Theysat looking at each other, smiling. 'What's up?' he asked.
Hersmile became broader. 'What do you think?'
'Haveyou won loads of money?'
Shegrinned. 'No.'
'Tellme what it is!'
Shecollected herself and closed her eyes.
'Somethingwonderful has happened to you,' he said.
Shenodded, unable to restrain her smile.
'Areyou going to tell me what?'
'Later,'she said, squeezing his hand. 'Later,' she repeated, stroking the dashboardwith her hand, and asked, 'Where did you find this?'
'It'smy brother's,' he said. 'I look after his car while he's abroad.'
'Doyou mean that? You've got a brother who just lends you this kind of car?'
Hegave a lop-sided smile and cocked his head. 'He is my brother after all.'
'Tired?'she asked.
'Notany more.'
'Whatdo you feel like doing?'
Heshrugged. 'How much time have you got?'
'Allnight.'
Heleaned his head back so that the little goatee stuck up like a tuft of moss onthe end of his pointed chin. 'Then it's as clear as the stars in the sky,' hemumbled. 'I know what we can do.'
'ButI want to eat first,' Katrine said. 'I feel like some really greasy, unhealthyfood.'
Herhair fluttered in the wind in the open-top car. Henning accelerated pastHolmenkollen hill which loomed up in the night like a huge mysterious shadow.They bumped into each other in the hairpin bends going down the ridge, and herhair became tangled and lashed at her eyes. Without hesitating for a second sheremoved her blouse and tied it around her head like a scarf. Henning glancedacross. 'This is like Fellini,' he shouted through the rushing of the air. 'Idrive my convertible through the night with a babe in a black bra!'
Sheleaned forward and turned on the car stereo. The music boomed out as thoughthey were sitting in a concert hall. Leonard Cohen first took Manhattan bystorm and then Berlin. They exchanged glances. She turned the volume up louder.
Henningchanged down and accelerated. The speedometer showed 130 km as the roadlevelled out. As the yellow street lamps flashed by like disco lights onHenning's face Katrine felt like they were in a tunnel. The wind against herbody, rock 'n' roll and the urge to cleanse yourself of educated manners, ofsocial graces, of double entendres and hidden agendas, of clammy hands andmiddle- class arrogance. If this party had taken place more than three yearsago, she thought to herself, she would already have been sitting on the floorwith a needle in her arm. She felt a faint yen for that kind of kick even now.But it was faint, like the longing for a particular kind of sweet you ate whenyou were young. And so it will ever be, she thought, but three years ago I hadno control over things, three years ago I wasn't even able to enjoy thepleasures of rejecting a man I didn't like, of not caring whether people saw meleaving a party alone, of not caring what others thought or of not caring whatclothes I wore, especially when sitting in an open car.
Threeyears ago the great secret was just a black, impenetrable void. If she thoughtenough about the great secret she might be re-born.
Shesmiled to herself. Re-born. Henning would call that kitsch. But then Henninghad never wished he had not been born.
Henningparked at the bottom of Cort Adelers gate. Aker Brygge, a shopping precinct,lay like a fortress in front of Honnor wharf, the City Hall square and AkershusCastle on the other side. Although it was around midnight, it didn't seem likenight. They strolled down the tramlines, passed a taxi rank, and two youngertaxi drivers whistled after Katrine who was walking by the broad displaywindows in Aker Brygge. She glanced at her reflection. It felt good to seeherself. It felt good to make faces at her reflection: to be saucy but nottarty. Confident, but not cheap. This is me, she thought. This is how I am. Notnaked, not dressed; not hungry, not satiated.
Theymade friends with a drunk in the queue at McDonald's. He grabbed Katrine's handand winked at Henning. 'Christ,' he said. 'I wish I was young like you.'Katrine bummed cigarettes off him. A street musician sitting on one of thebenches in front of the ferries to Nesodden began to play Neil Young's 'Heartof Gold'. The drunk asked Katrine to dance. She did. The guests at the cafetables along the promenade sat like dark shadows in the summer night, shadowswho might be friends, who might be enemies. She didn't care about the shadowsscowling at her, not understanding what was going on. Tourists in shorts andwhite trainers with purses on strings around their necks strutted past them inthe dark.
Afterwardsshe feasted on a double cheeseburger, chips with a dollop of ketchup and alarge Coke. Henning had a milkshake as always, a vanilla milkshake. That wasHenning.
'Didn'tyou get any food up on Holmenkollen?' he asked once they were back in the car.
'Ispewed it up. Guess why.'
'MrNice Guy?'
Shenodded.
'Hetried it on?'
'Asalways.'
Henningproduced a small joint from his shirt pocket, lit it and took a noisy suck.'It's what I've always said,' he gasped, holding his breath for a few secondsbefore continuing, 'The guy is enough to make anyone spew.' He was breathingnormally again. The smell of marijuana spread around them. Henning said: 'But Iwouldn't have thought you would chuck up. I thought you were normal.'
'Shit,I hate being normal.' Katrine grinned through a mouthful of chips and ketchup.
Henningtook another noisy suck on the joint.
'Wouldyou like to be normal?' he asked with tears in his eyes.
Shetossed back her head and screamed: 'No! And it's wonderful!'
Theydrove along Mosseveien to the sounds of a gentle night-time voice speakingthrough the car's speakers. Henning turned off on the old Mossevei by Mastemyr,passed Hvervenbukta beach and drove at a leisurely speed along the night-stillroad. Katrine switched off the radio and stretched her arms in the air. Thewind tried to flatten her arms; the verdant tops of the trees formed shadowsagainst the sky; there was a smell of grass, of camomile. The smell of summercame streaming towards them. Henning turned right, down the road toIngierstrand.
Hestopped and parked in a kind of gravel parking area, under some large pinetrees, with the bonnet facing the calm Bunnefjord and a narrow beach furtherdown.
Bothof them turned at the sound of another car. They were not alone. A light cameround the bend, a car braked and came to a halt further back.
Henningsmiled and started the engine again. 'Never any peace. I want us to be alone.'
Shesaid nothing. She was considering what he said and wondered whether to sayanything.
Henningreversed and drove back the way he had come. But at the crossing with the oldMossevei he took a right. They drove carefully round the bends and parked byLake Gjer. It was a wonderful undisturbed area. A table and bench and a fewbushes. Henning drove in between the trees. They could see across the lake; afew hundred metres away they could make out the silhouette of the gigantic cartyre marking Hjulet caravan site.
Henningswitched off the engine. For a few moments they heard the chirping of acricket. Soon it too was quiet. The quietness around them made them feel as ifthey had entered a void.
Shewanted to tell him how she felt, to communicate to him the trembling sensationshe had which was making her skin nubble, here and now. But she could not findthe words. They gazed at each other. In the end the silence was broken by theclick of the electric lighter. Henning's face glowed red as he lit hiscigarette.