Jeg skrev første utgave av romanen «Way» allerede rundt milleniumsskiftet. En stund etter dette utvidet og bearbeidet jeg teksten, og flere år senere, i 2007, ferdigstilte jeg romanen og publiserte den på det daværende nettstedet world-wide-way.com.
«Way» inneholder en god del bibel- og troskritikk. Dette har jeg trukket frem tidligere. Beretningen handler om en gymnasiast – hovedpersonen Terry – som har store problemer med sin kristne tro som han etterhvert ikke lenger klarer å forsvare. Spesielt ikke overfor sin verdslige bror, den raljerende og godlynte ateisten Benjamin. Men romanen inneholder også mange livsfilosofiske betraktninger og generelle observasjoner i livet. Den adresserer en rekke temaer; menneskelige relasjoner, kjærlighetsforhold, skolesystem, fotballkunst, maksimal trivsel til enhver tid, ambisjoner, menneskesinnet, familiesamhold, vilje og en del annet.
Nedenfor følger noen utdrag fra romanen som ikke omhandler bibel- og troskritikk. I første del av romanen er Terry fortellerstemmen. I andre del er Benjamin fortellerstemmen.
Del 1:
Perry Lem was the district coordinator and the so-called talent developer for the county’s youth players. He had taken the top soccer course. He knew soccer. Even though he couldn’t juggle the ball more than twenty times, he was an acknowledged soccer expert, and he had a diploma to prove it. Claus had a list of accomplishments which included some international matches, but what was a well-trained left foot compared to a signature from the national soccer association? Perry Lem had handed in a brilliant soccer exam. He had researched and done field work on goal-keepers for a year and had surely discovered a lot of fun things to write about. Still, it was an achievement to write ninety typed pages about standing at the goal. His previous exam was also exemplary. «The role of the sideback in the transition phase» was precisely defined and indeed just over seventy typed pages. Creative and ridiculous. Why did a middle-aged man sit in his office at home and write words about what his son was enjoying down in the parking lot? Soccer wasn’t a science or a stressful school essay. Football was passing, dribbling and scoring. Cheap and easy fun. What did «field work» really mean? It reminded me of geology students and the department of highways and transportation. One could use the word «work» when talking about bureaucrats and engineers, not when discussing the effort needed by a person to see that the football didn’t roll over the line between the poles. And what in the world did transition phases and roles have to do with sports? Soccer wasn’t an epoch in world history, or a drama with a manuscript and clearly defined characters. Perry Lem was a destroyer. As my coach on the national team, he made science out of a game, and a craft from art.
We got a compendium that we had to study. It was a manuscript with a table of contents and chapters. The terminology was magnificent – naturally. If you were going to make a science, you had to do it right. Not just anyone could adorn themselves with the title of top educated coach. Soccer was for gifted people who knew how to use phrases like «achievement insuring tools», «peak competency» and «role attire». At the national team practices, they stood on the sidelines and argued while we played. Dressed in big, dark-blue sweatshirts and with their hands behind their backs, they evaluated every situation in relation to the manuscript. They might have disagreed once in a while on the interpretations, but it still didn’t result in any kind of crisis – just a mind-broadening and stimulating discussion between learned scholars. I think they liked each other. They spoke the same language and felt honoured to be a part of the academic brotherhood. They didn’t know that there was a midfielder running out on the field who fought back tears in despair because they had reduced him to a remote controlled robot. Four men with some sheets of paper had stolen his sense of play and freedom to choose how he would reap his own honour. They had stolen the tingling feeling on his back. I was just a tool used on the quest for good results and newspaper headlines. «Coach’s tactics succeed – our country wins.”
«I can’t map out your problems, Perry. Why don’t you just put me on the bench? Why don’t you replace me with a player from the second division? All he needs is a manuscript and good oxygen intake. What do you want with my well-formed feet and quick thinking if I don’t get the chance to use them?» I spoke in a quiet, slow tempo, my eyes concentrated on Lem’s face the whole time. «Your clan brothers have made a hero out of the one who was chosen as fifth best out on the parking lot. While the best one, the one who outdid them all with his divine skills, the one who doesn’t fit in the system, is called the delayer. You don’t need polished technique, Lem. Strictly speaking, you don’t even need a soccer player. You need someone who will listen and obey, an extended foot.»
Del 2:
He was a locomotive engine. Not like the rest of us. He had a different drive, a different acceleration that is difficult to describe. There was a wholeness about everything he did. He was the head waiter that made sure that everyone was pleased. A quick, laid-back and appreciative wink at his brother, a warm smile for his mother, followed by a mischievous grin for Uncle Jan. At the same time, the internal difficult dialogue went on as usual in his head. Thomas, Rachel Bloom, Raymond. Completely relaxed. Just after that, «Come on. Put on the video». He had gotten the whole get-together on tape from a hidden camera behind the family photo on the wall behind the dining room table. Now we were supposed to watch a film. He lightly poked Aunt Thelma in the ribs while he laughed hysterically at Uncle George. It was fire and flame. A normal evening with my brother.
On the soccer field, he was a man among men. Noble, calm, almost arrogant – he guided his team. He didn’t even need to be good. He would have gotten respect anyway just because of his bearing, or the way he ran or directed his troops. I went to almost all of the home games. He was tackled hard a few times by slow, rusty defenders who weren’t keeping up, but as long as he could continue the match, he just shrugged his shoulders, smiled and squinted a little at those who were behind the offence. On the other hand, if he had to sit out the rest of the match, he almost always lost his head, being really irritated over the fact that the guilty players were allowed to play soccer. Soccer was an art. Why should people with sharp buttons and kneecaps attack him? He would scream it loudly, often peppered with a few expletives. But he never used words like «damn» or «fuck». «Snake spawn» was used quite often. Inspired by John the Baptist.
He was never a greater role model than when I saw him in the arms of Linda. Why was that gentle angel, who was just as old as I was, completely absorbed in my little brother? Because he drove up to her school and chewed out her professor who had said that our country’s education politics was a good example for others to follow. Because he dropped the waffle sale on a ‘school solidarity day’ and instead waltzed into an office building downtown and managed to convince a local business mogul to turn over 100,000 to the children in Cambodia in under an hour. Because he called her the Rose of Sharon and wrote his own hymn to her on 30 closely written pages. It was meant to be an alternative to Solomon.