Norsk Film, a short story by Rico.Viejo. Date added: 2012-04-07. Times viewed: 1481.

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Intro: An American boy and a Norwegian girl plot a movie. Just talk.

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1952. The small American escort carrier worked its way up the fjords to Oslo and disgorged its young sailors onto the city at dusk. This particular sailor was looking for a girl, like most of the others, but he, and the fellow he was with, were intercepted by a couple who wanted to talk about America. They urged them to their apartment, furnished them with glasses of aquavit, and asked him a lot of questions he was dissatisfied with the answers to.

 

When they escaped, they were an hour behind the competition, and split up when a girl came along and went with his friend. And he soon had the luck to meet a girl, about his age, who looked at him with interest. "Will you walk with me?" he said.  

"I will show you our city," she replied, in her British-accented shop-girl English.

 

They walked around, with her pointing things out. He managed to capture her hand. After a lot of walking and hand-squeezing, they ended up sitting on a bench in a park full of statues of naked people—some in erotic positions.  She let him put his arm across her shoulders, his cap on her head.

 

He told her he'd left college to do his service and would go back after. He told her he didn't have a girlfriend—which wasn't quite true. She told him she had a boyfriend. But she let the sailor kiss her shortly after that announcement. "You have sex with him?" he asked. That took a few tries, with some different words, for her to understand. No, but they did something the American recognized as "bundling," where a courting couple share a bed—because of the cold—in their clothes, with a board between them. A few more kisses, but she wouldn't let him put his hand into her coat, even when he argued that it was cold.

 

"What will you do after college?" said the girl, getting concerned about his forwardness and her liking it.  

He had an idea. "I want to make movies, write movies. You go to the movies, to the cinema?" Yes, she did.  

"I'm going to write a movie right now," he said.  

"You are?"  

"And you're in it."  

"I am?"  

"And so am I," he said. "Now, we'll need two of your girlfriends. And the name for one of them."  

"Greta?"  

"Good. Greta. Now, the movie opens ... tomorrow?"  

"How?"  

"The story."  

"Okay."  

"You are at your work and Greta and your other friend come by."  

"Helga."  

"Greta and Helga come to you and Greta says: 'What did you do last night?' and you say: 'What did you do?' and they say: 'We met some nice American sailors'. They wait a moment and look at each other and Helga says: 'And we fucked them'. Do you know what that means?"  

"Yes. And they would not. They have sweethearts, too."  

"'And did you meet an American sailor and fuck him?' they will ask you," he said.  

"Do they use words like that in American movies?"  

"We'll use other words. Anyway, they've asked you. What do you say? Do you say 'yes' because they lied to you, hoping to get you to confess, or do you lie to them because you don't want to be inferior to your friends or make them feel inferior to you?"  

She had to puzzle that out. While she was considering, he went on: "Or do you say 'no' to them to tell the truth or because you did fuck your sailor—me—and that's your personal, private secret?"  

She slowly said: "I tell them ..."  

He quickly interrupted her. "Remember," he said, "this is a movie story. What makes a better story? 'Yes', to make them feel good and maybe make a fool of you? 'No', because the girl—you—did not fuck the sailor and always tells the truth? Or 'no' because the girl fucked the sailor—me—and it is a good joke that they lied to make you think they had a good time, they made love, and you lied to make them think you didn't?"  

She deliberated a long time, then said: "What happens after? How does the movie end?"  

"He goes back to his ship, where his friends lie that they fucked, and he lies that he didn't."  

"He didn't?"  

"He did. And he falls in love with her."  

"They marry?"  

"No. They never see each other again. But he never forgets her. He holds her in his heart, forever—the beautiful Norwegian girl he fucked in a statue park."  

"Do you have a kondom?" she asked.

 

He discovered you could break into a sweat even when you were miserably cold. No, he didn't have one. Why would he have one? He never got past kissing on the first date. "No," he admitted.  

"All this talk of fucking? What if I was a loose girl, or a girl who took money, or a silly girl who believes sailors' talk of love?"  

*This* sailor had run out of things to say.  

She stood up and handed him his hat. "I hoped you had one you could give me," she said. "My sweetheart is off marching with the other soldiers. He will be home for his name-day. Would you like it if your sweetheart gave you a kondom as a special present on your name-day?"  

Yeah, he would. If any girl did.  

"Come," she continued, taking his cold hand. "I will give you a big kiss at your boat so your friends can see. Would you like that?"

 

He wasn't sure. Maybe if she was pretty?

 

(For "zad28"—another aspiring auteur.)

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