‘That’s exactly what I wanted.’
‘Mm. Any bigger presents you’d like?’
‘Like what?’
‘World peace.’
‘The day you wake up to world peace, you don’t wake up, Harry. Because they’ve dropped the big one.’
‘OK. No private wishes?’
‘Not a lot. New conscience maybe.’
‘New conscience?’
‘The old one’s not so good. Smart suit you’ve got. Thought you had only the one.’
‘It’s Dad’s.’
‘Jesus, you must have shrunk.’
‘Yes,’ Harry said, straightening his tie. ‘I have shrunk.’
‘How’s Ekeberg restaurant?’
Harry closed his eyes. ‘Fine.’
‘Do you remember the leaky shack we sneaked into that time. How old were we? Sixteen?’
‘Seventeen.’
‘Didn’t you dance with the Killer Queen there once?’
‘Possibly.’
‘Frightening to think that the MILF of your youth has ended up in an old people’s home.’
‘MILF?’
Øystein sighed. ‘Look it up.’
‘Mm. Øystein?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why did you and I become pals?’
‘Because we grew up together, I suppose.’
‘Is that all? A demographic coincidence? No spiritual fellowship?’
‘Not that I’ve noticed. As far as I know, we’ve only ever had one thing in common.’
What’s that?’
‘No one else wanted to be pals with us.’
They wound their way through the next bends in silence.
‘Apart from Tresko,’ Harry said.
Øystein snorted. ‘Who stank so much of toe-fart no one else could bear sitting next to him.’
‘Yes,’ Harry said. ‘We were good at that.’
‘We nailed that one,’ Øystein said. ‘But, Christ, how he stank.’
They laughed together. Gentle, light-hearted. Sad.
* * *
Øystein had parked the car on the brown grass with the doors open. Harry clambered up onto the top of the bunker and sat on the edge with his legs dangling. From the speakers inside the car doors Springsteen sang about blood brothers one stormy night and the vow that had to be kept.
Øystein passed Harry the bottle of Jim Beam. A lone siren from the town rose and fell until it lost power and died. The poison stung Harry’s throat and stomach, and he threw up. The second swig went better. The third was fine.
Max Weinberg sounded as if he was trying to destroy the drumhead.
‘It often strikes me how I ought to wish I had more regrets,’ Øystein said. ‘But I don’t give a shite. I think I just accepted from my first waking second that I was a bloody slob. What about you?’
Harry ruminated. ‘I have loads of regrets. But perhaps that’s because I carry around such high notions of myself. In fact, I imagine I could have chosen differently.’
‘But you bloody couldn’t.’
‘Not at that time. But next time, Øystein. Next time.’
‘Has it ever happened, Harry? Ever in the fucking history of mankind?’
‘Just because nothing has happened doesn’t mean that it can’t happen. I don’t know that this bottle is going to fall if I drop it. Fuck, which philosopher was it again? Hobbes? Hume? Heidegger? One of the headcases beginning with H.’
‘Answer me.’
Harry shrugged. ‘I think it’s possible to learn. The problem is that we learn so damned slowly, so that by the time you’ve realised, it’s too late. For example, someone you love might ask you for a favour, an act of love. Like helping him to die. Which you say no to because you haven’t learned, you haven’t had the insight. When you do finally see the light, it’s too late.’ Harry took another swig. ‘So instead you perform the act of love for someone else. Perhaps for someone you hate, even.’
Øystein accepted the bottle. ‘Got no idea what you’re chuntering on about, but it sounds fucked up.’
‘Not necessarily. It’s never too late for good actions, is it.’
‘It’s always too late, don’t you mean?’
‘No! I always thought we hate too much for it to be possible for us to obey other impulses. But my father had a different opinion. He said hatred and love are the same currency. Everything starts with love, hatred is the reverse side of the coin.’
‘Amen.’
‘But that must mean you can go the other way, from hatred to love. Hatred must be a good starting point for learning, for changing, for doing things differently next time.’
‘Now you’re so optimistic I’m considering puking, Harry.’