Beatles Read Free Page A

singer, he looked like an airship and from this colossal vessel issued a voice that was so high and reedy and heart-rending that a tiny schoolgirl seemed to be inside him, singing in his stead. I suppose he must have been a baritone at one time. There are several stories circulating about Jensenius and I am not quite sure which to believe, but people say he gave sweets to small girls, and small boys, too, and liked to hug them. He had been a baritone at one time, but they had fiddled with his undercarriage, and now he was a soprano, he drank like a bear and sang like an angel. And I like to call him the Whale because whales sing, too, they sing because they are lonely and the oceans are much too large for them.
    And then I fell asleep, the first day.
     
    The essay was handed in during the first lesson, after we had said Our Father with Dragon as prayer leader. But he didn’t get any further than ‘hallowed be thy name’, he fell quiet and reddened and his knuckles were pressed white, and Goose had to take over. Now everything went as smooth as butter and the rest of us stood there, straight-backed, by our seats, mumbling as well as we were able.Class monitor that week was Seb. He buzzed up and down the lines collecting the exercise books and putting them in a tidy pile on the desk in front of Lue who scanned the class with incredulity.
    ‘All present and correct?’ he asked in a low voice.
    Seb nodded and went to his seat. He sat at the back of the window row while I sat behind Gunnar in the middle row and Ola sat at the front by the door and was always first out and last in. In fact, it was a good place to be behind Gunnar, his back was broad enough to mask the whole family medical book. He turned to whisper:
    ‘Which one did you write about?’
    ‘Future plans.’
    ‘What are you goin’ to be?’
    ‘Doctor in Africa.’
    ‘Seb’s goin’ to be a missionary. In India.’
    ‘What about you?’
    ‘Goin’ to be a pilot. And Ola’s goin’ to be a ladies’ hairdresser.’
    ‘You got the mag with you?’
    Gunnar gave a quick nod and faced the front.
    Lue was still scanning the class as though we were a new landscape that had manifested itself in all its glory, and not 7A, twenty-two striplings with greasy hair and spots and our hands in our pockets.
    ‘Has
everyone
handed in an essay?’ he repeated.
    No reaction.
    ‘Who has
not
handed in an essay?’ he asked, rephrasing the question.
    Silence in the classroom. You could have heard a pin drop. The Briskeby tram clattered past, a long way down in the world, for we were the school’s finest and occupied the top floor.
    Lue stood up and began to pace the podium, to and fro, in front of us. Whenever he reached the desk he patted the pile of essays and his smile became broader and broader.
    ‘You’re learning,’ he said. ‘You’re learning and perhaps my endeavours have not been in vain. You will soon come to realise that
punctuality
is one of the corner stones of the adult world. Now that you are going on to the
realskole
you will be faced with new and much greater demands, not to mention those of you who are aiming at
gymnas
and university, you will soon understand, and the best timeto understand this is now. This wonderful pile of essays may indeed bear witness to the fact that you
have
understood if not everything, then at least a part.’
    I was sitting in the middle row, behind Gunnar’s comfortingly broad back. Lue was marching around up on his stage, speaking with a warm, tremulous voice. No one was listening to one single syllable, but we were content because we didn’t have to parse main clauses or read Ibsen’s
Terje Vigen,
and after a while his voice faded away, it is a quirk I have, I seem to be able to cut off the sound, as it were, and it can be very pleasant sometimes. Lue became a silent movie, his movements were jerky and exaggerated and his mouth was working with such vigour that his mentally distant classroom audience could guess what