Boyhood Island by Karl Ove Knausgård

Author:Karl Ove Knausgård [Knausgård, Karl Ove]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature
ISBN: 9781846557231
Publisher: Harvill Secker, Random House
Published: 2009-01-01T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

Crying so easily was a big problem. I cried every time anyone told me off or corrected me, or when I thought they would. Usually it was dad. He only had to raise his voice to make me cry, even though I knew he hated me doing it. I couldn’t help myself. If he raised his voice, and he often did, I began to cry. I seldom cried because of mum. Through the whole of my childhood it had only happened twice. Both times during the spring when I started football training. The first was the most disturbing. I had been down in the forest with a gang of kids, we were standing in a sort of circle, Yngve was there, Edmund from his class was there, as well as Dag Lothar, Steinar, Leif Tore and Rolf. Tongues were going nineteen to the dozen. Gulls were screaming from Ubekilen, the sky was still light, although darkness was creeping across the hill and beneath the trees above the forest floor. The conversation turned to school and teachers, skiving, detentions and having to report to school early. Then it moved to a boy in Yngve’s class who was extremely clever. I had just been listening, happy to be with the older boys, but there was a sudden lull in the conversation which I was able to fill.

‘I’m the best in my class,’ I said. ‘At least at reading and writing and natural and social sciences. And local history.’

Yngve stared at me.

‘Don’t boast, Karl Ove,’ he said.

‘I’m not boasting. It’s true!’ I said. ‘There is no doubt about it! I learned to read when I was five, before anyone else in the class. Now I can read fluently. Edmund, for example, is four years older than me, and he can’t read at all! You said that yourself! That means I’m cleverer than him.’

‘Stop that boasting right now,’ Yngve said.

‘But it’s true,’ I said. ‘Isn’t it, Edmund? It’s true that you can’t read, isn’t it? That you have a special teacher? Your sister’s in my class. She can’t read either. Or only a little. That’s not a lie, is it?’

Now something strange happened: Edmund had tears in his eyes. He wrenched himself away and set off up the slope.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Yngve hissed at me.

‘But it’s true,’ I said. ‘I’m the best in my class and he’s the worst in his.’

‘Go home,’ Yngve said. ‘Now. We don’t want you here with us.’

‘It’s not up to you,’ I said.

‘Shut your mouth and go home!’ he snapped, putting his hands on my shoulders and shoving me.

‘OK, OK,’ I said and set off up the hill. Crossed the road, slipped through the door and took off my outdoor clothes. It was true what I had said, so why had he shoved me?

Tears were in my eyes as I lay on my bed and opened a book. It was unfair, what I had said was true, it was so unfair, so unfair.

Mum came home from work, brewed up some tea and prepared a bite to eat.

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