Read Professor Andersen's Night Online
Authors: Dag Solstad
Professor Andersen's Night (15 page)
‘A snap of the fingers and then I’ve sundered myself from God,’ he thought. ‘Well, I must say, I didn’t believe it was as simple as all that. But that’s the way it is, then. And what can I do about it? Nothing. It’s as though I’m standing outside myself, just observing. Dare I say with a shrug? No, I daren’t say it, because it’s not true. Oh, now I know why I couldn’t confide in Bernt!’ he exclaimed. ‘I had thought it might be because I feared his disapproval, but that didn’t add up, as I couldn’t imagine Bernt disapproving, when all was said and done, not seriously. Of course, it’s the opposite way around. I couldn’t say
anything
to him because I was afraid of him approving of it. I couldn’t stand him approving of it. Least of all for Bernt’s sake. But also for my own sake, it would have made me so lonely. I had done what I had done and I couldn’t undo it, but I couldn’t stand the thought of Bernt approving of it, and thus abruptly: my own terrifying loneliness. I don’t discount that, strictly speaking, Bernt would have dissociated himself from it, on account of public morality, and he would have requested me to consider the consequences, to see the whole thing from the murdered young woman’s point of view, but there would have been something half-hearted about the way he spoke, I’m certain of that. I wouldn’t have been able to avoid noticing the respect for my action on his face, indeed his partial, and secretive, admiration, because the fact that a person with cancer rots away and dies suffering violent pain, only just alleviated by morphine, that is something nothing can be done about. But to let the murderer get away, in any case, at least between ourselves, is a secret wish. But no one
can
have their own God, not even the godless,’ cried Professor Andersen. ‘At least, not without being damned. And doomed to stand and contemplate damnation, because no one is able to entertain a feeling of admiration, not even in secret, for their own ability to snap their fingers, when the opportunity arises, so that the murderer can get up and flee from his misdeed, and in that way make an eternal protest against the unbearable cruelty of existence, indeed, its meaninglessness. I must already have realised it at the time,’ thought Professor Andersen, ‘that Bernt Halvorsen’s secret admiration would have appeared meaningless to me, because it brands my action as understandable, something I would have been unable to tackle in my desperation. Because I had witnessed the murder and been negligent with my eyes open, I had sunk into a state of desperation which had long ago transformed my action from an apparent revolt into a form of damnation. But I didn’t have words for it then. And Bernt wouldn’t have comprehended it either. Serious Bernt Halvorsen, with his high ethical standards, wouldn’t have understood a word of what I wanted to
express
, even though he would have done his utmost to attempt it, and in purely logical terms he might even have made some comments about it, being such an obliging man, so that we might at least have been able to conduct some kind of conversation about it, since it was so evident that it meant a great deal to me, not least dressing up my thoughts in this religious-coloured language, which I wasn’t actually capable of doing at that time. Yes, really,’ thought Professor Andersen, ‘I can well imagine what would have happened if we had informed all the dinner guests, telling them what had happened to me, as each of them arrived, on Boxing Day two months ago; Trine Napstad and Per Ekeberg, Judith Berg and Jan Brynhildsen, along with Nina, who would have been the first one to be told, and all of them would have reacted in the same way. Requested me to consider the consequences, and urgently appealed to me to go to the police and report what I had seen, but all the same, among all of them, a secret wish that I
didn’t
have to listen to them, something they would have confirmed, making solemn vows of secrecy, in case I didn’t follow their urgent appeals.’ He had held his tongue, because he couldn’t talk about damnation then. He himself had had no words for it then, and if he had had words for it at the time, then they wouldn’t have understood them. They would have retained their secret admiration, even if he had said that he was damned, for being damned, the way he regarded it at the time, in all his wordless desperation, would have appeared so strange to them, so odd, that they wouldn’t have been able to take it into account. ‘And that’s how I feel about it, too, now, at this moment,’ thought Professor Andersen, ‘that it’s strange, odd, even though I know I’m damned.
‘But can I be damned when I don’t believe in God?’ Professor Andersen asked himself. ‘Because I don’t, since it’s impossible for me to follow the divine command. Oh, it’s no use,’ he sighed, ‘because I do, indeed, feel damnation now, I’m not able to conjure it away. I don’t even feel frightened of sticking my
tongue
out at God, and no one would be shaken to the depths of their being if I were to announce that. It’s quite simply a strange idea to imagine that I have committed a sin of any kind. I can relate to the notion of damnation, but not to the fact that when I snapped my fingers and let a murderer off, I sinned against God. It’s strange, odd. And I’m freezing cold. I’ve gone beyond a limit, and when I passed it, I met something I found necessary to address as God. It was freezing cold and strange. No, I don’t want to stay here. I’ll shake it off me, turn round and walk on, home again, if I may say so,’ thought Professor Andersen.
At that very moment the doorbell rang. Professor Andersen almost jumped out of his skin. Who could it be? Then he realised. Next Wednesday. It was next Wednesday. He went to the front door and opened it. There was Henrik Nordstrøm. Professor Andersen greeted him in the doorway, attired in his dressing gown over his pyjamas. ‘I’ve been ill,’ said Professor Andersen to the man across the threshold. ‘Have been, or are?’ asked Henrik Nordstrøm. ‘I don’t know, really,’ smiled Professor Andersen, as he leaned against the door, which he held
ajar
. ‘If you are going to come along, then you have to hurry up and get changed,’ said Henrik Nordstrøm. ‘No, it’s not possible, because if I am well again then I have a lot of work to catch up on.’ ‘Then you’re not coming, I take it?’ said Henrik Nordstrøm, and looked at his watch. ‘No, I’m sorry, it’s just not possible.’ ‘Very well,’ said Henrik Nordstrøm, ‘that may be, but it would have done you good to come along. But maybe another time.’ ‘Yes, maybe another time,’ answered Professor Andersen. He thought he would wish Henrik Nordstrøm ‘good luck’ with the horse, in order to round off the conversation in that way, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Instead he thought that he would say ‘take care’ or ‘goodbye’, but he couldn’t bring himself to say that either. Then Henrik Nordstrøm looked at his watch again, turned round and went downstairs. Professor Andersen heard his rapid foot-steps on the way down. Suddenly, he thought of something and hurried over to the banister, leaned over it and shouted to the man who was on the point of disappearing, ‘When are
you
going to leave, by the way?’ ‘Leave?’ he heard the other man’s voice calling up to him. ‘Yes, for the Far East?’ ‘Oh, that. Any time now. In a few weeks, perhaps in a few months.’ ‘What are you going to do with your apartment? Sell it?’ ‘Sell it? What for? I’ll be coming back. At some point. Perhaps rent it out, or I may just leave it empty. My sister can always stay there, when she comes to Oslo.’ ‘Yes, that sounds sensible. Are your parents alive?’ ‘My parents? What makes you ask that?’ ‘Well, I don’t know, it was just something that struck me. But I can’t stand here in the corridor any longer,’ he shouted to the man below, ‘for I’m starting to shiver. It would be silly to catch the flu right now, when I’m beginning to get well.’ ‘Yes, take care, and read the results from the first race at Bjerke in the newspapers tomorrow. The horse is called Sugar Pile, and you can look for that name at the top of the page.’ ‘Yes, I’ll do that,’ said Professor Andersen, ‘but now I must go in and have a warm bath.’ With these words he went into his apartment, locked the door and continued to pace restlessly around the
apartment
. ‘Perhaps I should do that?’ he thought after a while. ‘Do what?’ he asked himself. And he came to a halt. ‘Have a bath,’ he replied, to himself. ‘Yes, why not?’ he added. ‘A really hot bath, that would certainly do me good,’ he thought.
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Epub ISBN 9781446496169
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Copyright © Dag Solstad 1996
English translation copyright © Forlaget Oktober 2011
Dag Solstad has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar
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including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
First published with the title
Professor Andersens natt
in 1996 by Forlaget Oktober, Oslo
First published in Great Britain in 2011 by
HARVILL SECKER
Random House
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London SW1V 2SA
Addresses for companies within The Random House Group Limited can be found at:
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN
9781843432128
This translation has been published with the financial assistance of NORLA