walk.
They stopped in front of me.
One was the sister of Tom, one of the biggest boys on the estate, who had his own car, red and shiny. I had never seen the other girl before. They were at least ten years old.
“Where have you been?” one said.
“Fina,” I said.
“What were you doing there?” the other said.
“Nothing,” I said, moving off.
They stepped to the side so that I couldn’t get past.
“Get out of the way,” I said. “I’m going home.”
“What have you got in the bag?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh yes, you have. Fox and Nox. We can see.”
“And? I’ve bought them for my brother. He’s eleven.”
“Give them to us.”
“No-oo,” I said.
One of them, Tom’s sister, made a grab for the bag. I swung it to the side. The other girl pushed with both arms and sent me flying.
“Give us the bag,” she said.
“No,” I said, wrapping my arms round it while struggling to get to my feet.
She pushed me again. I fell headlong and started crying.
“They’re mine!” I shouted. “You can’t have them!”
“Thought they were supposed to be your brother’s,” one of them said, grabbing the bag and yanking it out of my hands. Then they ran across the grass as fast as they could to the road, laughing all the while.
“They’re mine!” I yelled after them. “They’re mine!”
I cried all the way home.
They had stolen my candy. How was that possible? How could they just come up to me and take them? They were mine! I had been given the money by Dad and walked all the way to the Fina station and back! And they just came and took them! Pushed me over! How could they do that?
Approaching my house, I wiped my face on my sweater sleeves, blinked a few times, and shook my head a bit so that no one would see I had been crying.
Once when I was five, Trond’s little sister, Wenche, threw a rock at me, right into my stomach. I burst into tears and ran over to our garden fence, where Dad was working. I was sure he would help me, but he wouldn’t, on the contrary, he said not only was Wenche a girl, she was also a year younger than me, it was nothing to snivel about. He said I embarrassed him and I should fight back, surely I understood that. But I didn’t. Everyone knew it was wrong to throw stones, didn’t they? And that fighting back was bad, a last resort?
Not Dad, though, no. He stood there with his stern gaze, and his folded arms, looking across the road to where all the children were playing, nodded his head, and said I should carry on playing and stop bothering him.
And since it was girls who had stolen my candy, there was no hope of any help from Dad.
I stood still in the hallway, listened, removed my shoes, put them by the wall, walked carefully upstairs, and into Yngve’s room while the thought of all the lost Foxes and Noxes hit me with renewed force, and again the tears began to roll down my cheeks.
Yngve was lying on his stomach on the bed reading a copy of Buster with his legs in the air. He had emptied a bag of candy.