I sink down and down, everything is hazy and close around me, and when I finally surface again and draw a breath to say something, it’s already too late. The winning ticket has been claimed. At the same time, a man says that the bathroom door has been locked for half an hour and no one answers when he knocks. “Maybe someone had a heart attack,” the woman with the winning ticket says, stuffing my jacket into a plastic bag, and everyone gets excited.
I cross the bridge with a pang in my heart and in my stomach. Missing a meal is always painful, and so is missing a jacket. I realize that the jacket meant more to me than I knew. Then I see Rolf’s back. Not again, I think, now that his presence reminds me of my own inadequacy. I also can’t help wondering how he’s managed to get ahead of me when I didn’t see him leave the get-together. Maybe he simply had to get away, maybe they were about to raffle off his glasses or something.
My legs move faster. I know this is my last chance.
I come up alongside him and summon every latent social instinct I have. “Excuse me, do you have the time?” I ask, but don’t get any reaction. I know what I have to do. It’s not enough to be Mathea Martinsen. I have to be Einar Lunde, everyone notices Einar Lunde.
I tap Rolf on the shoulder. “Excuse me, I’m from the Norwegian Broadcasting Corporation,” I say. “Can I ask you a few questions?”
The walker swerves on the asphalt. “What’s this about?” Rolf asks.
I get confused and don’t know what to say, and then it hits me that there’s no point in trying to make friends with him, because it’s Mathea Martinsen who needs a friend, not Einar Lunde. The attention I’ve now drawn to myself is as meaningless as the life cycle of the banana plant, but since Rolf is looking at me questioningly, I can’t just stand here, and the only thing left for Mathea Martinsen to do is to figure out how I’m going to reconcile myself to dying.
I make a fist with my right hand and hold it up, now it looks like a microphone. “Eins, zwei, eins zwei,” I say and tap on it with my left index finger. I know that Einar Lunde has a much easier time talking to people than I do, so I clear my throat.
“Have you made peace with death?” I ask and extend the microphone to Rolf.
Rolf looks at me for a long moment and it nearly gets awkward.
“Ah,” he says and glances around, probably looking for the hidden camera. “Now I understand.”
He leans forward. “When it comes to death, I’m ready and willing,” he says laughing into the microphone and accidentally spraying it with saliva.
I dry it with the sleeve of my dress.
“But aren’t you afraid?” I ask.
“I’m more afraid of living than dying,” he says. “You stop fearing death when you’re my age.”
I don’t ask how old he is, in case he’s younger than me.
“To tell you the truth,” he continues, “I’m looking forward to giving up. Aside from the basic necessities, I’ve given away everything I own, and if lightning should strike here and now, I’d shout: Come and get me, I’m ready to go!”
“You might be disappointed,” I say. “You’re standing next to a lightning rod.”
Rolf’s eyes wander again, then he clears his throat. “I have to go,” he says. “I had to leave the senior center, even though I was having such a good time, to go to a doctor’s appointment. They take my blood pressure every week. High blood pressure is life-threatening for us old people, you know.”
But all I know is that this day has been too much for me. My “last chance” leaves me behind, and it’s just all too much. And I can’t cry. So I run. I run as fast as I can, past Rolf, across the bridge, and up the hill toward the woods. All I can see is the grass at my feet, but suddenly there’s Åge B. I’d completely forgotten him.
I look at Åge B. and he looks through me to the trees on the other side.
I wait for him to ask. Dark clouds gather overhead, a drop of water hits me in the eye, and all I want is to die laughing. I don’t need to laugh. I need to cry. But I can’t do that either.
I stand with rain falling on my neck, my dress clinging to my body, and I wonder how close you can come to crying without actually crying.
He doesn’t ask me anything.
“I don’t think life is any good,” I say, and start to walk off.
But then Åge B. says, “Life isn’t supposed to be good.”
“What?” I ask, stopping mid-stride.
“Who said life’s supposed to be good?” but he doesn’t say it like it’s a question, and he doesn’t look at me.
“Isn’t life supposed to be good?” I ask, still flabbergasted that he’s talking to me.
“No,” Åge B. says. “It’s supposed to be hard.”
“But why?” I ask.
“That’s just the way it is,” Åge B. says.
“Oh,” I say and fall silent.
Even if I haven’t managed “good,” I’ve certainly managed “hard.” And maybe it’s good enough that I’ve done the best that I could. Maybe at least it’s enough.
“Do you feel better?” Åge B. turns his head and looks at me through his wet hair.
“Yes,” I say.
“Good,” Åge B. says.
“Good,” I say.
“Oh, and just so you know,” Åge B. says and glances at the lace pattern on my hat, “I can see your skull.”
~ ~ ~
DESPITE THE TERRIBLE THUNDERSTORM and the people making noise outside, I’m asleep as soon as I put my head on the pillow, and when I wake up it’s morning.
I get up and bring in the mountain of newspapers from the doormat. The Groruddalen newspaper is lying there with the back page facing up, it says that Caretaker Leif has managed to catapult the co-op to victory in the “Groruddalen’s best” contest. And this despite the fact that I’ve asked God every night to let us come in last. There’s going to be an awards ceremony, and Leif is asking the residents to dress in yellow, which is the new co-op color. I think of my apricot wedding dress, it can almost pass for yellow. The awards ceremony is taking place today, there’s going to be a band (who likes band music anyway?) and the first hoisting of the building’s new yellow flag. We don’t even have a flagpole, but I guess Leif hasn’t noticed.
I carry the newspapers into the kitchen, dump them on the kitchen table and squint at the sharp light coming from the kitchen window. And then I see it — a flagpole right in the middle of the yard. During the night, they erected a flagpole on the exact spot I buried my time capsule. There’s a mound of dirt on one side, and I think of the piece of paper with my telephone number that I put in the box. The only thing I put in the box.
I flip to the obituaries. The heart that beat so hard for us all, the eyes that gleamed so tender, have stopped and dimmed to the sorrow of all, you’ll always be in our memories. I cross out the last few words and write “you we’ll always remember.”
I see that someone named Al will be buried in the Haugerud cemetery at eleven o’clock. That works fine.