(Beyond) the Law, 2014
"It’s becoming a good few years now,
since me and my nephew were sitting on the train on
the long way home from our summerhouse. We’d been down to sail our boat on its
maiden voyage from the factory. He may have been around six at the time, I’d
guess. And it was there, on the last stretch of our journey, on our way through
the woods somewhere unfamiliar to us both - while carelessly chit chatting on
this and that - that the inscrutable question arose. I think it was he who
first led me to understand that there was something he knew about me; that he
in fact knew who I was. At least that’s what I assumed he meant. Instantly I
became infinitely curious! Without noticing I had attached so many subjective
implications to our conversation that I now foresaw an insight of mystical
proportions. I had long believed children to be somewhat closer to our origins
than grown-ups; time-wise and every other-wise nearer to where we come from, a
place both before and beyond our present existence. Consequently I imagined
they could also remember more, that they simply were given a more direct
insight into the innermost mysteries of our existence! So - he knew who I was!
Or should I say - what I essentially was, from the very beginning. Naturally, I
immediately demanded him to speak out. He hesitated, - Surely I knew this
already? – But no, I said, - you tell me (please...). And while we kept on a
little back and forth like this, I became increasingly excited, anticipating
his reply, and accordingly insistent on getting it out of him. He giggled a
little embarrassed. What kind of strange question was this? Obviously he was
worried I was pulling his leg and didn’t want to be left the fool. This made him
uneasy and the situation a little tense. But my intention was quite the
contrary: I was the silly one, just as ignorant as he was enlightened. Of
course he was unable to grasp this. And in my eagerness to get in touch with an
inaccessible truth, I took his resistance as evidence of the secret being so
obvious to him, that he did not realize this was not the case for everyone.
That he did not understand I had grown up and forgotten it all, and in the end
- so would he. No wonder it was crucial for me to make him speak there and
then, at that very moment, while the answer still was hanging in the air, on
the tip of the tongue, within the reach of our communication: Who I truly was!
I could not give in and pushed him as subtly as I could, so as not to scare him
off. I begged, I pleaded, I tempted him. Finally I
went so far as to pull the old trick assuring him that - certainly, since I
already knew the answer, he might as well say it too. Yes, that was a spineless
lie. But I reckoned it would make it less a big deal for him (as it was to
me!). For God knows I did not know! And I would give anything for an answer!
You will already have guessed it undoubtedly, but at the time it came as a
complete surprise to me and something I have had to seriously ponder on later.
But right there and then it surely generated a long and releasing laugh... Of
course! For still with a little astonished expression of suspicion on his face,
finally my little nephew replied, hesitantly and a little questioning, but
nevertheless firmly categorical: "You - you are Sten
Are" . "
--
(Utenfor) Loven, 2014
«For hva som nå begynner å bli en god del år siden,
satt jeg på toget med min nevø den lange veien hjem fra hytta. Vi hadde vært og
kjørt den nye båten vår fra fabrikken, jomfruturen sjøveien. Han kan ha vært
rundt 6 år, vil jeg anslå. Det var tog-for-buss det siste strekket, og det var
her, på bussen igjennom skauen, et eller annet sted hverken han eller jeg dro
kjensel på, mens vi småpratet om dette og hint, at det uutgrunnelige spørsmålet
dukket opp. Jeg tror det var han som først gav uttrykk for at han visste noe –
at han visste noe om hvem jeg var. I hvert fall oppfattet jeg det slik. Jeg var grenseløst nysgjerrig. Umerkelig
hadde jeg hektet på så mange utenomliggende implikasjoner i det vi snakket om
at jeg nå skimtet et erkjennelsesmessig gjennombrudd av mystiske dimensjoner.
Jeg hadde lenge hatt det for meg at barn på et vis står nærmere opprinnelsen
enn voksne, i tid og i alt - nærere der vi kommer fra - liksom et sted bak det
hele. Slik, tenkte jeg, kunne de også huske mer, de satt rett og slett med en
direkte innsikt i eksistensens mest grunnleggende gåter. Han visste altså hvem
jeg var! Eller hva. I betydningen: Hvor jeg kom fra – ja, hvor vi alle kommer
fra... Hva vi i bunn og grunn er for noe. Jeg ba han straks komme ut med det.
Han dro på det; dette visste jeg vel selv? –Nei, sa jeg, - si det du. Og mens
vi holdt på sånn litt fram og tilbake, ble jeg mer og mer spent på hva han
ville svare, og mer og mer pågående for å få det ut av han. Han lo litt
forlegen. Hva var dette for en merkelig forespørsel? Han var naturligvis
engstelig for at det var en slags felle jeg prøvde å lure han uti, det gjorde
han usikker, og situasjonen litt anspent. Men min intensjon var jo i realiteten
helt omvendt. Det var jeg som var dum, ja, fullstendig ignorant, mens han var
opplyst. Dette forsto han selvsagt ikke. Men i min iver etter å komme i kontakt
med en utilgjengelig sannhet tok jeg den motstanden han oppviste som bevis på
at hemmeligheten var så innlysende for han, at han ikke skjønte at det ikke var
slik for alle. Men jeg hadde jo blitt voksen og dermed glemt det hele, slik han
også ville komme til å gjøre. Derfor var det så avgjørende for meg å få dette
ut av han der og da. Mens det så å si lå i luften. Innenfor rekkevidde. På
tunga, i ordene: Svaret. Hvem jeg var. Egentlig. Jeg gav meg ikke, og presset
på, så listig jeg kunne, for ikke å skremme han. Jeg tryglet, jeg ba, jeg
lokket. Til slutt listet jeg meg frempå med det gamle trikset med at - joda,
jeg visste det jo i grunnen allerede, så da kunne jo han likeså godt si det.
Det var feigt, men da ble det liksom ikke så farlig, tenkte jeg. Men, gudene
skal vite at jeg ikke visste! Jeg ville gitt alt for et svar! Du gjetter det
selvsagt, men på det tidspunktet kom det som en komplett overraskelse på meg og
noe jeg måtte tenke grundig igjennom i ettertid, selv om det der og da utløste
en befriende latter. Naturligvis! For fremdeles med mistenksomhetens forundring
i uttrykket, svarte han til slutt nølende, litt spørrende, men like fullt
urokkelig kategorisk: «Du, du er jo Sten Are».»
--
Photo: Istvan Virag