Free Dancing in the Dark: My Struggle Book 4 by Karl Ove Knausgaard

water, poured it into the machine, popped a filter paper into the funnel, measured five spoonfuls and started the whole shebang, lots of spluttering and gurgling, the slow rise of black liquid in the jug and the bright red eye.
    ‘All going OK so far?’ a voice worryingly close to me said. I turned. It was Richard, he was staring at me with those intense eyes of his and a broad smile. What was this? Could he move through the school without making a sound?
    ‘Yes, I reckon so,’ I said. ‘It’s exciting.’
    ‘It is,’ he said. ‘Being a teacher is a very special, a fine profession. And, not least, a responsible one.’
    Why did he say that? Did he feel I needed to hear it, that it was a great responsibility, and if so, why? Did I give off an aura of irresponsibility perhaps?
    ‘Mm,’ I said. ‘My father’s a teacher actually. Bit further north.’
    ‘You don’t say!’ Richard said. ‘Is he from Nordland?’
    ‘No. It was the tax incentives that brought him up here.’
    Richard laughed.
    ‘Would you like a cup?’ I said. ‘It’ll be ready any second.’
    ‘Pour it in the Thermos, will you, and I’ll have some later.’
    He stole away as soundlessly as he had come. I didn’t know which was worse,
pour it in the Thermos
or
will you
. It was patronising whichever way you looked at it. Because I was only eighteen didn’t mean he could treat me like a schoolboy! I was an employee here, no different from him.
    Straight afterwards the bell rang and the teachers came in one by one, some silent, others with chirpy one-liners for everyone. I had put the Thermos on the table and was standing by the window with a full cup in my hand. The pupils were already running around outside. I tried to put names to the faces, but the only one I could remember was Kai Roald, the boy in the seventh class, perhaps because I had sympathised with him, the reluctance I had sensed in his body occasionally countermanded by an interested, perhaps even an enthusiastic, glint in his eyes. And then Liv, the stunner in the ninth, of course. She was standing up against the wall, her hands in her back pockets, wearing a beige anorak, blue jeans and worn grey trainers, chewing gum and stroking away some strands of hair that the wind had blown into her face. And Stian, over there, standing legs apart, hands in his pockets, chatting to his beanpole of a friend.
    I turned back to the room. Nils Erik smiled at me.
    ‘Where do you live?’ he said.
    ‘Down the hill from here,’ I said. ‘A basement flat.’
    ‘Under me,’ Torill said.
    ‘Where did you end up?’ I said.
    ‘At the top of the village. Also a basement flat.’
    ‘Yes, under me!’ Sture said.
    ‘So that’s how they’ve organised it,’ I said. ‘The trained teachers get the flats with the view and everything while the temps get the cellars?’
    ‘You may as well learn that right from the start,’ Sture said. ‘All privileges have to be earned. I grafted for three years at a teacher training college. There has to be some bloody payback.’
    He laughed.
    ‘Shall we carry your bags for you too, then?’ I said.
    ‘No, that’s too much responsibility for the likes of you. But every Saturday morning you’re expected to come and clean for us,’ he said with a wink.
    ‘I’ve heard there’s a party in Hellevika this weekend,’ I said. ‘Anyone here going?’
    ‘You’ve settled in fast, I have to say,’ Nils Erik said.
    ‘Who told you?’ Hege said.
    ‘Heard it on the grapevine,’ I said. ‘I was wondering whether to go or not. But it’s not much fun going alone.’
    ‘You’re never alone at a party up here,’ Sture said. ‘This is Northern Norway.’
    ‘Are you going?’ I said.
    He shook his head.
    ‘I’ve got a family to take care of,’ he said. ‘But I’ll give you some tips. If you want.’ He laughed.
    ‘I was thinking of going,’ Jane said.
    ‘Me too,’ Vibeke said.
    ‘What about you?’ I said, looking at Nils Erik.
    He