about what went on between us. Not that any of them would have had anything against it, of course, we knew they wouldn’t. But oddly enough that was why we kept it to ourselves. Because if Silje were to find out about it she would think nothing of telling other people. She simply couldn’t see what was so shocking about two men sleeping together, and even if we begged her not to say anything, and even if she promised on her honour not to do so, she would do it anyway, and afterwards she would wonder why we were upset. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, relax,” she’d say. “It’s not that big a deal, is it?” She had a confidence in herself that rendered her immune and she acted as though everyone around her was just as self-confident.
Eventually, however, Mum’s suspicions were aroused. She never actually said anything, but it was obvious that she was growing less and less keen on you. She would give a little sigh or roll her eyes and look almost annoyed if I said I was popping over to your place, and I discovered, quite by accident, that on several occasions when you had phoned and asked for me she had said I wasn’t in, even though she knew I was up in my room, practising or listening to music. At first I put it down to her illness and the fact that she had become so dependent on me at home. She had been plagued for yearswith chronic pain in her joints and muscles, but during the winter and spring it had been unbearable, and when, on top of everything else, she lost a lot of the grip in her hands she could no longer carry on with her job or do the housework. Although she never said it in so many words, she let me know in no uncertain terms that she didn’t think it was too much to ask for me to spend a bit more time at home and do a greater share of the household chores than I’d been doing, and I thought that the dislike of you that she’d suddenly begun to show was just one of many ways she had of telling me this. But when I noticed that she didn’t look unhappy if I said I was going to see anyone else it began to dawn on me that it had to have something to do with you, and it was only once I’d realized this that I noticed how her manner towards you had changed. She wasn’t directly unfriendly, but she was short with you and not as chatty, and sometimes when both you and Silje were there she would make a big show of being nice to Silje and interested in her, while ignoring you in an ostentatious, almost childish manner.
More and more, though, I also had the feeling that she was trying to check whether or not we were gay. It was remarkable how often, when your name was mentioned, she would bring the conversation round to HIV and AIDS. It’s true that the virus had only recently been identified and there was a lot about it in the papers, but that still didn’t explain all the times when, out of the blue and apropos of nothing, she would start going on about what a long and painful death it led to, how far medical science was from discovering an effective antidote and how much she agreed that all HIV sufferers should have to wear some sort of badge, so that everyone else could take precautions. “Although it’s mostly homosexuals who catch it so we can rest easy on that score,” she would say, whilekeeping a close eye on me to see how I reacted. For a long time I played it cool when she carried on like this, acted as though I didn’t know why she was saying all these things. I would yawn and try to look as if it had nothing to do with me, and I hoped and expected that this would eventually persuade her to give up, but it didn’t, and one day when you had come over and she had brought the conversation round, by dint of some weird detours, to a male hairdresser whom she was convinced was gay, even though he had a wife and kids, I exploded. “We’re not gay, Mum,” I yelled.
First she went bright red, then she was angry with me for saying it straight out, thereby breaking the unwritten rules for how she
Eventually, however, Mum’s suspicions were aroused. She never actually said anything, but it was obvious that she was growing less and less keen on you. She would give a little sigh or roll her eyes and look almost annoyed if I said I was popping over to your place, and I discovered, quite by accident, that on several occasions when you had phoned and asked for me she had said I wasn’t in, even though she knew I was up in my room, practising or listening to music. At first I put it down to her illness and the fact that she had become so dependent on me at home. She had been plagued for yearswith chronic pain in her joints and muscles, but during the winter and spring it had been unbearable, and when, on top of everything else, she lost a lot of the grip in her hands she could no longer carry on with her job or do the housework. Although she never said it in so many words, she let me know in no uncertain terms that she didn’t think it was too much to ask for me to spend a bit more time at home and do a greater share of the household chores than I’d been doing, and I thought that the dislike of you that she’d suddenly begun to show was just one of many ways she had of telling me this. But when I noticed that she didn’t look unhappy if I said I was going to see anyone else it began to dawn on me that it had to have something to do with you, and it was only once I’d realized this that I noticed how her manner towards you had changed. She wasn’t directly unfriendly, but she was short with you and not as chatty, and sometimes when both you and Silje were there she would make a big show of being nice to Silje and interested in her, while ignoring you in an ostentatious, almost childish manner.
More and more, though, I also had the feeling that she was trying to check whether or not we were gay. It was remarkable how often, when your name was mentioned, she would bring the conversation round to HIV and AIDS. It’s true that the virus had only recently been identified and there was a lot about it in the papers, but that still didn’t explain all the times when, out of the blue and apropos of nothing, she would start going on about what a long and painful death it led to, how far medical science was from discovering an effective antidote and how much she agreed that all HIV sufferers should have to wear some sort of badge, so that everyone else could take precautions. “Although it’s mostly homosexuals who catch it so we can rest easy on that score,” she would say, whilekeeping a close eye on me to see how I reacted. For a long time I played it cool when she carried on like this, acted as though I didn’t know why she was saying all these things. I would yawn and try to look as if it had nothing to do with me, and I hoped and expected that this would eventually persuade her to give up, but it didn’t, and one day when you had come over and she had brought the conversation round, by dint of some weird detours, to a male hairdresser whom she was convinced was gay, even though he had a wife and kids, I exploded. “We’re not gay, Mum,” I yelled.
First she went bright red, then she was angry with me for saying it straight out, thereby breaking the unwritten rules for how she
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