Before I Burn E-Book

Gaute Heivoll

• Herausgeber: Atlantic Books
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013

Beschreibung

In the late 1970s, a pyromaniac runs amok in a close-knit community in rural Norway. Homes are burnt to a cinder, and panic spreads, as neighbours wonder who amongst them could be wreaking such fear and anguish. And slowly, almost imperceptibly, a mother comes to realise that her son is lighting the fires. Born into this time of chaos, Gaute Heivoll is indelibly linked to the arsonist intent on such destruction. By juxtaposing the pyromaniac's story with his own, Heivoll explores memory, loss and the agonising separation of child from parent that it is a rite of passage for us all. Written in fluid, luminous prose, Before I Burn is a literary sensation, by the foremost Norwegian writer of his generation.

Leseprobe

Before I Burn

First published with the title Før jeg brenner ned in 2010 by Tiden Norsk Forlag, Oslo. First published in Great Britain in 2013 by Atlantic Books, an imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd.

Copyright © Gaute Heivoll, 2010 Translation Copyright © Don Bartlett, 2013

The moral right of Gaute Heivoll to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

The moral right of Don Bartlett to be identified as the translator of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This translation has been published with the financial support of NORLA.

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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Trade Paperback ISBN: 978 085789 216 4 E-book ISBN: 978 085789 218 8

Set in 11.75/15pt Minion Designed by Nicky Barneby @ Barneby Ltd Printed in Great Britain

Atlantic Books An Imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd Ormond House 26–27 Boswell Street London WC1N 3JZ

www.atlantic-books.co.uk

Most things are so meaningless.

But then something unparalleled occurs,

which rises in the sky

like a flaming cloud

and consumes everything.

Then everything is changed

and you yourself are changed

and what you thought had value before

has no longer any value for you at all.

And you walk through the ash of everything

And you yourself are ash.

PÄR LAGERKVIST (1953)

Contents

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

Epilogue

A Note on the Author

Prologue

A STORY CAME UP IN CONVERSATION while I was visiting Alfred. At first I didn’t consider that it had anything to do with the fires. I hadn’t heard this story before, it is absolutely heart-rending, though at the same time full of, well, what could you call it?

Love?

It happened a little over a hundred years ago in the region where I was born and bred. A man committed suicide by blowing himself up. He was thirty-five years old. He used dynamite. Afterwards, it was said, his mother went around gathering the fragments in her apron. A few days later, after a brief ceremony, his remains were laid in grave number 35. According to the cemetery records, under ‘Other Remarks’ was added insane.

I don’t know if this story is true. However, it is something you can understand. If you sit down and reflect, you do slowly understand. Ultimately, it is clear it was the only right thing to do. It is what you do. You have no choice. You walk around gathering all the fragments in your apron.

1

I.

A FEW MINUTES PAST MIDNIGHT on the morning of Monday, 5 June 1978, Johanna Vatneli switched off the kitchen light and carefully closed the door. She took the four steps through the cold hall, opened the door to the bedroom a fraction, causing a strip of light to fall across the grey woollen rug they had spread over the bed, even though it was summer. Inside, in the darkness, Olav, her husband, lay asleep. She stood for some seconds on the threshold listening to his heavy breathing, then went into the small bathroom, where she let the tap run quietly, as she always did. She stood bent over, washing her face, for a long time. It was cold in there; she was standing barefoot on the rag mat and could feel the hard floor beneath her feet. For a moment she looked herself in the eye. This wasnt something she usually did. She leaned forwards and stared into the black pupils. Then she tidied her hair and drank a glass of water from the tap. Finally, she changed her knickers. They were covered in blood. She folded them and put them in a bowl of water to soak overnight. She pulled a nightie over her head, and at that moment, in her abdomen, she felt a stabbing pain, the one that was always there but had worsened recently, particularly if she stretched or lifted something heavy. It was like a knife.

Before switching off the light she removed her teeth and dropped them with a plop into the glass of water on the vanity shelf under the mirror, beside Olavs.

Then she heard a car.

It was dark in the living room, but the windows, strangely shiny and black, gleamed as though from a dim light outside in the garden. She walked to the window and peered out. The moon had risen above the treetops to the south, she saw the cherry tree, which was still in blossom, and had it not been for the mist she would have been able to see right down to Lake Livannet in the west.

A car with no lights on drove past the house and continued at a slow pace along the road towards the collection of homesteads known as Msel. The car was black, or perhaps red; she couldnt tell. Not moving at any great speed, it finally rounded the bend and was gone. She stood by the window waiting for one, two, perhaps three minutes. Then she went into the bedroom.

Olav, she whispered. Olav.

No answer. He was in his usual deep sleep. She hurried back into the living room, knocked into the chair arm, hurting her thigh, and reached the window in time to see the dark car returning. It was coming out of the bend, and continued slowly past the living room wall. It must have turned around by the Knutsens house, but no one was living there, they had travelled back to town the night before, she had seen them leaving herself. Outside, she heard the crunch of tyres. The low purr of the engine. The sound of a radio. Then the car ground to a halt. She heard a door open, then silence. Her heart was in her mouth. She went back into the bedroom, put on the light and shook her husband. This time he woke, but he didnt get up until they both heard a loud bang and a tinkle of breaking glass from the kitchen.