People turned around, Mommy last, the record going around and around on the turntable. Svein spun her one more time, but then he stopped.

It was Daddy and Sønstebø. Sønstebø was swaying slightly, while Daddy was steady on his feet. He looked at Svein, at Mommy.

I stood up. Look at me, I thought, don’t look at them, look at me. I wanted to talk, use the powerful voice Daddy was so fond of, fill the room with it, say something really loud—maybe something they could laugh about, something Daddy could laugh about, or even better, something that impressed him. But no sounds came out.

Daddy walked slowly across the floor, toward Svein, toward Mommy. She was still holding his hand in hers, but now she dropped it abruptly.

Maybe they said something to each other, I don’t remember. Maybe Mommy’s voice was low and exasperated, Daddy’s clear and cold, or maybe they just stood there like that, facing each other, until he reached out his hand, the way Svein had just done, and took hold of Mommy’s hand—which was hanging at her side and didn’t want to be held, at least not by him. He took hold of it, tugged at her, pulled her close to him, and started to dance.

Sønstebø danced as well, but alone, with his hips mostly, while he made faces and noises. I understood what the sounds were supposed to mimic: Mommy’s howling.

It happened so quickly. Now Svein was there, he said something to Daddy, tried to help Mommy get out of his grasp, but Mommy didn’t want to be helped. She said something under her breath to Svein, everyone else was silent, the only sound was the music.

Svein stood there while Daddy danced with Mommy, holding her so tight it looked painful. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t manage that either. Daddy pushed and pulled Mommy around, but then Svein was there again, grabbing Daddy’s arm, screaming something at him. Mommy didn’t make a sound. Daddy refused to let go and then Sønstebø moved in from one side. Turning to face Svein, he raised a clenched fist and punched him.

Svein stumbled backward but didn’t fall, still managed to keep his balance—he was big and strong, I could see that now. Somebody screamed—it wasn’t me, it wasn’t Mommy. Daddy was still holding on to her, but they weren’t dancing any longer—he had stopped and held her close and she wasn’t resisting. Sønstebø walked toward Svein again. Svein just stood there. Go away, I thought, run, but he stood there, sort of bewildered, as if he hadn’t been expecting a brawl, and at the very least didn’t anticipate another punch coming. But one did, and yet another, while Daddy held Mommy against him, as if they were slow-dancing.