That was how I became a friend of sorts with Olav’s mother, Halldis. We agreed to go on some walks together. Later we also went out riding on her Fjord horses. She talked about the landscape, the kinds of tracks animals left, and how the winter we were entering would feel. We never spoke of Olav. I didn’t mention him, and she was private. I had the impression that she was a strong person, but at regular intervals she would worry about whether I’d write about her.

One day in early November, we took the horses out into the forest. When we came to a clearing, I said that the vista there would make for a good opening scene. Then she said, “Yes, that’s what I’m so afraid of.” 19

She looked at her hands grasping the reins, and I thought of Olav, his face and hers, and that might have been the day she invited me home for coffee. In any case, I remember that we let the horses loose in the pasture and sat in the kitchen. There were pictures of Olav and his wife on the bulletin board, and I’m sure that I gave Halldis a hug when I left. At least I remember that something felt difficult about the parting.

Despite the awkwardness in our relationship, we kept seeing each other. One day when we were in the kitchen after a hike, Olav’s father came in. He was reluctant to sit down at the table, as we probably didn’t want to be disturbed. Halldis found him a coffee cup, and of course he was disturbing us. I recall him saying on several occasions that he didn’t care for well-educated people. He was a carpenter, Olav’s father. Said that the hand’s labor was important and pointed to the table. I praised the table, and then I had to go and see his workshop.

We walked out to it, all three of us, and what I remember most clearly about the room was that he’d stuck up a photo of a naked woman with a thumbtack. He’d pinned her up over the door to the room where Halldis worked on her costumes. That meant that Halldis had to walk under the naked woman anytime she went in to do her sewing. You never know about other people’s relationships, but I thought to myself that it was their marriage Halldis didn’t want me to write about. It seemed complicated to me, though I think it seemed healthy to her. Every day she passed beneath the naked woman who hung over the door with her legs slightly spread, and had hung there so long that Halldis no longer noticed her. She was no doubt thinking of her son in Copenhagen. His wife was beautiful  20and industrious. He himself interviewed famous authors. And now one of them was living in Aasbakken’s cabin.