Read Online I Refuse by Per Petterson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Per Petterson
Tags: Norway
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up like Dali’s melting clock on the wall above the mirror where every morning he watched himself keep life going against all the odds with the electric shaver raised to his face on the days he didn’t go to the bridge. There wasn’t any alcohol in his blood now and it probably wasn’t that much this morning either, he didn’t think he would have been stopped and lost his licence in the Enebakk forest or on his way down to Hauketo. And he ran into the hall and pulled on his worn-out reefer jacket and quickly pushed the buttons through the holes and undid them equally fast and said, for God’s sake, the whole jacket stinks of fish, why is it hanging here next to the Sunday best clothes in the first place, he said, what was I thinking, he said and took a different jacket, a coat, in fact, grey, anonymous, stain-free, which he had worn only twice. Then he hurried to the stairs going down to the garage two floors below and got in his car and drove out into the light and down the first long hill and then the next hills towards one of the three rivers, towards Lillestrøm. It was already late in the day.
He parked by the railway station, by the tracks on the south side, it cost twenty-five kroner there, for twenty-four hours, you didn’t find it any cheaper, and then he walked along the rails and around the brick building with the fitness centre inside, called SATS. You could see the exercise bikes through the windows and the sweating bodies in their tight training suits, and he went on into the station building past the Narvesen kiosk and past the stairs up to the platforms, from number 8 right through to number 1, and then past the Narvesen kiosk at the other end and out through the doors on the side of the station facing Lillestrøm city centre.
He turned left on the bend by the art centre and into the high street. It was chilly along the road, but it was always colder in Lillestrøm and windier than anywhere else in Romerike, and the wind was moist and clingy and stuck to your skin.
From the high street he entered the mall, Lillestrøm City, through the swing doors, and right after the doors, before the shops unfolded to the left and right, he stopped in front of the door leading to the staircase and the lift and stood there waiting. There was a sign on the wall that among other things said: Social Security 2nd floor. I’ll have to go up there he thought, I have no choice. But he didn’t open the door. He looked at his watch. There was still another quarter of an hour. He walked into the mall and took the escalator down to the basement where the bakery was open, and from the lady behind the counter he bought a pastry, which he ate standing up, and when he looked at his watch, there were only five minutes to go. He took the escalator up to the ground floor and walked over to the lift, pressed the button and the lift was already there and on the second floor he got out and spotted the correct door at once, he had been here several times before, and he didn’t knock, he just walked straight in.
TOMMY ⋅ JIM ⋅ 1970
IT WAS PAST midnight. It had been Thursday, now it was Friday. They had turned off from the main road and on to the gravel road by the crossing, where the milk ramps had stood since the dawn of time, and were walking home after a party at Willy’s. Willy had moved from the neighbourhood and now lived closer to Mørk, in a detached house on a piece of flat land that was nothing more than that, not a field, not a meadow, it was strange that no one had put a plough to it.
Willy had two parents. When they were small Jim and Tommy had thought it was a creative idea to have two, at least for some time they did, until they realised it was what most people had, on a permanent basis. Jim still had his one, and Tommy had none. He had Jonsen, but Jonsen was also just one, it was he who kept Tommy on the leash. Not that it was much of a job. Now they were walking in the night and were a little drunk. Not very
He parked by the railway station, by the tracks on the south side, it cost twenty-five kroner there, for twenty-four hours, you didn’t find it any cheaper, and then he walked along the rails and around the brick building with the fitness centre inside, called SATS. You could see the exercise bikes through the windows and the sweating bodies in their tight training suits, and he went on into the station building past the Narvesen kiosk and past the stairs up to the platforms, from number 8 right through to number 1, and then past the Narvesen kiosk at the other end and out through the doors on the side of the station facing Lillestrøm city centre.
He turned left on the bend by the art centre and into the high street. It was chilly along the road, but it was always colder in Lillestrøm and windier than anywhere else in Romerike, and the wind was moist and clingy and stuck to your skin.
From the high street he entered the mall, Lillestrøm City, through the swing doors, and right after the doors, before the shops unfolded to the left and right, he stopped in front of the door leading to the staircase and the lift and stood there waiting. There was a sign on the wall that among other things said: Social Security 2nd floor. I’ll have to go up there he thought, I have no choice. But he didn’t open the door. He looked at his watch. There was still another quarter of an hour. He walked into the mall and took the escalator down to the basement where the bakery was open, and from the lady behind the counter he bought a pastry, which he ate standing up, and when he looked at his watch, there were only five minutes to go. He took the escalator up to the ground floor and walked over to the lift, pressed the button and the lift was already there and on the second floor he got out and spotted the correct door at once, he had been here several times before, and he didn’t knock, he just walked straight in.
TOMMY ⋅ JIM ⋅ 1970
IT WAS PAST midnight. It had been Thursday, now it was Friday. They had turned off from the main road and on to the gravel road by the crossing, where the milk ramps had stood since the dawn of time, and were walking home after a party at Willy’s. Willy had moved from the neighbourhood and now lived closer to Mørk, in a detached house on a piece of flat land that was nothing more than that, not a field, not a meadow, it was strange that no one had put a plough to it.
Willy had two parents. When they were small Jim and Tommy had thought it was a creative idea to have two, at least for some time they did, until they realised it was what most people had, on a permanent basis. Jim still had his one, and Tommy had none. He had Jonsen, but Jonsen was also just one, it was he who kept Tommy on the leash. Not that it was much of a job. Now they were walking in the night and were a little drunk. Not very
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