“Have you got the cap?” I said.
“Oh no, do you know what?” she said.
“You forgot it? You didn’t forget it, did you? The course is today!”
“I did. I was lost in my own world on the way back from work. But you know … when does it start?”
“At six,” I said.
She looked at her watch.
“It’s half past three now. The shops close at four. I can make it if I go now. I can do that. Tell Dad I’ll be back again in an hour, will you?”
I nodded.
“Hurry up then!” I said.
Dad was in the kitchen frying chops. A cloud of cooking fumes hovered in the air above the stove. The lid on the potatoes clanked against the side of the pan with the pressure from the steam. He had the radio on and stood with his back to it, one hand holding the spatula and the other resting against the edge of the counter.
“Dad?” I said.
He swivelled round.
“What?” he said. And when he saw me, “What do you want?”
“Mom’ll be back in an hour,” I said. “She told me to tell you.”
“Has she been here and gone off again?”
I nodded.
“Why? What for?”
“To buy a swim cap. I’ve got my swimming course today.”
The irritation in his eyes was unmistakable. But I wasn’t out of the woods yet. I couldn’t just turn on my heels and go.
Then he nodded in the direction of my room, and I went, glad to have got off so lightly.
Ten minutes later he called us. We slunk onto the landing from our rooms, warily pulled our chairs back from the table, sat down, waited until Dad had put the potatoes, a chop, a little pile of browned onions, and some boiled carrots on our plates before, sitting up straight and utterly still, apart from our forearms, mouths, and heads, we started to eat. No one said a word during the meal. When our plates were empty, except for the potato skins and the bones that had been gnawed clean, we thanked Dad and went back to our rooms. From the whistling I could hear I concluded that Dad was making coffee in the kitchen. After it had stopped, he went down to his study, probably with a cup of coffee in his hand. I lay on my bed reading with my ears tuned to the noises outside the house, the drone of cars passing, and I recognized the sound of Mom’s VW the moment it turned into the road further down, Beetles were unmistakable and, had I made a mistake, nonetheless, I was absolutely certain I was right a few seconds later when it entered Nordåsen Ringvei. I got up and went onto the landing above the staircase. As Dad was in his study, it was the best place to wait.
The door opened, I heard her taking off first her boots, then her jacket, which she hung on the hat stand in the corner, and her footsteps across the carpet in the hallway below, which, as they began to climb the stairs, seemed to merge into the sight of her.
“Have you got it?” I said.
“Yes, no problem,” she said.
“Can I see it?”
She passed me the white Intersport bag she was holding. I opened it and pulled out the bathing cap.
“But Mom, it’s got flowers on it!” I said. “I can’t wear a cap with flowers on it! That’s no good! It’s a woman’s! You bought a woman’s swimming cap!”
“Isn’t it lovely?” she said.
I looked down at the cap with tears in my eyes. It was white, and the flowers decorating it were not just printed on but small, raised plastic imitations of flowers.
“You’ll have to go and change it,” I said.
“Karl Ove, my love, the shops are closed. I can’t.”
She laid her hand on my head and looked at me.
“Is it really that bad?” she said.
“I can’t go to the class with this. I won’t go. I’ll stay at home.”
“But Karl Ove,” she said.
The tears were streaming down my cheeks now.
“You’ve been looking forward to the class so much,” she said. “Surely a few flowers don’t matter that much, do they? You can still go. Then we’ll buy you a new cap for next time. I can use this one. I need one. And I think the flowers look lovely, I really do.”
“You don’t understand anything, do you,” I said. “I can’t go. That’s a woman’s swimming cap!” I shouted.
“Now I think you’re being unreasonable,” Mom said.
At that moment Dad’s study door slammed. He could scent a scene like this from a range of several kilometers. Quick as a flash, I dried my eyes and put the cap back in the bag. But it was too late. He was already at the bottom of the stairs.
“Well?” he said.
“Karl Ove didn’t like the bathing cap I bought him,” Mom said. “So now he’s refusing to go to the swimming class.”
“What nonsense is this!” Dad said. He came up the last steps and lifted my chin with his hand.
“You’re going to the class with the cap your mother has bought you. Is that understood?”
“Yes,” I said.
“And don’t burst into tears over such trivialities. It’s pathetic.”
“Yes,” I said, wiping my eyes with my hand again.
“Go into your room and stay there until it’s time to leave. Now.”
I did as he said.
“Imagine going all the way back to town to buy it in the first place,” I heard him say as they went into the kitchen.
“But he’s been looking forward to this class for so long,” Mom said. “It was the least I could do. I had promised him. And then I went and forgot.”
An hour later Mom came in to get me. We went downstairs to the hall, I had decided not to talk to her, and said nothing, just put on my boots and anorak. In my hand I had a bag with my trunks, towel, and the swimming cap in it. Opening the door, I saw Geir and Leif Tore waiting outside, each holding a plastic bag. It was getting dark outside, and the air was heavy with drizzle. Their hair was wet; their jackets glistened in the light from the lamp above the door.
They said hello to Mom, Mom returned the greeting, and then she dashed across the gravel with us close behind. She opened the car door, pushed the seat forward, and we clambered onto the back seat.
She inserted the key into the ignition and started the engine.
“Is there something wrong with the exhaust?” Leif Tore asked.
“Yes, it’s an old car,” Mom said, putting the car into reverse and backing up the hill. The wipers dawdled to and fro across the windshield. The headlights lit up the black spruce trees across the road, which seemed to take a step toward us.
“Geir can swim,” I said. Then I remembered I wasn’t going to say anything.
“Very impressive!” Mom said. Flicked the turn-signal lever down and glanced through the right-hand window before turning onto the road and driving off to the next crossroads, where everything was repeated, just the other way around: now the lever was flicked up and she glanced through the left-hand window.
“And you, Leif Tore, can you already swim?” she said.
The roar of the engine rebounded off the blasted rock face on the other side of the road as we struggled up the hill to Tromøya Bridge. The lights at the top of the mast glowed red in the night. If you didn’t know any better you would probably think they were floating in the air, I thought.